Entertainment

Park slope to B’way

(
)

When was the last time you heard a good joke about Voltaire? If the answer is waaay too long, then there’s a guy you should meet. Which I did.

I’m talking about Colin Quinn, the stand-up comic who really is too smart for his own good.

Quinn’s laugh-til-you-need-CPR Broadway show-turned-HBO special, “Colin Quinn: Long Story Short,” which airs Saturday night, gave me the excuse to interview him.

First thing I asked him was, “So you think this show has broad appeal, since most people don’t know what the hell you’re talking about?”

After we stopped laughing, he said, “Sure. We’re living in a world where Libya affects the stock market,” and then had the facts and figures to back that up.

Like I said, a smarty pants. So where does a guy like this come from? If you guessed Park Slope, home of nothing but child geniuses, you’d be right.

But not the Park Slope of today where toddlers do calculus in the original form. He grew up on First Street in the old Park Slope filled with nasty girls, sketchy corner-store hangouts and bars that had grills.

“There was Greasy Jack’s, Cheap Andy’s (two burgers for a quarter), Al’s Toy Land and Danny’s Candy Store.

“Today? It’s Whole Food lesbian baby carriage stores! It looks like a Swiss village!”

Don’t get him started. Too late. “There’s a Domino’s Pizza on Coney Island Avenue! I’d rather live on soulless 56th Street [in Manhattan].” Which he does. Alone.

In fact, he said, “The only people who like to live alone more than comics are priests.”

When I pointed out that priests live with other priests, he may have gone into a deep depression. I’m not sure.

What’s mighty Quinn-the-eccentric’s life like when he’s not holed up on 56th Street?

“I’m on the road a couple of months a week. You get into a city and do radio first thing the next morning. Then, you go to the mall and walk around. If you’re lucky, you see the other comic on the bill also walking the mall and you go to Panda Express. If it’s a fancy mall, Ruby Tuesdays. Then we walk around some more, then I go back to my room and write jokes.”

They better be good jokes, too. “The audience is good at the first Friday night show. But by the second? Violent and psychotic. I’ve been chased out of town by a mad crowd.”

Talk about a tough room. “The guy before me killed. Killed. I came on, and they started booing, so I gave them the finger . . .” Maybe he’s not as smart as I thought.

Hey — d’ja hear the one about the Emperor Tiberius?