Amy Schumer: Mostly Sex Stuff Stand Up, Comг©di... (AUTHENTIC)

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

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!" Amy Schumer: Mostly Sex Stuff Stand Up, ComГ©di...

"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." "So, let's talk about sex

She strutted to the mic, squinting against the spotlight. "Hi guys. Wow. You all look great. I look like a thumb that someone tried to dress up for prom, but we’re making it work." Then, the roar of the crowd

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.

The laughter was immediate, that comfortable, expectant kind. Amy leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial stage whisper.

By the time she reached her closing bit—a frantic, physical reenactment of trying to put on Spanx while sweaty—the room was hers. She walked off stage drenched in sweat, the echoes of "Mostly Sex Stuff" still ringing in the rafters, having once again proven that nothing is too "gross" if it's the truth.