Corporate gigs are the glamorous cousin of stand-up. Same job (make strangers laugh), different setting (ballroom carpet that looks like it was designed by a committee of migraines).

For up-and-coming comedians, campus shows can be a cheat code: big rooms, built-in audiences, and a real pipeline if you don’t treat it like spring break with a microphone.

You can absolutely make it — yes, you — but only if you’re willing to show up with humility, discipline, and that unstoppable spark that made you fall in love with comedy in the first place.

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.

Recording every set isn’t harsh. It’s hopeful.
It’s a declaration that you want to grow, evolve, and get funnier faster.

Maxi Witrak didn’t grow by playing it safe — she embraced her horse-girl identity and turned it into her brand. A niche isn’t a limitation; it’s a magnet. When you claim your lane boldly, audiences connect faster and stay longer.

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.

Every comic hears it at some point: “We can’t pay you, but it’s great exposure!” Exposure? Honey, I’ve been exposed before — mostly to the flu — and it wasn’t that great.

Comedy and drag share the same secret: stage presence isn’t about ego. It’s about generosity. It’s saying, “You gave me your attention, and I’m going to make it worth it.”

Start thinking of yourself not just as a comedian—but as a comedy consultant. Your comedic talent isn’t just for the stage—it’s a toolkit that businesses, wedding parties, and overconfident executives desperately need.

Whether you’re a new comic staring at an open mic list or a seasoned pro rebuilding after a material purge, crafting a tight five from scratch can feel like trying to assemble IKEA furniture without the instructions—or the Allen wrench. So let’s fix that.

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.

You need headshots, reels, social media, a LinkedIn you never update—and yes, a website. Welcome to showbiz in the age of Wi-Fi, darling.

Stand-up comedy is a bizzare career. It’s equal parts art, therapy, improv, and chaos with a mic. When you start, you think it’s all about being funny — and sure, that’s the goal. But along the way, you’ll discover things no one warned you about.

Open mics are wild. They’re part performance, part group therapy, and part fever dream hosted in the back of a brewery with one working mic and a light controlled by someone named Devin. But here’s the secret: they’re also incredible.

Ah, the age-old question that haunts every open micer as they sip their two-drink minimum: Will I ever make money doing this? Short answer? Yes. Longer, more honest answer? Yes, but probably not how you think.

Hello, my little laugh-seekers! Today we’re talking about a topic that’s near and dear to my heart—handling critics. Oh, and by “critics,” I mean anyone who thinks they have an opinion worth listening to but wouldn’t know talent if it tap-danced naked on their front lawn.

Ah, hecklers. The human equivalent of a speed bump on the road to comedy greatness. You’re up there, giving the people laughter, joy, and a reason to put down their phones for five minutes, and BOOM—some dude named Chad, three drinks in, decides he’s the real star of the show.

For us comedians, YouTube is a double-edged sword—a stage that’s always open, but one that’s forever unforgiving. So, should you put your act on YouTube? Let’s break it down, honey.

You’re in it for the love, right? The applause, the craft, the chance to have strangers cackle at your pain. But let’s not kid ourselves—you’re also wondering, when do I start making money doing this?