Auto Tune and Other Crimes Against Comedy

Survivor: Comedy Club Edition

I grew up shy, but funny — a deadly combo. Once I warm up to people (and we’re talking a very select few), I basically become their own personal stand-up comedian. Not to toot my own horn or anything…but toot toot. My humor is the quick, dry, off-the-cuff kind. I thrive in conversation — tossing in callbacks and obscure references like it’s a sport. Somewhere along the way, I learned how to wield my voice like a weapon: pauses, inflections, dramatic storytelling. Total crowd-pleaser.

And yet — I’ve been told I’m “not funny.” Worse, that I don’t find things funny. Which is wild, because I’m constantly trying not to wheeze-laugh at the dumbest stuff. I know I’m funny. My friends tell me that’s one of the best things about me — that I make them laugh when they didn’t know they needed to. It’s honestly my favorite form of magic. There’s nothing better than laughing until you cry and then laughing even harder.

But I’ve come to realize…I just don’t share the same humor as the person telling me I’m not funny. And I’ve thought about this a lot. Like, I’ll make a callback to something they said five minutes ago — peak comedic timing, if I may say so — and they just blink at me like I’m speaking Morse code.

Case in point: last weekend they brought me to a comedy show. And folks, I left with absolute clarity: my humor is alive and well.

Now, I didn’t grow up watching stand-up specials or anything. But I did grow up around a big, weird, hilarious family full of characters. The three comedians I have watched and loved? Donald Glover, Adam Sandler (whom I’ve always referred to as my dad — emotionally, not legally), and John Mulaney. And my holy trinity of sitcoms? New Girl, Arrested Development, and 30 Rock. So yeah — I know good humor when I see it. Even if its basic. And I know when something’s just…chaotic karaoke with a large audience.

I won’t name the headliner. I think my description will do the work. And to be clear, this isn’t a “bash” piece — more like an “I had questions” ask all.

The opener? Hilarious. Total standout. High energy, great crowd work, self-aware, and knew when to exit with grace. I was dying laughing. I actually wished he had been the main act.

Then comes the headliner. Trots onstage like a TikTok ringmaster, cameraman in tow. First thing he does? Auto-tune ON. Beelines into the crowd. I’m confused but open-minded. I figure, “Okay — maybe this is how he warms up the room.” Fair. But then it keeps going. And going. He’s asking people questions and…not actually looking at them. Like, he holds the mic to their face, but stares directly into the camera while responding. It’s like the audience is a prop in his vlog.

This goes on for a third of the show.

I started fading. The audience was doing all the heavy lifting. It felt like an improv class where the teacher never showed up, so the students just kept shouting things until someone laughed. He’d react with a face, a run, or an “oh shiiiit” — rinse, repeat.

Then came the weird couples’ segment. He talked to three pairs before landing on his ideal awkward target. The woman sat on a stool, and the man was told to whisper “dirty things” to her (and the audience) and to walk a certain way. It was all downhill from there. You could feel their discomfort. And we weren’t laughing with them — we were laughing at them. I don’t like when comedy makes me feel like I need to wash my soul. There’s a fine line between edgy and just…ick.

Eventually he let them go and pulled out his guitar. I braced myself.

He started singing dirty versions of kids’ songs — groundbreaking stuff like “what if the Twinkle Twinkle Little Star but hornier?” I wish I was kidding. The rewriting was predictable and lousy- nothing like Bo Burnham. Then he pivoted into an “R&B songs all have the same three chords” bit. In 2025. Sir…we’ve been there. We’ve lived there. It was less “joke” and more “PowerPoint presentation for a dorm lounge.”

And just when I thought we’d hit the low point — nope. He announces he wants to try a new part of his set…that “needs more crowd work.” I laughed, thinking he was being ironic. He was not. Auto-tune returns. He runs back into the crowd. Audience finishes his lyrics (which he is reading from his phone) like it’s America’s Got Trauma.

Then, plot twist: before the show started, there was a QR code where the audience could submit dirty talk. He picks someone to read it aloud. This girl, who he claims looks “so innocent,” declines. (Smart.) He tries three more times to get her to read it. The crowd gets…weirdly annoyed. Like, how dare she not humiliate herself for our entertainment?

Thankfully, she stood her ground. But the next girl leaned in and said something like, “Well I don’t have a problem reading it.” Girl. Please. Read the room. This crowd was unhinged. He goes to about 6 people.

The show ended with a goodbye song, and I left with a renewed sense of self. Not because I was inspired — because I survived.

I am beside myself that this man gets paid to not provide or prepare his own material. That every night he relies on the audience.

Remember when I said the first third of the show is talking to the audience with auto tune? That is what he uses to promote himself. That is why he is so focused on giving the camera attention, and not his audience.

Nothing about this show sat right with me. However, this has made me want to go see more comedy shows… to cleanse myself.