One of the best things about Balls is that it takes place at midnight every Saturday on a real stage in a real theater, though the dark recesses of the stage do bear a swampy likeness to a missing molar. As you enter the playhouse, someone will ask you if you're going to perform, and there's almost always pressure to get onstage even if you don't have material. This is just how things work at the cabaret, and Leslie Ball--the show's founder and jovial emcee--has been making sure of that for over 10 years. The gist of her show isn't hard to understand: Balls. That's what it takes for any would-be singer, comedian, poet, musician, or dancer to get up on stage and act contrary to any don't try this at home sound bite. Still, no matter what you do, the audience seems to admire you anyway. We've seen the self-proclaimed Sexiest Man in the World perform a short skit onstage at Balls--only he was an impostor. We've seen the real Sexiest Man in the World upstage the phony one on the same stage on the same night. We've heard God and his omnipotent potty-mouth deliver a monologue: "You bet your ass it's me. I'm God! Master of all you sons-of-bitches." And if it were up to this god, your ass would be sitting in the first row every Saturday night.