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

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.

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...

In the back, a couple on their third date sat frozen, the guy looking like he wanted to dissolve into his chair, while the woman was doubled over, gasping for air. Amy spotted them. By the time she reached her closing bit—a

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 spotted them

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