Her apathetic Wisconsin accent is as endearing as it is bitter, and her slow, calculated delivery cuts as much as it tickles. Andi Smith has a relatable charm, but behind her cool demeanor, you can tell that she just might break a pool cue over someone's spine, if they look at her the wrong way. In her first five minutes, she was suckered into a petty exchange with a drunken 40-something over a joke she made about breast implants, and at that point, lost her control over the crowd. Side-conversations and intermittent shouting took a stranglehold on her next hour, as she humorously quipped that maybe she should just stop doing material, and start a roundtable discussion. Her material is dark and witty, and she successfully avoids cheap "cute" comedy about mythical orgasms and the inadequacies of men, which often plague the careers of aspiring female comics. Unfortunately, Smith has about as much command of her audience as a substitute teacher.