Chat Room Comedian

Entertaining chronically ill kids

I’ve had some unusual gigs in my two decades as a stand up comedian; performing dressed as a fly while standing in a dumpster in San Francisco, being the only able bodied comedian on a tour for comedians with disabilities, or being flown to Shanghai, China on 4 days notice to judge a comedy competition and perform in the First International China Comedy Festival.
But perhaps the oddest booking was the time I was contracted to perform a stand up set in a chat room for teenagers suffering from chronic illness.
My friend Danielle came up with the idea while working her shift as moderator in the chat room. She called me up to pitch her idea, explaining that these were young people with illnesses that frequently prevented them from participating in normal social activities. The organization behind the chat room would set up virtual game nights, they’d synchronize streaming movies at home, and she wanted to try and bring them their first live comedy night. She asked if it was something I’d be willing to try, and I didn't have to think twice. I was in.

I have a chronic illness myself, ulcerative colitis, but I'm one of the lucky ones whose only real symptom is having to swallow a lot of pills every day, and having to maintain medical insurance to afford said pills.

I suggested my comedian friend Michael O'connell to open the show. He too has a chronic illness, muscular dystrophy, which sees him operating out of a wheelchair. Michael and I have put in some time on the road together so we have a good rapport. I thought we made an especially good lineup for this particular venue.

I was not sure at all how this would work. Everything I do as a comedian is based on an exchange of energy back and forth with the audience; getting the laughter going and then sneaking under it and bumping it at just the right moment to keep it rolling, again and again, as long as you can keep it afloat. How would I do this without seeing or hearing my audience! Adding Michael to the bill wasn’t all generosity. Watching him go first, I could adjust my approach according to his successes and bombs.

I logged in about 10 minutes early and right away started getting many hellos from the kids, excited to have me there. I joked around with them and with Danielle for awhile, she was there to moderate and serve as our emcee. One of the kids mentioned a comedy competition where you could end up opening for Pauly Shore in Vegas. I typed "Oh cool. I wonder what the winner gets!" I got a string of "LOL"s and "Ha ha"s. This was my first hint that there would be real time feedback after all.

Michael logged in and Danielle blocked the kids from posting, just long enough to do an intro and get the show started. She laid some ground rules, asking the kids not to have side conversations during the show. This was the chat room show version of asking the audience to turn off their cell phones and keep table chat to a minimum. I could only hope their parents would be making the rounds, taking their orders for drinks and nachos. She gave Michael a generous introduction and the show began.

Michael cracked 'em up with tales of the old days of chat rooms, him being an internet veteran. As he hit send on each joke, there’d be a pause, and then a string of “HA”, “LOL”, and “LMAO” would appear. The more hyperbolic the anagrams and the longer the string, the better the joke had done. And just like offline comedy, it was vital to give each joke time to elicit a response, and not type over the laughter.

Michael mentioned his wheelchair and it turned out several of the kids were using chairs as well or had in the past. They were really digging his jokes, and things seemed to be going well. I was surprised at how quickly it started to feel like a regular comedy show. He did his usual closer, pointing out to the audience how much they had just enjoyed laughing at the disabled. He got an impressive run of two, three, and four letter accolades letting him know he’d killed.

Danielle listed off a few of my credits, which might make the kids think they’d gotten a bigger star than they’d actually gotten. It wasn’t permitted for her to use our names while introducing us. These were teenagers, and the folks who ran the chat room didn’t want to risk being the starting point to them having contact with adults who hadn’t been properly vetted. I agreed with this decision.

“Please welcome, a very funny guy… Your Headliner!”

I basked in applause emojis before kicking off my set accusing Michael of being a prop comic, using a wheelchair that he found at a thrift store to give him an edge.
I was using a combination of copy and pasting from a script I’d prepared, and typing on the fly to keep me in the moment. This again wasn’t too different from what I normally do onstage, using jokes I’ve written, road tested, rewritten, and mixing in off-the-cuff crowd work and ad libs to keep things feeling live, and not like I was reciting.

It was like stand up comedy as a video game, trying to cut up my lines and put just enough words, then give just the right amount of time and again posting just the right amount of words to mimic the timing of my stage delivery. It was a lot more fun than I’d expected and amazingly the string of "LOL"s were quite satisfying. I got cocky and threw some new stuff out there. I flubbed a joke by sending the punchline without the set up, resulting in a non sequitur. “Ooops” I typed upon realizing my mistake.

A few of the kids gave me sass. “Danielle, you sure you got a pro?” “Maybe he had a gig so he’s letting his mom fill in.” Any good video game throws in new challenges as you advance. Now I had hecklers to zap.

Damn, I’m dying here.” I observed. “No… wait… that’s you guys.”
I waited, near panic, worried I’d gone too far.
“LOL”
“LMAO”
“Lulllllzzzzzzzz”
“OMG! ROFL!”

The gallows humor won them back. I figured people dealing with chronic illness had to have a sense of humor about it and the risk paid off. I riffed on my struggles with ulcerative colitis, including my unfortunate familiarity with colonoscopies. Several of them were able to relate. I pointed out the silver lining, having photos of my colon to hand out at shows signed, "Wish You Were Here."

I rode the line a bit, pushing what was acceptable, knowing I could count on Danielle to reign me in if I got close to going over, and she did just that. I joked that marijuana's reported symptom of paranoia may have to do with the fact that we keep arresting people for it. Once it’s legal, that symptom might just go away. I tagged this with "Hell, masturbation makes you paranoid if you live with your parents."

The sex and drugs joke earned me a gentle rebuke from Danielle via direct message. I promised to step it back. I closed strong, and said goodnight. It had gone well enough that I felt bummed not to be able to hawk my merch afterwards. 

A few of the kids subverted the rules and found me online after Googling my jokes, some of which have been shared as memes, or tweets. It was flattering to have been tracked down.

A few years later the COVID 19 pandemic hit and as comedy moved online I felt uniquely prepared to roll with it. Sure, I missed the comedy clubs and the drink tickets I’d exchange for free ginger-ale, and being awkwardly hit on by couples of small town swingers looking to bring a comedian home, but telecommuting to my gigs while sitting in my living room in my cozy slippers was a fair trade off.

Live in person or online, what crowd is ever going to be as appreciative as a bunch of kids whose illnesses prevent them from getting out to live entertainment? I’ve elicited all kinds of laughs, guffaws, and groans from all kinds of crowds, but a string of LOLs and LMAOs from these kids will forever be amongst my favorite payoffs.