Comedic Attack: Lisa Lampanelli

Map It:  Metro Center 

DURING OUR INTERVIEW insult comic Lisa Lampanelli called me a douche bag and a — well, that's pretty much the only name that we can print.

But I didn't get flustered when Lampanelli made the words "corn" and "hole" into a compound noun for me because "Comedy's Loveable Queen of Mean" has a way of "winking" with her voice that lets you know, "Hey, despite the horrible degradation I just inflicted on you, we're buddies."

Lampanelli's approach to comedy, and to life, started as a defense mechanism when she was I child.

"This summer I went to this rehab place for codependency — the whole mother story — and found out what makes me who I am and why I'm attracted to the horrible pothead douche bags I'm attracted to," Lampanelli said in her saucy nasal twang. "I was what's called 'the mascot' — which is the one who could make fun of the addicted person and not have them get mad, because I was just naturally kind of likable. ... I always was that one person who could make my mom come out of her little ragey mood and laugh. ... So that's probably why I do that sort of comedy now: 'Wow, it worked with Mom, it'll work with this Hispanic guy, or this black guy, or this dirty, dirty homosexual."

She's often called the female Don Rickles for the way her routines rely on ethnic and sexual humor based in stereotypes, but Lampanelli is also one of the few — and perhaps only — females to delve in this form of risky comedy. And if Lampanelli unloads a barrage of insults on you during a show, it actually feels like an honor. But she won't call you a "****" or a "******" in a comedy club anymore; Lampanelli is only playing large theaters these days.

"I am so over working in a club for four nights, in a town I don't even like, where I know nobody, and I'm not a celebrity, I can't get laid," she said. "I can't tell you how much fun it is to fly in, do a show and get the **** out."

» Warner Theatre, 513 13th St. NW; Fri., $35.75; 800-551-7328. (Metro Center)

BONUS QUOTES:

On the power of The Howard Stern Show, where she's a frequent guest:
"I always say a third of my audience to a half of the audience definitely heard about me on Stern — the Sirius-satellite-radio Stern. It's like a person who watches HBO is a real fan: If you're gonna pay for HBO, you're really going to be serious about it. So when you pay for Sirius radio because of Howard, you're like, 'Wow, Howard said she's funny. I'm going to check her out.' So his recommendation, and his stamp of approval, get taken really seriously. ... And I'm like, 'Thank God.' I like to sell those tickets. I like money — I love money. I need another chinchilla coat, son."

On doing Stern's show and those celebrity roasts, where she rules:
"Do you know how hard those roasts are? Do you know how hard it is to be on top of your chair on Stern? I'm sitting there in the makeup chair for four hours, and I'm miserable just studying shit. And my stylist is, like, 'I can't believe how hard you have to work to make yourself sound this natural on TV and on Howard.' And I'm, like, 'Yeah, dude, it's acting.' That's the hard part of the job. The easy part is going, 'Oh my god, I'm in Boston! I get to go up on stage and call 2,000 people the N-word and **** and then get a huge check! This is really nice!' So I personally love the stand-up part; that's all I want to do."

More on theater performances versus the clubs:
"[Rather than work in clubs again] I would really honestly retire at 60 and be like, 'Let me just live in a house and work at Kinko's. I don't give a ****.' Because I can live small. I'm sell my ******* houses; I don't give a ****. I'm sell my damn coat: I'll eBay that ****."

"You could work 14 shows at the Improv in Vegas for 3,000 ******* dollars. 14 shows. But some of these theaters, the walk-up potential, not that I make this much, if you sell every ticket at a high price, could be $80 to $100 grand a night. That's the level you want to be striving for."

"With the theaters, we flew in today, we'll take a nap, talk to some douche bag from the Washington Post even though I'm sold out already, so what do I need you for? I guess on my way down I'll need you at some point. Then you just do the show and you go out and have, maybe, one drink and go home."

On why she gave up her journalism career to become a comic:
"I got sick of making $12 grand a year."

» Click here to see a clip of an uncensored (you've been warned) Lampanelli performance at Comedy Central's roast of Pamela Anderson.