The Last Last Comic Standing
By Myq Kaplan
I auditioned for Last Comic Standing last year, which was the last year that Last Comic Standing was standing. I’m still standing, and Last Comic Standing stands no longer. So I won. Here’s how.
I wanted a scheduled audition time, as opposed to having to stand in line, out in the rain and cold for days, with no guarantee of getting in. They coordinate the auditions with the weather to make sure there’s as much footage of people being as miserable as possible.
Years ago, for the first year of the show’s existence, I went to the open call in Boston, and a bunch of my friends and colleagues got to line up inside a heated building where the Comedy Connection was located. We had a grand old time waiting comfortably indoors.
That was the final year they did auditions in Boston, because people who are happy and warm don’t make for great reality television. In later seasons, they would just take footage of homeless people; saying they were aspiring comedians waiting for their shot. Those images were win-win, because some of the homeless are prettier than the actual auditioners, so comedians benefit from this superior image being ascribed to them; plus, now the homeless folks score a TV credit which can help get them booked at the fancier soup kitchens.
In any event, I didn’t want to wait in a line of ugly comedians and beautiful homeless people.So, I called my manager and asked if she could get me a booked audition to circumvent the line.
“You don’t want to be on this show,” she said.
“I know,” I said, “can you help me get on it?”
She said, “Of course,” because we’re both professionals.
A producer from the show told my manager that they were especially looking for musical acts this year, and as I have played a guitar in my act at times, they said to bring it along and play some music for them. I also saw on Craigslist that they were looking for wacky firefighters, wacky postal workers, wacky pizza delivery guys – anyone wacky who wanted to be on television to represent the reality that all kinds of wacky people want to be on television. But I wasn’t any of those things. I was a comedian with integrity. And a guitar.
Despite any reservations I had, I showed up, guitar in hand, dreams in heart, reality in absentia. Why not play the game? What is there to lose, other than self-respect? And the respect of others. And a day of my life, of which every day is precious.
My first round of auditioning was two minutes in front of two producers from the show. This was perfect. I had experience performing successfully for sixty minutes in front of audiences of sixty, an identical ratio to the current situation, a formula for comedic success. These producers would determine whether they wanted me to audition on camera in front of the celebrity judges later. I told my jokes, I played a funny song, and after two minutes, they said, “Great! Come back in the afternoon for the next round!” (I don’t remember specifically if those exclamation points were there in reality, but I view the world with rose-colored punctuation.)
And come back I did; to perform the same two minutes that had wowed those exclamatory producers earlier, aiming now to wow Steve Schirripa of HBO’s The Sopranos fame-ishness!
And perform I did, for about five seconds, at which point Mr. Schirripa stopped me.
The joke that caused this now-infamous (“infamous” means “not famous,” right?) encounter with destiny in the form of Bobby Baccalieri on this fateful day. I mean, I’m sure that anyone reading this magazine has an encyclopedic knowledge of all things stand-up comedy, but just for the sake of completeness, for the annals of history, in case future generations are not fully versed in the Last Comic Standing archives, here is the joke: (Keep in mind, of course, the delivery here, in writing, will not be identical to the delivery as it existed under more ideal circumstances: in person, in a comedy club, in front of two grouchy celebrities who were pretending to be reading a book when I came up to the stage, as though they weren’t expecting to see anyone, even though that’s the very reason they were there.)
“I was on a plane, and there was this baby that was screaming the whole time... because I was punching it.”
That’s as far as I got. The joke is meant to make you think I am COMPLAINING about someone’s out of control baby crying on a plane, a very common topic one might expect to hear on the subject of airline jokes, but in fact, I was not complaining about a baby who was crying for some reason beyond my control, but rather I was the SOURCE of this baby’s very crying! A totally different, unexpected joke!
Mr. Schirripa stopped me before the joke could continue with other hilarious misdirections. And why? I could have accepted if it were for some reason like, “A comedian telling a joke about flying? Heard it,” in which case I could respond, “But don’t you understand that that’s the very attitude I’m trying to exploit and subvert?” or some other meta-analytical genius. But that was NOT the reason. He said, and I quote “I don’t like jokes about punching babies.”
You don’t like jokes about punching babies? But you do like television shows about killing EVERYBODIES. I wish I had said that then, but unfortunately, my witty retort came to me too late for that moment. But not too late for this one, readers. Enjoy!
And when you’re done savoring, let’s get back to our tale of woe. Or redemption, I forget which. So, I was dispatched, nowhere close to being the last comic standing, nor the penultimate comedian teetering, but one of the middle comics fallen. Fine. To be expected. No skin off my nose, or hair off my back, or anything off my anything. All my everythings remained intact. My life continued.
Fast forward to the premiere of the Last Comic Standing season in question, which I did not watch. But after it aired, I started getting emails and messages, all with the same basic themes of “Why did that happen? They shouldn’t have treated you like that. That joke was funny. I hate babies!”
Apparently, my segment had aired in a montage of “Things Not to Do at your Audition,” specifically in the category of “Don’t do ‘baby jokes’!” They showed my three seconds on stage, along with a few other people who had dared to utter the forbidden word “baby” (also in the context of fine jokes that do not actually endorse or condone child abuse). They had set us up!
Even though I had expected to be lied to and used, I can’t believe I was lied to and used!
And to reiterate what I haven’t yet said, I’m not saying everyone has to love my joke. Different jokes for different folks and all. But please have legitimate reasons for what you like and dislike. Saying “I don’t like jokes with babies in them” is like saying “I don’t like paintings with blue in them” (or perhaps “black and blue” would be a more appropriate parallel) or “I don’t like meals with the food cut into triangles because triangles are sharp and pointy and can hurt babies.” Everyone’s tastes are different, and that’s fine, but have sensible reasons why. You are certainly free to not enjoy whatever you like (as logically difficult as that sounds), but just be thoughtful about it. Especially on reality television, which society turns to for sensibility and thinking.
I may not have come across looking perfect on Last Comic Standing, but Last Comic Standing doesn’t come across looking perfect in life. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, so I must be on the right path in life! Sure, I may not be a star like the beautiful homeless people and wacky firefighters, but they did have to pay me a lot of money to use my footage. Money that they could have used to keep their show going (I understand the economy!). And that’s why Last Comic Standing is standing down at last. Meaningless victory for the little guy over Big Comedy! (Or is it over Big Reality? Big Comedic Reality? Real Big Comedy? No big deal.)
So the joke is on you, Last Comic Standing. I got the last laugh. And the first laugh, and most of the laughs in between, because I’m the one who wrote this. What did YOU write, Last Comic Standing? What’s that? No answer? Because you’re not still standing and I am? (Actually sitting, but metaphorically it still works.) Redemption! (“Redemption” means “the end,” right?)
Myq Kaplan is a comedian working out of Boston and New York. Visit MyqKaplan.com or godzillionaire.blogspot.com.