Don't Shit Where You Eat! ™

There’s a certain owner of a certain comedy club in Stockholm that hasn’t always been known for his flawless writing online. Quite the opposite, in fact, to the point that I’ve often wondered if he’s dyslexic. Imagine my surprise recently when I saw a lengthy event post for the club on Facebook, full of flowery prose and glowing praise of that evening’s host. Perhaps he’d begun taking Adderall?

Someone else noted that he must’ve used ChatGPT to generate the text and now that I’ve seen it, I can’t unsee it, as he’s far from the only comedy club host making use of that tool. I even received a newsletter from another comedy club that had clearly been authored by it. Despite being AI, ChatGPT has a certain voice, a certain style, and it’s consistent whether it’s generating text in Swedish or English.

On the one hand, it seems a little counter-intuitive that comedy club owners – who are almost always comics themselves and allegedly creative – would use AI to generate promotional material. On the other hand, most comics look for shortcuts by nature, even the ones who work harder than others, and writing copy is fucking boring. Just as so many sci-fi authors have predicted, we’re handing off the boring jobs to the robots.

Not that I find writing this blog boring, but as an experiment I asked ChatGPT to write a blog post about standup “in the style of Ryan Bussell’s ‘Don’t Shit Where You Eat’.” It was nice that the robot didn’t respond with, “Who?” although I wouldn’t say it captured my voice. Not that I’m surprised by that, of course, and rather than find its own comedy topic it seized on the name of my blog.

After reading through the first result I asked it to generate a second response on the same topic. Without further ado, I now turn over the rest of this entry to ChatGPT, an early iteration of what will become our evil AI overlord in a much shorter time than we expect. Below you’ll find both responses; they certainly include some good advice I would’ve appreciated early in my “career”!

Title: “Don’t Shit Where You Eat: The Unwritten Rules of Stand-Up Comedy”

Hey there, folks, it’s your boy Ryan Bussell, and today we’re diving deep into the wild, wacky world of stand-up comedy. Now, I know you’ve heard the phrase “Don’t shit where you eat” in the context of workplace romances, but let me tell you, it applies to the comedy scene just as much. So, grab a seat and let’s dish out some comedy wisdom.

In stand-up comedy, “Don’t shit where you eat” translates to something like, “Don’t mess up the comedy community that supports you.” This isn’t just some abstract rule; it’s an essential guideline for aspiring comedians, and here’s why.

Your Comedy Family

Think of the comedy scene as your dysfunctional but lovable family. You’re all in this together, sharing the same stages, mics, and green rooms. It’s a close-knit, occasionally neurotic community that values camaraderie, trust, and loyalty. And just like in a family, if you mess up, it’ll come back to haunt you.

Support, Not Sabotage

Stand-up comedians often help each other out, sharing gigs, tips, and feedback. It’s a support network that can make or break your career. When you break the “Don’t shit where you eat” rule, you’re effectively sabotaging that network. It’s like bringing drama to a family dinner, and nobody wants that.

Avoid Feuds and Backstabbing

Feuds can be entertaining, but they’re better left to reality TV. Comedy is a place where you can make people laugh, not cry. When you start drama within the community, you’re going down a dark path. So, remember to keep things professional, and avoid those bitter rivalries.

Respect the Bookers

The bookers and club owners are the gatekeepers of your comedy dreams. If you disrespect them, it’s like trying to bite the hand that feeds you. Don’t make their lives harder by causing drama. Play nice and you might get more stage time and better opportunities.

Maintain Good Karma

Comedy karma is a real thing. When you’re kind, professional, and supportive of your fellow comedians, it comes back to you in the form of goodwill, better gigs, and genuine friendships. Being a jerk, on the other hand, is a surefire way to ensure you’re not invited to family gatherings.

The Power of Laughter

Remember, we’re all in this for one thing: making people laugh. The world is a crazy place, and comedy is our way of coping with it. So, instead of bringing negativity into the scene, let’s focus on what unites us – the power of laughter.

In conclusion, “Don’t shit where you eat” is more than just a phrase; it’s a guideline for life in the comedy world. To succeed, respect your fellow comedians, maintain a positive attitude, and play nice with bookers and club owners. After all, we’re one big, dysfunctional, and endlessly entertaining comedy family, and the last thing we need is a feud or drama.

So, keep your sense of humor intact, and let’s create a comedy community that’s as fun and supportive as it is hilarious. Stay funny, my friends, and I’ll catch you on the next open mic night!


Title: “Don’t Shit Where You Eat: The Art of Stand-Up Comedy”

Hey there, folks! Welcome to this no-nonsense, straight-talking blog entry about the wonderful world of stand-up comedy, as told in the inimitable style of Ryan Bussell. You know, it’s been said that comedy is like the best kind of food – best served fresh, and never where you eat. [EDITOR’S NOTE: The best kind of food is never where I eat? Fuck you ChatGPT!] So, grab your beverage of choice, sit back, and let’s dive into the secrets of the stand-up comedy world.

Rule #1: Keep It Real

Now, I’m not one to sugarcoat things. Comedy is all about keeping it real. If you want to make people laugh, you’ve got to be authentic, and by that, I mean, be yourself. Don’t try to imitate anyone else. Don’t borrow someone else’s jokes. And for the love of all that’s funny, don’t go mining your own personal life for laughs if you’re not ready to let it all hang out. Keep it real, and your audience will respect that, even when they’re gasping for air between laughs.

Rule #2: Timing is Everything

You ever heard the saying, “It’s not what you say, but how you say it?” Well, in stand-up, it’s all about timing. That’s where the magic happens. A well-timed punchline can have an audience in stitches. But remember, timing isn’t just about when you deliver the punchline; it’s also about pacing the whole act. A good comedian knows when to speed up and when to slow down, keeping the audience guessing and hanging on every word.

Rule #3: Embrace the Uncomfortable

Stand-up comedy is like poking a hornet’s nest with a stick – sometimes you’re gonna get stung, but you do it because the thrill is worth it. Don’t shy away from the uncomfortable stuff. In fact, lean into it. Comedy often thrives in the places that make people squirm. If you can make an awkward situation hilarious, you’ve got the golden ticket.

Rule #4: Don’t Steal Material

You’ve heard it before, but it’s worth repeating: Don’t steal material. It’s like a cardinal sin in the comedy world. Respect your fellow comedians and respect the craft. You don’t want to be that person who gets a reputation for thievery. Trust me; you’ll be toast in this business.

Rule #5: Be Prepared to Bomb

You know what’s great about bombing on stage? It’s a rite of passage in stand-up. Every great comedian has bombed at some point. So, embrace it. Learn from it. Failure is where you grow, and it’s where you learn the most about yourself and your act. Plus, it makes for a hilarious story later on.

Rule #6: Know Your Audience

Your audience is your lifeline. You’ve got to know who you’re performing for. A college crowd is different from a corporate event. Tailor your material to your audience. It’s not about selling out; it’s about connecting with people through humor.

In the world of stand-up comedy, you’ve got to be prepared to take risks, embrace the uncomfortable, and find humor in the everyday stuff. But above all, don’t shit where you eat – don’t steal jokes, and don’t compromise your integrity. Keep it real, and you’ll go far. So, if you’re thinking of taking the plunge into stand-up comedy, remember these rules, and let the laughs roll in.

At one point during my tenure at Nintendo of America, I led a conference call with district managers based throughout the US. I was interrupted several times by colleagues in the Midwest who couldn’t understand me, despite the fact that we spoke the same language. This due to folks on the East Coast, like me, speak twice as fast.

As you might imagine, if I need to slow down so my fellow Americans can understand me, I have to crawl so Swedes can understand me. That’s been a process for sure. In regular conversation I’m mostly successful, but the East Coast speed tends to reassert itself when I’m nervous, or drinking, or just very comfortable with the people I’m speaking to.

Another problem I have is mumbling. Speed kills there as well, like my mouth can’t open fast enough for all the words to spill out. This is bad enough when I speak English but it’s catastrophic when I speak Swedish. I never feel like myself when I speak Swedish and how can I, when I have to find the right words AND think about how to say them AND actually pronounce them correctly AND speak at a human pace.

Naturally, this is an issue in standup. Combine nerves and booze and a limited set length and I can get into a bad state of mind. “I have to hurry to say everything I want to say!” instead of, “I should focus on the quality of my words instead of quantity.” Kind of unfair, when you think about it, that I need to slow down instead of other people focusing more to keep up with me. Selfish of them, really.

Standup isn’t as bad as speaking Swedish, since I perform in my native tongue. When it goes well I still feel like myself, but a better version of myself where I find the right words AND think about how to say them AND actually pronounce them correctly AND speak at a human pace. Rehearsing helps in that regard and while I don’t rehearse entire sets as often as I used to, it’s not unusual to find me wandering around my apartment or even walking down a street saying a new bit aloud.

Except that has disadvantages as well. I want to perform standup, not theater. I know comics that have one delivery, whether there are five or five hundred in the crowd. The crowd matters to me and I want to be in the moment. Also, a woman once told me that she preferred my wife as a comic than me, because while my wife seemed very natural on stage, I felt too rehearsed. To be fair, this was several years ago and also she wanted to sleep with my wife, so I took that with a huge grain of salt, but the criticism stuck with me. Because of course it did.

I love an exchange in the film Election between two teachers. One accuses the other of acting unethically and immorally and the other asks, “There’s a difference?” I was reminded of this a few nights ago, having the umpteenth discussion with comics about ethics and morals in standup.

Put simply, ethics are the rules, logical and objective and black and white. Morals are how we feel the rules should be, emotional, subjective. Take this classic thought experiment: man has son, son needs medicine to survive, man can’t afford medicine, but he could steal it. Is stealing ethical, in this case? No. There’s no room for debate. Stealing is against the law, even the Bible says so. Is it moral to steal, though? We could debate that until the cows come home.

It makes me chuckle when comics – who are, by and large, both unethical and immoral by nature – launch into a diatribe about injustice in the comedy community, since their complaints are (a) based on morals, not ethics, and (b) quite selective and biased. It doesn’t take much to notice a pattern in complaints about clubs in particular. All clubs act the same, but you’ll bash a club that doesn’t book you, look the other way for clubs that do.

No comic gets to perform everywhere and not every club will book every comic. There’s nothing unethical about that. Club owners have no ethical responsibility to develop talent or promote diversity. We can debate whether or not they should (for the record, I think they should) but that gets us into a zero-sum moral discussion. For example, it was once proposed on a comics’ forum that a list of all female comics in Sweden would be made available to all club owners, so that lineups could always include a fair representation of women. There was much rejoicing until someone asked, “What about the gay comics?” and then another, “What about the disabled comics?” If the list was ever completed, it would just be a list of every comic who isn’t a straight, white, fully-abled man, and the whole thing is moot anyway because no club owner would ever book a comic by picking a name off a list.

There’s that club that has a cover charge but doesn’t pay all the comics. Oh right, that’s every club that has a cover charge, and there’s nothing unethical about it. Immoral, sure, but when it comes to money and/or the lack thereof, our outrage is selective. There’s the comic who runs a daily podcast featuring other comics. The podcast is fan supported, the comic makes a good chunk of money, the comics who provide daily content get nothing, and no one is outraged because being on the podcast means prestige and the infamous exposure. It works for everyone, at least for now.

There’s the club that had a cover charge when it first opened, but in later seasons became a free show. One might think that was done to attract a larger audience, but one would be wrong. Shows were just as well-attended before and after the change. Naturally, the club owners aren’t doing the show for free, but by getting rid of the cover charge, they can take the moral high ground when not paying comics and keeping all the money for themselves. In other words, becoming moral through ethical and immoral means. Machiavelli would be proud!

The bottom line is that it’s up to each of us as comics to decide, not only our own worth, but our own ethics as well. And thank goodness for that! Imagine if there were laws in place like, “Thou shalt never cancel a gig,” and, “Thou shalt always place the audience’s enjoyment over your own.” Man, we’d be in trouble.

A recurring theme of the past week was noticing walking stereotypes around me. Alcohol seems to turn people into characters. When you play an RPG with a massive open world, like Skyrim, you notice certain types of NPCs pop up, over and over again. Sweden was like that to me last week.

Take the Swedish “gubbe”, for example. Think manly man, typically middle-aged (but not always), drunk at a soccer game at 10 AM. Quick with a homophobic joke, probably quick with a hand if the wife isn’t as quick with dinner. A gubbe is bad, gubbar – more than one of them – are worse. In a group they feed on each other’s energy.

Since it’s rare that I host game shows in Swedish at On Air, it’s equally rare that the groups are anything other than company gigs. If they’re drinking, I might get a gubbe or two, but co-workers are generally better behaved than friends. I once hosted a bachelor’s party, though, where one of the guys humped my leg like a dog. I could explain the context but it wouldn’t help; I was just glad that day that I was hosting and not one of my female colleagues.

I was listening to a show last week hosted in Swedish for a company of gubbar. At one point, the host speaks through a video feed to a man on the street, although it’s obviously pre-recorded. We make a joke of that by asking one of the players to shout out a question, which will prove it’s live. “How big is your cock?” came the question, followed by ho-hos and guffaws.

I was eating at Burger King before Maffia Comedy last Saturday, because show business is glamorous. Adding to the ambiance was another type of NPC- the older drunk couple. They only have one volume for conversation – loud – and the man’s deep voice was matched, or perhaps bested, by his female companion, like they eat cigarettes when not enjoying fine dining at BK.

Then it was time to open the doors at Maffia. In addition to hosting I was responsible for checking tickets, because show business is glamorous. Three cougars approached and I can’t think of a better word to describe them as they were, let us say, mature and randy. One of them wore a vest and nothing else as a top and must’ve used a spell to protect her modesty. She also asked me where the bathroom was and somehow managed to call me babe six times in thirty seconds.

They seemed fun, though, and I was glad to see them sit in the front row when they didn’t have to. Swedes avoid the front row like the plague and I really should’ve taken this as a warning sign, but the night prior I’d faced a front row that was half-empty. The three of them were chatting and laughing as the intro was playing, still laughing as I climbed onto the stage (and then noticed the empty shot glasses they’d left on the stage in front of them, like it was their table), still laughing as I began to speak.

I had no choice but give them my full attention. I started asking them questions but they couldn’t speak, only laugh, which was funny at first but quickly annoying. I reflected on the fact that people laughing too much is an interesting problem for a comic to face, but that didn’t help me much at the time. Vest Lady was the worst of the three, plus her fake tan and pale lipstick made her look like a laughing skull, which freaked me out a little.

Knowing that the crowd was just as annoyed as me was a concern to me as a host but reassuring to me as a comic. Since these drunks couldn’t speak, all I could do was talk at them. It’s no good to be harsh (Dane Cook said it’s like trying to enjoy family dinner after Dad punched Mom), so I just kept a smile on my face and openly mocked them. Eventually, however, I just had to ignore them and do my best to speak over them. At least I’d let the crowd know that yes, we all hate them, let’s get through this thing together.

They continued to be a problem throughout the first half but, as is standard with this type of NPC, a night out is marked by high highs and low lows. One comic paused mid-sentence to point out that Vest Lady had passed out, eliciting a laugh from the crowd, but all I could think was, please just let her sleep. If we could just get through the first half without major incident, we could make sure the three of them would not return for the second half.

We didn’t make it that far. While the last comic of the first half was on stage, he got irritated by them openly talking to each other in the front row and paused to scold them. I couldn’t hear what they’d been saying, but Vest Lady’s body language said she wanted to leave and her friends didn’t. Turned out it wasn’t just wishful thinking on my part, because soon thereafter she stood up while still talking to her companions, oblivious to the comic standing just in front of and above her. He grabbed her shoulder (and alarm bells rang in my head at that) but she violently threw him off, shouted that she had to leave, and the three of them walked out.

After the break, I told the crowd, “I hate to start the second half on a down note, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Our friends will not be joining us again.” The crowd cheered.

Several years ago, a Swedish comic contacted me and said, “My friend Martin is an actor and he’s looking for a voice coach who can help him speak English with an American dialect. Interested?” Absolutely, I replied. Sounded like fun and easy money to boot.

I met Martin who, like many Swedes, was distractingly pretty. He said he was about to audition for a role in a TV show, an American production being filmed in Canada, having something to do with cyberespionage. The role he wanted was a corporate guy named Tyrell.

“Oh,” I said, “that’s a cool Easter Egg.” Martin looked blankly at me. “Tyrell?” Still nothing. “Blade Runner?”

“I’ve never seen Blade Runner,” he responded. I responded with the same energy men expend when their girlfriends say they’ve never seen The Godfather. Then, taking a breath, I explained that in Blade Runner, androids are manufactured by the Tyrell Corporation. “Ah, cool. I should try to see that sometime.” I flexed and relaxed my fist a few times.

We met a few times in person and had other sessions over the phone. He’d read aloud from articles and I’d jump in now and then to correct his pronunciation, which wasn’t often. As far as I was concerned, he was already next to perfect. He didn’t have what I would call a British accent, which many Swedes have when they speak English. Swedes tend to learn “proper” English when speaking, but American vocabulary. No one here would ever “ring their solicitor” or put a u in a word that doesn’t need it, like humor. Stupid Brits.

Soon it was time for him to fly to the US for the audition. He thanked me and paid me, I thanked him and wished him luck. As I’d hoped, it was fun and easy money. I didn’t hear more from him and it wasn’t long before I’d forgotten about him.

A few years later, my fellow American comic in Sweden – fellow New Jerseyan as well – David T. Weaver and I were talking and he asked me if I’d seen Mr. Robot yet. I said no, he reacted as I’d had when Martin said he hadn’t seen Blade Runner. I’d heard of the show, heard it was supposed to be good, but hadn’t made an effort to see it. Now that I was thinking of it, though, it sounded a lot like the show Martin was auditioning for.

I looked into it and was pleasantly surprised to see that, not only had Martin scored the role, Tyrell is the main antagonist for the first few seasons. I still had his phone number, so I texted, “I see you got the role, congrats! I’d like to think I deserve some credit for that.” “Haha, definitely,” he replied. “Have you seen Blade Runner yet?” “No, been too busy.”

“You know, if I got a role on a hit TV show that referenced a classic film, I would’ve made the time to see it.” “Well, when you put it like that…” As always, being passive aggressive is the way to go with Swedes. I decided to let our chat end on that note and haven’t heard from him since.

The punchline to all this is that, when the pandemic hit and I had nothing but my couch and time on my hands, I watched a few series that I’d heard were the best I’d never seen. Among others, I watched Mad Men, The Wire, and Mr. Robot. Tyrell was Swedish. The producers liked Martin so much, they changed the character’s fucking backstory to justify Martin’s accent. In other words, I didn’t help Martin in the slightest.

So, Martin, if you read this- give me a shout and I’ll give you a refund. [Editor’s Note: I think my money’s safe.]

Way back in 2001, I did a semester of night classes at Emerson College, in what would turn out to be an aborted attempt at earning a bachelor’s degree. In one class, we were given the task of writing on something that was impacting society. As I was working for Nintendo at the time, I knew what I wanted to write about.

The teacher went around the room, asking what our topics would be. The woman before me said, “NAFTA and its impact.” Then it was my turn. “Violence in video games and its impact, if any, real and perceived.”

“Haha,” the woman before me said (actually said, it wasn’t a real laugh). “I’m trying to save the world, you’re writing about video games.” If I’d had enough self-esteem to speak my mind at the time, I would’ve said, “Wow. With one short sentence, you shit on my topic and elevated your own to an undeserved level. I’d say that my paper has an equal chance of changing the world as yours. That is to say, none.” Sometimes, there is some justice in the world; she didn’t turn her assignment in on time and received a failing grade as a result. Meanwhile, my paper was not only well received, I brought a N64 to class and let everyone play Conker’s Bad Fur Day. A month later, I had to choose between continuing classes or taking a promotion at Nintendo. Guess my choice.

Anyway, I was reminded of all this recently as I listened to a few feminist comics discuss the current state of standup in Sweden.

Now, let me make a few things abundantly clear before we begin. As feminism is the belief that men and women deserve equal treatment, I’m fully on board. I believe that privilege for white men is like an all-you-can eat buffet and it’s good to see that buffet dwindling each year, although I do miss the king crab’s legs. The only reason I don’t call myself a feminist is out of respect for those who actively try to change the world for the better. I care about the environment and I sort my recycling, but I don’t think that qualifies me to call myself an environmentalist.

I’m also all for diversity and inclusion overall and absolutely in standup. I believe that club owners should actively diversify their lineups. I have different reasoning than some activists, but I’ll get into that later.

I could summarize their conversation thusly: standup in Sweden (if not everywhere) is 99% comprised of white men with material that 100% involves rape, racism, sexism, and/or homophobia, whilst those few women on stage (other protected classes sometimes get a mention, but it’s mostly about women) are saying very important things and striking blows against the patriarchy. Let’s break that down a bit.

For the first part, I agree that lineups are too male-heavy overall. I disagree that everything out of a man’s mouth involves rape, racism, sexism and/or homophobia. I don’t even think it’s most of what we have to say. But let’s be generous and say half of everything we say is rapey, racist, sexist and/or homophobic. Why are we saying it? To get laughs. If the crowd wouldn’t laugh, we wouldn’t say it.

I hate when expat comics use Swedish words as punchlines, but they make the crowd laugh. Am I saying that rape jokes are the same as fika jokes? Of course not. There are comics out there who will say shocking things just to get an easy laugh and those comics suck. I don’t tell rape jokes because I know, sexual assault rates being as high as they are, every woman in the audience either knows someone who was a victim or is a victim herself. Me telling a wacky rape joke will remind them of it and that’s not what I would call the definition of a good time.

That said, however, I might someday come up with a rape joke that I think is funny enough to overcome that. I’ve seen it done. A rape joke that can make a SJW laugh is a better joke than one about airline food. Laughter is an involuntary reaction and a joke that gets laughs is funny, no matter the subject. You can say that you never think rape jokes are funny, but you can’t say that rape jokes are never funny.

According to the second part of their statement, all the men are awful and the women wonderful. In much the same way that I don’t understand Christians who support the death penalty, I don’t see how tearing down one side to raise the other is a feminist promotion of equality. I can absolutely be wrong, however, and would be happy if someone could femsplain it to me. I get the feeling that many see the world through a Titanic lens, where Jack has to die so that Rose can live. Wouldn’t it be better if Rose slid her thicc ass over and they both lived?

The women are only saying important things and striking blows against the patriarchy. Sounds noble! Except I’ve seen them on stage, and all they ever say is nonsense. Funny nonsense. This isn’t me saying that feminists only say nonsense or that these comics in particular only speak nonsense. I’m saying that everything every comic ever says is nonsense. Standup is a conversation with the audience and here is how it goes:

Comic: “Here’s some nonsense that, at least at some point, I thought was funny. Tell me I’m right.”
Crowd: “You’re right and funny and brilliant and sexy and unique and the bestest ever and we love you!”
Comic: “I don’t believe you and you’ll never convince me. Well, see you next time.”

We’re not changing the world through dick jokes. Nor are we doing it through diversity on stage. I hear many say, “We need more [enter Protected Class here] on stage!” I never hear, “We need more [enter Protected Class here] in the crowd!” Why? Because we don’t give a flying fuck about the crowd. They came to have a good time, it’s our one and only job to make that happen, and yet I’ve never heard a single comic say their reason to perform is for the crowd to have a good time.

I’m reminded of a Jeff Altman joke. (Trigger Warning: he said it in the early 80s and it’s not especially feminist.) He was talking about the pressure men feel, even when we’re about to lose our virginity, to be good at sex. “Ladies, you don’t have to be good. You just have to be there.” That’s how comics view the audience, as a faceless mob ready, willing and able to accept our brilliance.

I was approached one night after I’d hosted a sausage party by a woman from the crowd who said, “I thought the guys were funny, I just would’ve liked someone I could relate to.” That’s why I think diversity and inclusion on stage are important, not for the sake of the comics, but for the sake of the audience. The stage should reflect the room. Niche clubs with niche crowds can have niche comics, but general clubs with diverse crowds should have diverse comics.

I understand if anyone reads this as, “Ooooh, thank goodness, a middle-aged white man’s take on feminism in standup.” Instead, I hope people can see me not for what I have between my legs- I’m up here, thank you very much- but as an avid fan of standup and supporter of diversity. To give credit where it’s due, I do think that comics of any minority are striking a blow against norms simply by being on stage. They may inspire others of their kind in the audience to give standup a try themselves. Meanwhile, the last thing I want to do is inspire white guys to try. We don’t need encouragement.

It was a wonderful night at Maffia Comedy Club this summer. I’m there often, working as host, and there can be nights when it feels like a job, when I have to pull out every trick I have just to get the crowd to unfold their arms and do more than crack smiles. This wasn’t one of those nights. The crowd felt warm before I took the stage, they liked everything I had to say, they liked everything everyone had to say in the first half. Easy money and fun besides.

Then it was time for the break. As I stood in the entrance, people from the crowd filed past me to get to the bar, and one guy stopped to talk to me. “Great show!” he said. Immediately followed by, “Why don’t YOU do standup?”

I knew right away what he meant. There was nothing mean-spirited or ironic about the question. In fact, it was, oddly, a compliment. “You’re really funny, why aren’t you a comic?”

Musing on the difference between hosting and performing is hardly a new subject for me, but this particular incident gave me a new perspective on previous thoughts. While I’ve complained about comics getting more attention from the crowd than the host, the truth is that I’ve had just as many compliment me after hosting as they have after doing sets. It’s just the nature of the beast to be complimented as a comic when I do a set and as a host when I host.

I think the reason I reflect so much on the difference between host and comics is that, when I host, I feel like an outsider. I share the stage with the comics on the lineup, but I’m not one of them. It’s not even my job to be funny. I just need to hold the show together and keep the crowd warm for the actually funny people on the lineup to do their jobs.

I’ve heard it said that it’s worse to have an okay gig than to bomb and that the best you can expect from hosting is an okay gig. While I see the truth in that and also that it’s not the host’s job to be funny, it’s still a reductive way of thinking. A few weeks ago, during yet another Maffia hosting gig, something distracted me while I opened the show. I fumbled, briefly, but recovered quickly enough that I doubt anyone noticed. It wasn’t until I left the stage that I understood what the distraction was: I’d forgotten to say half the things I usually say when I open a show. I didn’t have to. The crowd was lit and ready to have a good time and didn’t need me to tell them to laugh at jokes.

With a goal of doing as little as possible as host to ensure a good night, with a mindset that I should get out of the comics’ way as fast as I can, it’s no wonder that I’m not as visible as the others on the lineup. I’m always cognizant of hypocrisy and would never let myself become a host who thinks the show is all about him. I can’t tell the crowd, “Never mind me, check out these comics!” and also whine that they don’t see me as one of the comics.

What am I saying? I’m Swedish. I can always complain.

Sometimes, I wonder aloud despite knowing the answer. “I feel like I should say something,” I said.

“You don’t need to be the joke police,” replied my kid. Which made me laugh, not just because it was a funny retort. One of my quirks is that I enjoy imagining conversations before they happen, if they ever do, and when I’d imagined this particular confrontation, it began with me saying, “Hey, I don’t mean to be the joke police or anything, but…”

At issue was that I had recently seen a comic perform a meme several times. There’s parallel thinking – where you simply get the exact same idea as someone else – and cryptomnesia – where you get an ‘original’ idea, forgetting that you’d heard it somewhere else – but I didn’t think either applied here. It was a large block of text that this comic was reciting word-for-word. There was no way they didn’t know they’d stolen the joke.

Or maybe I was wrong? It happens a few times a year. I was 99% sure I’d seen that exact text shared on Facebook multiple times, but maybe I was imagining things yet again. A quick Google search turned up not just the original meme, but fucking t-shirts. The comic was using a stolen joke and now I was itching to say something.

Being firmly (and likely finally) in a nihilism phase of comedy has its benefits. Every time I asked myself, “Should I say something?” the answer was a firm, “Why bother?” I’ve blogged long ago about cost/benefit, investment/return. How should I approach this? Be aggressive? “Stop doing that joke or I’ll punch you in the face.” Obviously not. “Stop or I’ll expose you.” It wasn’t even a joke stolen from me. I cared enough that it bugged me, but that’s not saying much. I know others would care even less.

I often say that one of the million reasons I love standup is that we get a relatively tiny amount of our lives on a stage where we can say anything we want, be anyone we want. This comic chooses to use their limited time to get laughs from a stolen joke. Call it komedy karaoke. What would be the outcome of me confronting them, even in a polite way? “Thank you so much, O Wise One, I now see the error of my ways”?

We all have our influences, but I know another comic who is basically a cover act of an established comedian. The jokes are original but the stage presence, delivery, even use of certain phrases are all copies. It’s like they went to ChatGPT and said, “Give me an original set in the style of so-and-so but, you know, not nearly as funny.” If it was someone who was just starting out I’d probably look the other way, but they’ve been around long enough for me to say to them, “This thing you’re doing, it may have been a crutch when you started but now it’s an anchor keeping you from ever finding your actual voice.” I would say that to them if I understood why I should bother.

I remember a comic who had a joke that went something like, “I heard someone say, ‘Having sex with her was like having sex with a dead fish.’ Couldn’t they’ve said, ‘Having sex with her was like having sex with a dead person’? Why involve fish?” I was standing next to him a club one night, watching a woman on stage who then did his joke, word for word. We looked at each other and my eyes said, “What the fuck?” He smiled and his shrug said, “What are you going to do?” I find myself in a what-are-you-going-to-do frame of mind, even when I sometimes hear my jokes coming out of someone else’s mouth. I can always write new jokes, although I must admit I get a little self-conscious when we’re in the same club. Makes me a little less likely to say something on stage I actually care about, for fear that it will be taken, unconsciously or otherwise.

Even if I wanted to act as a comedy guru, it’s not like I’m in much of a position to do so. Career-wise, that is. I do alright but I don’t have my own club, I don’t perform in many places or grind or bother with the TikToks and the whatnots. Certainly I know my shit but I can’t and don’t expect anyone to look at me as any kind of authority. I’m also less motivated these days to help others, but that’s a big enough topic for a future entry here, so I’ll just leave it at that for now.

If comics choose to perform karaoke instead of original material, who am I to say boo? I might start wearing one of those t-shirts to the clubs, though.