Creating a Comic

Remember when I said that two-percenter jokes work on TV, but not in stand-up comedy? Oops! Turns out I was wrong — there is a way to work them into a stand-up act.

To refresh, a two-percenter is a joke that only a tiny portion of the audience will get. While that tiny portion will think that it’s hilarious — like a joke told just for them, personally — everyone else will just kind of sit there scratching their head.¹ That’s why it’s usually a recipe for disaster in stand-up comedy. But I recently stumbled upon a way to squeeze one into an act.

A two-percenter can work in stand-up if you immediately tag it by making fun of the people who understood the joke. They won’t care, because it reinforces the fact that they’re special. Meanwhile, everyone else gets to laugh, too.

About a month back, I thought of a joke tag while I was jogging that actually made me laugh out loud, ending in a coughing fit. I don’t crack myself up very often, so I knew I had to try it at the next open mic. It’s a very, very short tag and a textbook two-percenter: it only works if you know the meaning of transubstantiation — a highly technical Roman Catholic religious term which even puzzles most Catholics.

Aside from the title, Dead Air has
nothing to do with this post. I just
have a mancrush on Iain Banks.

Seeking an insurance policy on the obscure joke, I decided to immediately follow it with a joke about its obscurity, paired with a universally-accessible reference to priest pedophilia. That part always gets a laugh. (Take that as you will.)

There’s a downside to this tricky comedy maneuver. Unless you get a lucky hit, like one or two boisterous people in the audience who (a) get the obscure joke and (b) don’t mind being the only ones in the room laughing — a super rare combo — then you’re going to get some dead air after the two-percenter. You need to have the confidence to withstand it² and press on.

Think of the two-percenter as a setup to the next punchline. Then you won’t care if nobody laughs — after all, it’s just the setup.

I would also caution against using this strategy during short sets of, say, under 10 minutes (not including open mic, where anything goes). The disharmony of a two-percenter is out of place in a five minute set, which should build momentum from start to finish. And definitely don’t fill your act with two-percenters — use them sparingly, if at all. Otherwise you’re just being Dennis Miller.

1. See this earlier entry on two-percenters for more, including examples. [↩]
2. The other night I was rusty and bungled my opening bit, which flustered me. I hadn’t lost the audience, exactly, but when I proceeded to the two-percenter and got the dead air, it flustered me even more — even though I was expecting it! It took me another full minute to bring the audience back around. By then I had gotten the light… [↩]

Como estan, beetches? Nice to see you again.

I’m working on several new posts, but none of them are quite ready for prime time. Here’s a preview of what I’ll be talking about in the coming days:

• How to work a two-percenter into an act — Remember how I said that two-percenters are strictly for TV? Oops!

• What is a bit vs a joke? — Stand-up acts are comprised of both bits and standalone jokes, and the distinction is subtle.
• Untitled Facebook rant — I have something to say about Facebook, though I’m not quite sure what. But that’s never stopped me before.

I realize that my recent archives are filled with posts on the backstage politics of stand-up comedy, a not-entirely-fascinating topic that I’d like to move away from for a while. Until, of course, the next petty slight sends me crying back to the Internet. But for now: craft!

Finally, I want to thank everyone who has been bugging me with “when are you going to post to the blog again?” I am being absolutely sincere when I say this. For a long time, this place was just me holding my junk and shouting into the wilderness–so it’s tremendously gratifying, and motivating, to know that people are reading. Thank you!

Regular content will resume next week. Thanks for continuing to read!

I really enjoyed Conan’s final Tonight Show, especially his parting message (embedding disabled, unfortunately, or I’d include it here). I fully endorse the thoughtful posts that my friends Andrew and Eva made on the subject.

(NOTE: In yesterday’s post, I talked about an entry level job I once had at UPS, and how the outrageously high employee turnover kept employees from being accepted, among their co-workers, until they had been around for a while. The situation with stand-up comedians is much the same. This is part two; here’s part one.)

The best social advice I can offer to a new comedian is to just accept that you’re going to be ignored for a while. A new comic is like the kid who transfers, mid-year, to a new high school across the country. You’re walking into a situation with an established social hierarchy, strangers who have all known each other for years, and cutthroat competition for, well, everything.

Understand that for the time being, nobody is going to pay attention to you, nobody cares what you have to say, and nobody is going to remark upon your unparalleled comedic genius.¹ It’s not fair, but at least it’s not personal — so try not to take it that way! It’s not even hazing, exactly. It’s just that veteran comedians have seen hundreds of aspiring comics walk through the same front doors — just once, or a few times, or a dozen times — only to disappear and never be seen again.

During those initial months at open mic, patience is your best friend. Bide your time for a while and I promise that you’ll start to make real friends, and eventually become a welcomed part of the community.

Like monkeys grooming each other

The scene offstage at a comedy club resembles nothing more than a bunch of monkeys grooming each other in accordance to a strict social hierarchy.

Here’s a typical scene from last week that illustrates the goofiness I’m talking about. Before open mic there was a group of comics standing around and talking, a group that included the club’s top-seniority professional comedian, several medium-seniority comics, and one or two relative newcomers to the group of regulars (like me).

Backstage at open mic

A young but veteran comic enters. He’s been doing comedy for about three years, and is just below the very top rung of seniority at this particular club. He’s friends with some of the other medium-seniority guys, with whom he went to school, but that doesn’t matter; he walks right past all of them until he’s standing directly in front of the high-seniority pro. He then started making very generic chit-chat with the pro about the Conan/Leno late night situation. They joked about it back and forth, with the rest of us occasionally pitching in with little conversational assists.

Now, the young veteran could have talked about the Leno/Conan situation with any of us — including the comics he was friends with from college. So why did he go out of his way to specifically address just the pro? Because the latter was the Alpha of the group, and the topic of conversation itself was just a pretext.²

While all this was happening, a new kid who just started coming to open mic was on the periphery of the conversation circle. He’s a nice guy, pretty funny, lots of potential, etc. He kept trying to jump in and offer his comments — and for the most part, his contributions were ignored.

It’s not like the new guy’s comments were stupid or anything. No, his basic mistake was in thinking that the topic of conversation actually mattered. But what we were talking about really couldn’t have mattered less. The point was simply the face time with each other, reinforcing our respective places in the pecking order through the social conventions of small talk and teasing. The new guy was going to be ignored no matter what, even if he came up with an earth-shatteringly funny new joke about the situation. If everyone’s mouths had been tied shut with duct tape, we probably would have gone through the same social rituals by sniffing each others’ balls or something.

Remember, it’s not personal

Put in the time, treat open mic with respect, and others will eventually take notice. Be patient. Don’t try too hard to be the center of attention. And most importantly, keep showing up.

1. Of course, very little of this applies if you’re a female who is even slightly attractive. Male comedians are just as hilariously pathetic as every other type of male — arguably moreso, in fact — and because cute girls are such a demographic rarity among comics, they are slathered with attention, advice, and opportunities. I’m sure this raises its own unique set of problems — problems which I am spectacularly unqualified to address. [↩]
2. Later on that same evening, I found myself doing something similar. The group was a little smaller now, and the aforementioned second banana was now the top dog. Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself looking right at him and starting another generic conversation about something I knew he was interested in. [↩]