Here comes the lovable 'Queen of Mean'

By Michael Deeds

McClatchy Newspapers

Comic Lisa Lampanelli may have lost her big butt, but she's still got her big mouth.

"I've said, now that I've lost weight, I could get a Hispanic, an unemployed white or a hot black," Lampanelli brags. Then, she considers her chances with other women.

Panties starting to bunch? Jaw on the floor? That, she says, is your problem.

Lampanelli, a self-proclaimed "chubby white girl" until 40 pounds ago, has no time for prudes who think her raunchy, stereotype-jammed comedy assault crosses the line.

"What line? There's no line," she proclaims. "It's arbitrary."

This mind set is what allows Lampanelli to strut gleefully across theater stages boasting about her proclivity for sleeping with African American men.

"You can so tell that my act is sort of just poking fun at people who really would say such things. And if you don't get it, then it's, like, I don't even want to deal with those type of audience members."

Fortunately for Lampanelli, plenty of people do get the joke. A former copy editor who didn't even attempt stand-up until she was 30 (she's now 46), Lampanelli is one of comedy's fastest-rising stars. Her 2007 album, "Dirty Girl," was nominated for a Grammy Award. She's in the process of pitching a sitcom to Showtime or HBO. She also had parts written for her in movies, including "Drillbit Taylor" with Owen Wilson.

"And he did not try to kill himself because my acting sucked. That's all I want to say!"

A Syracuse University graduate, Lampanelli grew up in Connecticut watching Dean Martin roasts on TV with her parents. She first raised eyebrows at the New York Friars Club roast of Chevy Chase in 2002. Three years later, the still relatively unknown Lampanelli dominated Comedy Central's widely watched "Roast of Pamela Anderson." Within a month, she was selling out clubs in advance. Nowadays, Comedy Central doesn't hold a roast unless Lampanelli is able to participate, she says proudly.

"It really feels good because, you've got to admit, that's a nice ego boost when they're like, 'Are you available when Flavor Flav is?' "

Flavor Flav? Talk about pitching a fat one down the middle.

"I know, but he's so sweet. That's the thing about poor Flav. He is who he is."

So does Lampanelli ever feel bad for her victims?

"Not that kind of guy, because he can take a joke, and he doesn't take himself seriously. He's very cool. But when somebody's kind of - I don't know, I felt a little sorry for Bea Arthur when she left the Pam Anderson roast a little early, and I didn't get a chance to go at her.

"Part of me was like, well, wait, (witch). You know it's a roast. You got paid. I mean get a... grip. I don't like to see people who take themselves all serious. We have to just grin and bear it. So do they."

Arthur was truly bum-med?

"I think so," Lampanelli says, adding: "Ah, waa-waa!"

This dichotomy between sensitivity and cruelty, good and evil, is what makes Lampanelli's routine as the "lovable Queen of Mean" so ingenious. It's difficult to imagine other comedians getting away with her racially charged humor.

Lampanelli likens her approach to Steve Martin's tamer arrow-through-the-head guy: You could laugh at the gag on its surface, but you also could chuckle because Martin was lampooning performers who actually did that sort of comedy.

"If half the people in the audience get it and say, 'Oh, that was a funny black joke' or 'a funny Jew joke, eh' - that's OK. But when they say, 'Wow, I get it,' and it brings all people together, and we're all the same, and we're all minorities, and blah, blah, blah..., then you go, 'OK, it's been gotten on that second level.' "

Either way, being mean can be strangely unifying.

"It's not mean. It's the fact that you're making fun of every single race. You're not leaving anybody out. That's why people get it."

Lampanelli's real-life flaws - including her weight, which has been a staple of her act - are precisely what give her wide leeway onstage. But she says she's not self-deprecating.

"I don't make fun of myself first. I totally disagree that you have to make fun of yourself first in order to get them to like you.

"The self-deprecating part is how they can sense you have your problems. You have your insecurities. You're vulnerable."

Maybe not, but Lampanelli is kind of going Oprah on us these days. She lost the weight for health reasons, she says.

"It definitely helps to have AIDS. I mean, it's the best diet ever."

Seriously, couldn't weight loss affect Lampanelli's appeal by making her a less-sympathetic figure?

"No, no, no. They know that I hate myself.

"And the fact is, it's like all comics, really. No matter how much therapy we get, we're still going to be self-hating."

Fair enough. Nevertheless, comedy fans should probably leave Grandma home when they go check out a Lampanelli concert.

"It's not for everybody. You know, Sarah Silverman isn't for everybody. Cathy Griffin isn't for everybody. Carlos Mencia isn't for everybody.

"But you find your audience, you sell your 2,000 tickets a night, and that's enough to make a good livin' with two houses and two smokin' Toyota Camrys!"