SAN FRANCISCO, California -A recent spate of car robberies, which has resulted in the theft of at least three "comedy bags," has left the Greater San Francisco Bay Area puzzled, confused, and just a little bit scared. Scared for the safety of the brilliant comedians who proudly call the Bay Area home, and scared for the future of art in the City by the Bay.

The break-ins occurred on consecutive nights last week. The victims, John Hoogasian, Lee Levine, and Jeff Kreisler all share a common passion: making the people laugh… often after several moments of awkward silence. Perhaps this common bond explains the odd parallels of the crimes.

"You can't tell me it's a coincidence that these comics were targeted," said Pierre, an vagrant outside Cobb's Comedy Club and a local resident. "Kreisler, Levine, Hoogasian… when you think of San Francisco comedy, I mean, you think of other people -- you know, funny people -- but these guys are always hanging around, asking for sets, giving tags and pointers to the pros. It's like they're comedians, too, or something."

Or something, indeed.

On Thursday night, John Hoogasian's 1968 Oldsmobile York Avenue car was broken into at the intersection of Van Ness and Pine. The rear window was smashed and the bag where he kept his comedy notebooks was taken. Fortunately, Hoogasian wasn't in the car (he was getting pizza, no doubt), or he may have been taken, too.

"My car! My car! All my good jokes… are about my car!"

Independent appraisers valued the notebooks and the jokes inside at "nothing" and charged Hoogasian $20 for wasting their time.

Friday night saw Levine fall victim to the smash and grab. His car, possibly a Volkswagen and definitely parked outside the Punchline, was violated, and his bag -- containing his comedy notebooks, a digital recorder, and sunglasses -- removed.

"Oh no, this is bullshit!" Lee stammered, a wide how-can-you-not-love-me grin plastered across his angry little face. "I played the parking game and I lost." Lee put his hands upon an imaginary steering wheel, assumed a white-supremacist voice, and said "Welcome to stolen bag town, bitch!" He then burst into tears.

Through the sobs, he managed to find some solace. "At least they didn't get any of my authentic replica soccer jerseys." Wheezing, "I mean football. Football jerseys."

Aspiring hack political comic Jeff Kreisler, who is determined to earn at least one-tenth what he could have as a lawyer, went to his car at the intersection of Washington and Battery Saturday after a show at the Punchline. Jeff wasn't headlining this night at the Punch -- an oversight on management's part, no doubt -- but his comedy career was about to change nonetheless.

"When I closed the door, I noticed a breeze. 'Did Speigelman forget to roll up his window again? Then I realized that Speigs had never done that before, so he couldn't have done it again."

"I turned to see why the window was open, and I… I… I saw…" Jeff paused for breathe while reliving the tragic moment. He took a sip of his Fresca.

"I saw that my window was broken. There was glass everywhere. My heart skipped… but just once. It's not weak and fruity, you know. I once had a three-way back in high school. Kinda."

"Anyway, I worried about my things… No, I didn't care about my radio or CDs or videos or Monty Python books or priceless family heirlooms and novelty items … I just cared about my art, my beautiful, beautiful art."

Sobbing. "When I realized that my bag was gone, I just lost it. I almost showed an emotion. It was… tough."

The worst part for Kreisler was that "what happened to Hoogie was a warning to me. I even took the time to put my bag on the floor in the back, to semi-hide it. But, like my father says, semi-hide only counts in horse-shoes and hand-grenades and the Clement Street Thrift Shop Semi-Hide All-Star Celebrity Jamboree. But not in preventing car thefts."

When told that Levine has also been victimized in a similar way, Kreisler reacted passionately.

"First of all, no one is ever a victim, I don't like that word. I could've put my bag in my trunk, or perhaps have brought my car with me into the club."

"And second, really? That's odd. Me, Levine, and Hoogasian. Broken windows… Only thing taken was comedy bags… Hmm…"

Old-school San Francisco comedy legend Cantu says:

Kreisler put on a trench coat, went to the crime scene, and assumed the role of Columbo. "Okay, if I steal a comedy bag, the third comedy bag I've stolen this week, I'm gonna head North. And I'm running, and I'm running, I'd run down this alley, and I'd toss the bag over there!"

Unable to locate his bag, he spent several hours leaping from behind a bush to ask couples, "Have you seen my bag? It's my life."

Kreisler also peered into several area trash cans using a bent coat hanger to move items around. "You see, crazy people aren't crazy, they've just 'lost their shit.' Furthermore, in life, people 'lost their shit,' but no one ever 'loses their marbles' … we're all carrying around a huge armful of marbles, and sometimes some just fall off the sides."

Kreisler returned to the office.

"I'm convinced if I stayed there, they'd come back. They'll be after another comic, just like us. Think about it: Hoogasian, Levine, Kreisler… it all follows a pattern. Original, awkward, funny, emotional, brilliant, sad and needy comics… Whoever is doing this definitely has a plan. A plan to keep comedic artists down. Maybe it will be someone like Greg Proops or Dave Attell or Judy Tenuta… or you!"

Or me? Or me, indeed.

"It's frustrating because they didn't take anything of real value, just the brilliant comedy and drama -- or dramedy -- that I'd been slaving over for weeks. Truly, the world's loss. I was working on a thing about how George W. Bush is stupid and how I can't believe he's President and all and wouldn't it be weird if George W. Bush was your high school gym coach -- 'Time for dodge ball! Everyone snort coke and pretend I'm not a lesbian.' Ha ha ha."

Kreisler put his head on the interview table.

"Oh g-d, my life has no meaning."

Because of the robbery?

"No, because of that joke. I can't believe I took the time to put those words together in that order, even if it was in a self- deprecatory way. 'Self-deprecatory?' Is that even a word?"

Even a word, indeed. Even a word.

"My point is, if anyone does a bit about George W. Bush being stupid, I'll be very suspicious, and I'll be very pissed, and I'll write a limerick about it, call that a poem, then stew about stage time."

"Yeah," concurred Hoogasian. "Anyone doing straightforward stuff about men being different than women or anything about my roommate Colin better watch out. Don't touch me."

"Same with me and the penguins." Levine added, before his head turned all puffy red and he burst out "Tally ho, bitch!"

Hoogasian then pulled out a lute and the trio performed an impromptu hip-hop tribute to their fate.

Anyone witnessing any suspicious activities should cower in fear and offer to give all of his or her stage time to Jeff, Lee, and John. Especially Jeff, he's really desperate.