Comedian ANT is your guide through the shark-infested waters of stand-up comedy.

Be the comic who shows up ready, delivers the goods, thanks everyone, leaves no mess, and follows up with class. That’s how you build a reputation.

Every comedian has a “process.” Some meditate. Some free-write. Some stare into the abyss until it blinks first. My process? It’s what I like to call structured procrastination with a punchline.

Let me guess: You crack a joke at dinner and your kids give you that look. You know the one. The “Wow, Dad, please stop” look.

Don’t let it fool you. You’re funnier than you think. Your family just has immunity—like comedy vaccine boosters.

So, you’ve fallen head over heels for stand-up comedy. You’ve stood under the harsh glow of a single spotlight, told jokes to five strangers (and two of them laughed!), and now your Notes app is a graveyard of punchlines and half-formed setups.

You’ve caught the bug. And now comes the next terrifying challenge: telling your family.

You might be too fabulous. You might be too interesting. You might have too many hilarious life stories that younger comics would kill for. But too old? Nah.

Let me tell you something right out of the gate: every crappy job you’ve ever had is a comedy goldmine. You may not realize it now, but one day you’ll look back and say, “That humiliation paid my rent in laughs.”

So you’ve decided to dive into stand-up comedy. Congrats, you delightful masochist! You’ve found the one profession where emotional trauma is a resume booster. And now you’re standing in the back of a dark open mic, nervously clutching a notebook filled with half-thoughts and doodles that may or may not be punchlines…

So what’s a quick-witted, stage-starved comic to do when the gigs dry up and the landlord doesn’t accept “exposure” as payment? Here's my guide to side hustles for comics who want to survive the slow seasons without selling their soul or their self-respect.

If you’re feeling the icy grip of panic as you wait to grab the mic, congratulations — you’re alive, and you care. That fear is not the enemy. But letting it own you? That we’re not doing. Here's how to deal with stage fright like the professional funny person you're becoming.

If you're reading this, you're probably wondering how to get more than five minutes in the back of a pizza place at midnight. Well, buckle up, baby, because I’ve got the inside scoop.

Comedy isn’t just about being funny. It’s about being brave, resilient, and just a little nuts (in the best way). If you’ve got the heart, I promise you can build the rest.

Look at you. Sitting there, reading a blog post written by a fabulous gay man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, wondering if you’ve got what it takes to do stand-up comedy. First of all—good taste. Second—maybe.

Great question. I’ve asked myself this very thing—usually right after bombing in a bar show next to a Golden Tee machine while a drunk guy yells “YOU SUCK, ELLEN!” (I mean… thank you?).

Alright, buckle up, buttercups! We’re diving into a comedy controversy hotter than my aunt’s chardonnay breath at Thanksgiving: Is crowd work considered standup?

Look, not every joke is gonna be a winner. Some jokes just aren’t meant to live past their first awkward chuckle—or worse, that silent vacuum where laughter should be but instead, you just hear your own self-esteem shattering like a glass dropped in a nightclub bathroom.