What's up with that?
◊ Stand-up comedians usually go for the same few topics: "Hey, I'm ugly!," "Hey, I have low self-esteem!," "Hey, relationships are weird!," "Hey, people of my ethnicity are funny!," and "Hey, my family is crazy!," with the occasional cheap shots about politicians and STDs.
(By the way, do not sleep with people who laugh at STD jokes. But the people whose mouths get all thin and who don't laugh? Sleep with them. They know what they're doing. Just pack plenty of rubbers and wash thoroughly afterward.)
The traditional comedy topics don't really apply to me. I'm hot as the day is long and, as you might've guessed from that statement, my self-esteem's just dandy. None of my long- or short-term relationships has involved barnyard animals, calls to the police, hysterical fights or chasing anyone around with a butcher knife who hadn't politely asked for it first. I don't particularly care whether a toilet seat is left up or down so long as it's not covered in pubes, and I'm not obsessed with shopping, playing mind games, being frantically jealous, or any of the standard relationship-related comedy fodder. My family is white, white, white, so I'm only allowed to mock Caucasians, and they're plain boring.
My family is definitely crazy, but they tend to be crazy in a way that involves a bunch of people with clipboards suggesting therapy and many, many pills to be taken several times per day. While loony antics can be occasionally funny to those involved, they tend to look pretty grim to those on the outside and probably wouldn't go over so well with the two-drink-minimum crowd. Few people see the humor involved in chasing one's psychotic sister around and around the kitchen room table, trying to talk her into going to someplace with too-bright lights, easily washed surfaces and lots of people who wear pajamas all day and aren't allowed cigarettes or shoelaces.
This leaves political comedy — which requires too much in the way of critical thinking, buying newspapers and watching TV stations where white-haired, suited men at desks say boring things into microphones — and novelty comedy. I can't do silly voices, I can't do impersonations and the self-esteem I mentioned bars me from ever going near a ventriloquist's dummy. If I do live comedy, I'm going to have to do something different.
So I've figured it out: it'll have to be strip stand-up. The unfunniest blonde joke in the world couldn't bomb if I were shaking my naked ta-tas at the crowd, and good pole-dancing technique could offset even the lamest observational comedy. The pay would be better, the crowds would be more appreciative and the stage would be much better lit. If anyone heckled me I'd lie to security and tell them the heckler had tried to cop a free feel and he or she would be frog-marched out the door by burly bouncers.
The best part is, you know damn well other comedians wouldn't steal my material. I mean, can you imagine Drew Carey or Jerry Seinfeld telling jokes in a G-string?