The Stranger

The problem with a "fest" of any kind is the quality-to-crap ratio, but the good folks at SketchFest have done the work for you, curating an evening of comedians who specialize in self-contradiction: All American Push Up Party (Dusty Warren, whose comedy grows from the tension between his grumpiness and his goofiness), Becky and Noelle (featuring Becky Poole, whose comedy grows from the tension between her peppy attitude and her macabre mind), and an NYC-based group called Sidecar (a mystery). Hosted by David Cope, the world's meanest, most sardonic harp player. (Annex Theatre, 1100 E Pike St, 800-838-3006. 8 pm, $15, all ages.) by Brendan Kiley

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Shorty's pinball tournament has gotten intense. This past year, 116 competitors came from six countries, including the reigning world champion (from Pittsburgh) and the guy ranked number six (from Stockholm). The non-pro pinballer doesn't stand a chance, and the smell of excreted stress is not pleasant. The First Annual Georgetown Invitational Pinball Tournament (starting at Jules Maes Saloon, with satellite games at Calamity Jane's and the 9 Lb. Hammer) is for amateurs and local ne'er-do-wells, for drinking and having fun. Georgetown Brewing Company will provide a valuable grand prize; all entrants get a commemorative T-shirt. (Jules Maes Saloon, 5919 Airport Way S, 957-7766. 2 pm, $10 to enter/free to be, 21+.) by Bethany Jean Clement

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Curtains rise and fall, fans whir, sweat drips into eyes: You can feel the sticky Mediterranean heat in Three Monkeys, a slow, stifling Turkish family drama that opens with thunderclaps and death, and ends with thundering trains and more death. Eyüp, the mustachioed chauffeur for an up-and-coming politician, takes the fall for his boss's hit-and-run accident in exchange for a wad of cash. While he's locked up, things at home—where his beautiful wife and even more beautiful son doze and wait and lie—turn sour, and they don't get sweet again. (Varsity, 4329 University Way NE, 781-5755. See Movie Times, thestranger.com, for more info.) by Lindy West

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Ben Beres's first big show of tiny-print, text-based etchings at Davidson Galleries only takes up half the gallery, but it would be a four-floor retrospective if Beres didn't work in near-microscopic scale. His plates are shaped, not rectangular, and each print is a singular color (mixed, not bottled) covered in a scrawl of words and teensy images. At the opening, Beres worked the room, proselytizing: "Prints are amazing. More people should be doing prints." His works spoke the same thing, even louder. (Davidson Galleries, 313 Occidental Ave S, 624-1324. 10 am–5:30 pm, free.) by Jen Graves

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Partman Parthorse's latest snide, punk-rock sneerfest is a song that rattles off—then proceeds to shit-talk—damn near every band in Seattle ("Dutchess and the Duke make me wanna puke... Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band/More like Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Bland"). It concludes in the chorus: "I don't know where they're coming from/But I sure know where they've been/And I know where they're going/Straight to the dollar bin." From any other band, "Emerald City Dollar Bin" might constitute serious beef, but from the infinitely flip and un-fucking-fadeable PMPH, it's all in good fun. (Funhouse, 206 Fifth Ave N, 374-8400. 9 pm, $8, 21+.) by Eric Grandy

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