Amy Schumer: Mostly Sex Stuff Stand Up, Comг©di... Review

"Oh, sweetie, don't look at him," Amy pointed at the man. "He's terrified. He just learned things about biology that his high school coach skipped. It's okay, Dave. It’s all natural. Mostly."

The neon sign for "The Laugh Factory" flickered, casting a sickly pink glow over Amy as she paced the green room. She wasn't nervous about the jokes—she’d lived them—but she was wondering if the front row was ready for a play-by-play of her last gynecological exam. "Five minutes, Amy," a bored stagehand muttered. Amy Schumer: Mostly Sex Stuff Stand Up, ComГ©di...

She took a final swig of lukewarm water, adjusted her blazer, and stepped into the wings. The wall of heat and the smell of stale beer hit her first. Then, the roar of the crowd. "Please welcome... Amy Schumer!" "Oh, sweetie, don't look at him," Amy pointed at the man

"So, let's talk about sex. Or, as I like to call it, 'The Reason I Have This Specific Lower Back Pain.'" It's okay, Dave