Men Explain Things to Me: Comedy

No, please. Tell me more about what I don't know.

Many women are familiar with the term “Mansplaining.”

It’s when men explain things to you rather than ask you questions about whatever it is that they assume you don’t know.

Now, let’s be clear, not every man is a Mansplainer, not every man thinks I’m a dimwit, and certainly not every man is out to get me.

But a man explained comedy to me last night.

After three months of consistently going to the same open mic and trying to get to know as many comedians as I could, this one had no idea I existed.

I walked up to him as he was talking to my roommate at the bar, who had the courage after me peer pressuring her to get on the stage for the first time.

She slayed it by the way.

The Mansplainer was giving her some advice. Then when I joined the conversation, he gave me some advice too.

“You just have to find your voice, you just have to be comfortable in your own skin up there…”

Sound advice, good sir.

Did you know I actually practice my stage presence every day in front of apathetic teenagers?

“Wait, did you get up there tonight?” He asked like a moron.

“Yes, yes I did.” I smiled.

“Oh, congratulations!” Yes, how very bold of me.

“I’m actually here every Friday night, so is she…” I motioned to my roommate, my perpetual groupie and witness to every rough open mic I’ve ever had.

The problem with this situation wasn’t that he asked me these questions, it was that he assumed that I had no idea what I was talking about.

Comedians are known to not pay attention to each other. Hence the uncomfortable silence last night at even my best material.

Comedians aren’t always the most supportive audience members. They sit in large groups in the corners, talk while others are on stage, and have probably heard your jokes before.

They’re not impressed.

The Mansplainer was also not impressed by me. The bulk of our conversation revolved around him explaining improv and comedy schools of thought to me as I smiled and nodded.

I kept waiting for him to actually ask me a question; maybe to find out more about my 6 year comedy experience, running an improv troupe in college, or taking a UCB class last summer. Maybe he’d ask me about my writing. Maybe he’d be interested to know that I write for comedy daily and hardly ever do the same material.

Maybe not.

“That’s the biggest mistake new comics make…doing new material every time. That’s how I started out. Big mistake.”

Oh, really? I’m expected to stick with my same Luke warm material to recite back to you chumps every time and keep playing the same old tune like all of you?

I’m sorry. But I’ve seen your A material. And your B material. And even your C material when you’re feeling bold. It’s the same jokes. On the off-chance that a comedian works out new bits, I listen to them.

Because I like to think I’m not an asshole.

I give them laughs when I can and I make eye contact.

Hence my extreme frustration when Mansplainer did his whole sh-peel. Throughout which I smiled some more, nodded again, and tried not to be too abrasive when I inserted my own knowledge of comedy into our conversation.

I finally got too frustrated with trying to prove myself worthy of comedy to the Mansplainer and moved on to another conversation with a comedian sitting next to him, a fellow teacher.

Now this is where shit got cool.

Me and the teacher comedian talked for easily half an hour as Mansplainer tried to insert his knowledge into a conversation that he clearly knew nothing about.

“So wait, you like go to teacher school?”

“Yep, social studies certified. I teach U.S. History and Geography. High school.”

Boom.

Could it be possible that I was smarter than him in this content area? Could it really be?

I pretty much ignored him for the rest of the night because I was way too excited to talk to another teacher comedian who taught abroad in China and had some really cool insights.

It was so refreshing to feel like we were speaking the same language. And more importantly, that this man was not Mansplaining teaching to me, but rather asking me about my experiences and genuinely listening to what I had to say.

This, my friends, is how you shut down a Mansplainer. Right then and there we successfully turned the tables.

But this is hard to do, especially if you don’t have an advocate. Someone who can stand up for you and point out that you do indeed deserve to be a part of the conversation, and you might actually know a thing or two about the topic at hand.

We should be our own advocates too.

Too often I smile and nod when being talked down too; afraid of hurting someone’s feelings or wrecking my reputation by being honest with someone.

People are shocked that my spunky personality works with high school students and not infants.

People are shocked that despite my youthfulness I have a teaching certificate, Bachelor’s degree, and also drive a car.

The Mansplainer’s eyes went wide when I brightly told him and the teacher that a good day in the classroom was 60% attendance, having a single pencil to loan out, and not having wads of paper fly past my head.

Being a teacher makes me extremely qualified to be a comedian.

I wish more teachers would do it. Who else could relay stories about 5th hour’s daily behavior? Who would tell the story about El Chapo, the classroom plant, or Eli’s fascination with my relationship status?

I’m a teacher, comedian, writer, and lover of cheeses.

I’m a lot of things.

But don’t you dare explain any of them to me.   

How To Not Get Axe Murdered

Every day is a gift.

People have said that your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die.  This, as it turns out, is a lie.  Hollywood smoke and mirrors; a Christmas fable that we choose to believe in because the world is a cruel, cruel place.

Sorry to burst your bubble.

I’m not dead, by the way.  I mean obviously I’m writing this blog post.  And no, I’m not your friendly neighborhood ghost coming back to haunt you for not subscribing to my blog (although that would be way cooler and by the way you totally should).

Nah, just here to enlighten you on what happens when you leave passive-aggressive notes.  Which, just in case you weren’t aware, don’t actually work on sociopaths.

I have this neighbor, okay.  He’s loud, obnoxiously loud.  And I have high suspicions that he is actually a sociopath. 

Exhibit A) He listens to shitty rap music at every odd hour of the night and morning and I never see him in the daylight which makes him not only a sociopath but also a vampire.  With really awful taste in music.

Exhibit B)  He often yells to himself.  Just for funzies.  Just for shit's and gig’s.  Just loud shouting for no particular reason other than to reassure me that he is indeed a crazy person.

Exhibit C) I once heard him listening to police radio on blast for an entire hour during a manhunt for a suspect to a shooting on Colfax.  So that’s normal.

I could ramble off at least a dozen other instances of his insanity that will surely terrify my mother when she reads this.

Hi, Mom. 

But back to the life flashing before my eyes bullshit.

After a particularly frustrating morning of getting zero sleep as a result of my neighbor’s assholery, I had finally drawn a line in the sand.  I wrote a sticky note.  It read,

“Please resist the urge to scream, moan, or listen to loud music between the hours of 11pm and 8am. Thank you.”

I said please and thank you.

I left for work and hoped that he would get the hint and have some respect for the 20 some-odd other humans that have to put up with his shit on a daily basis.

Fast forward to 8pm that night as I was sitting quietly in my apartment grading papers and preparing for another teaching day when Crazy McCrazy Face arrived to his door to find the note.  He went off the handle; running down the halls yelling to someone else that this couldn’t possibly be the property management company and that it was utter bullshit.

He then began banging down my door.  Because it was obviously me.  I had asked him once before to please keep it to a dull roar the night before my half-marathon.  Because it’s kind of hard to obtain REM cycles when you are blasting the newest rendition of “Big Booty Hoe” over there. 

You motherfucker.

So he’s banging on my door.  Banging, banging away.  So much so that a picture frame falls off my wall and onto the floor.

Oh, let me just open the door.  You sound friendly.

No.  Are you fucking kidding me?  I don’t have a death wish, okay? I just want you to stop being an asshole.

I didn’t make a peep.  Instead I retreated to the corner of my kitchen, grabbed a butcher knife, and contemplated the likelihood that I would survive if presented the unique opportunity to jump out my second story window.

As he kept banging I mustered what little strength I had in my lungs and announced to him that I was calling the police.

“911, what’s your location and emergency?” A friendly and calm operator asked.

I gave him my address and told him I was pretty sure I was about to be axe murdered by my vampire/sociopath neighbor.  All for leaving a passive-aggressive sticky note.

This is how I die.

We had a good run.

And oddly no, it wasn’t my childhood memories that passed through my mind in those moments of panic.  No.  I didn’t think about all the trips to Europe I wouldn’t take or about all the happy thoughts I’ve had in this life.

Nope.

Do you want to know what I was really thinking?

1) I have unpaid parking tickets.

2) Wells Fargo is going to be pissed when I defer on my student loans.

3) But thank GOD I had time to watch that one last Nicholas Sparks film.

My practical mind took over and I pictured how inconvenient it would be for my friends and loved ones to have to go through all my belongings after my hilarious and untimely death.  They just moved me into this place, too. 

Moving all those boxes again would surely throw out my dad’s back.

The most I could hope for would be for someone to make sure that all my sloppy rantings got published into a book someday in my honor.  But I’m no Anne Frank, okay?  Most of my poetry is written on the backs of napkins and receipts and my two “novels” most surely consist of mainly spelling errors and bad grammar. 

As for the Sociopath Vampire, he’s been relatively tame ever since the police talked him down and off the crazy ledge.  He still blasts his horrendous music like all the time, but has at least kept the screaming at 3am to a minimum. 

As for me,  I won’t be leaving any passive-aggressive sticky notes any time soon.

(Posts sticky note on bathroom mirror for self to read, “Please resist the urge to communicate with sociopaths unless you are really that curious about the afterlife.  Thank you.”)

"Excuse me Trump, I'ma Let You Finish..."

Trump: 0, Corncob: 1

Okay.  So I’m not one to rant about my political views.  Like ever. 

When my students ask me who I’m voting for I say Tom Hanks. 

I don’t often find value in spewing my political opinions on others because so many people do that already so who’s even got time to listen to what I have to say on the matter?

However lately things have gone too far and I shan’t hold me tongue any longer.  No I shan’t.

The political platform used to be a place to instigate change; a place to transform the nation and heal the country after wartime woes.  Politics have always been a means to create equality and unity on a national scale.  Now, let’s be clear on one thing:

Political leaders have always been hated.

After Abraham Lincoln was elected the 16th president of the United States he literally had to be shipped secretly in a midnight train to the White House to avoid assassination attempts. 

Rough gig, Abe.

Historically, all presidential leaders and candidates have been criticized for some reason or another.  I’m sure if I ran for president I’d have my own personal team of specialists just to sort through all the hate mail. 

But I’m not running for president you see, because I’m not qualified to do so.

Running a country is kind of a big job to do.  It requires knowledge of international affairs, negotiation techniques, economic wherewithal, public speaking skills, and like a lot of paperwork and signing of serious looking things like Amendments to the Constitution and education bills and whatnot. 

That’s a lot of power for one person.  But as Spiderman’s uncle once said,

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

And I rather liked that guy.

Maybe he should run for president.  Oh wait, that bad guy in the first movie killed him.  Darn it.

The reason I’m writing today is not to go on a gigantic sh-peal about politics and tell you who’s agenda is the worst or why our country is doomed.

Nah.

I simply want to point out that things are getting out of hand and we should all promptly pull our heads out of our you-know-what’s when it comes to politics in America.

Let’s just broach the topic of Donald Trump.  To me he’s a topic of discussion, yes a person (albeit one with a horrific head of hair), but also the butt of every joke I hear these days. 

For the longest time I paid no attention to Trump because I was sure it was a publicity stunt and would blow over in a matter of weeks along with his hair piece.  My mother refers to him as a "flash in the pan;" sure to make a big headline but not something to last over time.  Nope, still hearing about that guy.  So I did some research and found some of his policies.

Immigration Reform: According to Trump’s website, his campaign to “Make America Great Again” contains three pillars of immigration reform:

1. A nation without borders is not a nation. There must be a wall across the southern border.

2. A nation without laws is not a nation. Laws passed in accordance with our Constitutional system of government must be enforced.

3. A nation that does not serve its own citizens is not a nation. Any immigration plan must improve jobs, wages and security for all Americans.

Included in this reform is his campaign to end Birthright Citizenship and deport all illegal aliens from the United States back to Mexico.  Now this is a hot button, so we’re not going to get into it right now. 

But I do think to really understand this issue we have to go back in history and back to our roots.  The true Americans, meaning the first Americans who actually lived on this land since day one, have all been slaughtered and moved onto small reservations. 

There I said it. 

Native Americans.  They are the true Americans.  The rest of us came from elsewhere and “claimed” this country as our own as is the human way for all of history of all time.  So historically speaking we are all immigrants of some kind, but that’s a whole separate conversation and you can now send hate mail to my receptionist Tammy.

Aside from Trump’s immigration reform (which we will not get into right now as I said), there’s not a whole lot I can gather about his political platform from his campaign website.  So I did more research.  What I found was a list of country issues and his stances on them, supported by citations and direct quotes.  You can find the full list here.

I will say that not all of his positions are publicized by the media.  But if you look a bit closer at some of the hot buttons like civil rights, you can see he has changed his mind about them in the past few years and made quite a few headlines as of late.

If you were wondering about his take on women as “fat pigs, dogs, slobs, and disgusting animals,” you can find his thoughts as well as a video with Fox News here:   

Now as if it weren’t enough that this man is trying to become president, we now have Exhibit B:

Kanye West, future presidential candidate in 2020.

All Hail Yeezy.

For Jimmy Kimmel’s comparison of these two candidate’s here’s this:

I invite you now to join me as I slam my frontal lobe into the nearest hard surface.

How To Be in an Improv Class with a Sexist Frat Boy

I realize that I'm about to open up a juicy can of worms here.  But let's do this thing.

Bring it.

As I sit absorbing last week's festivities I can't help but contemplate a noticeable pattern in comedy: Careless Sexism.

I spent last week gallivanting in New York City taking an intensive Improv 101 course with the Upright Citizen's Brigade.  I loved the learning that took place and I met a lot of great people.  While it was a beginner class, it was a pretty mixed variety of talent and interest levels.

Some people in the class were stand up comedians who wanted to hone their ability to think on their feet.  Some were just graduating high school and looking for something new to try.  Some were fellow writers.

And a select few were misogynistic assholes.

Now let's take a pause here.

In all comedy - be it stand up, improv, or sketch - there is this thing called "The Low Hanging Fruit."  Dick jokes, racial slurs, jabs at the disabled, women suck.

Sure, sure.  If you're thinking it then it's probably been done before.  And some comedians can actually obtain this Low Hanging Fruit in a tasteful and funny manner.

After all, who doesn't love a good poop joke?

That's not the point I'm making here.  My aim is not to eliminate all inappropriate content from the comedy world and give everyone a soccer trophy.  Low Hanging Fruit jokes are here and they are here to stay.

But if I've learned anything from improv it's support.  Yes, and.

Being able to stand next to your scene partner and support them unconditionally.  To be the trapeze artist; to catch them when they throw themselves into the comedic unknown.  Because support was the pillar that I was taught to place improv UPon, the idea of throwing your scene partner under the bus, whether intentional or accidental, eats at the very core of my being.

So naturally it came as quite a shock when I began tallying up the amount of back-handed and sexist comments made in a variety of scenes during my week-long course.

I get it.  Improv is nerve-racking. 

The thought of having to say something funny in an instant can make even the most level-headed humans become riddled with anxiety.  But here's a fun case study.

Picture this improvised scene:

Two disgruntled men are standing outside of a house that has just been foreclosed on.  The house belongs to Steve.  Steve's neighbor and friend, Bob stands with him.  They are both upset and throwing rocks at the house in frustration.

Steve: Man, this sucks.

Bob: Yeah, dude. It does. You just keep doing crazy things and things keep happening to you. This is some bad luck.

Steve: Yeah. (Throws rock at house) I just hope I can beat this pattern...

Bob: Yeah, just like you beat your wife last night...

While the exact details of this scene are fuzzy to me now, I will never forget the sharp pain that hit my gut as I watched these words leave his lips.  Collectively the entire class's jaws dropped to the floor.

Are you fucking kidding me?  No, you are not kidding me because when people kid it's actually funny.

When, and I repeat when has violence against women ever been funny?

This isn't Low Hanging Fruit, my friend.  This is Pull Your Head Out Of Your Asshole and Think About What You Are Saying. 

In addition to the wife-beating comment, I also tallied up a garden variety of other comments including calling a woman a "bitch" for no reason, a nude dating scene where a woman was told to keep her legs closed because "I don't want to see that while I'm eating" as he proceeded to wave his parts around, and even a comment made to an immigrant waiter to "go away, you're taking good people's jobs."

Allow me to poke holes in why these comments are not funny from a non-feminist perspective because while my feminist insides are screaming I do think it's important to separate the two.

Here are my discontents as a comedian:

1. In improv, it is essential to play "to the top of your intelligence." This means that improvisors must choose content with the logic and reasoning parts of their brains. It then follows that if you are playing a circus clown that you might be knowledgeable on which types of clown shoes produce the best squeaky noise and how to best tie balloon animals at a children's birthday party. Therefore if you are going to make a choice to call a woman a bitch, you had better be making an intellectual social commentary on the topic. See video below for the kings of social commentary, Keegan-Michael Key and Jordan Peele.

1. There's so much more to play with in an improvised scene than the obvious. Why limit yourself? A nude dating scene at a restaurant could be so much funnier if other things were considered. Does this restaurant have any nude meal deals? Topless Tapas for $5.99? Are you required to shower before before you dine like at a public pool? I have so many questions about this reality and none of them include you shaming a women's body parts.

2. If you are going to take a stance on a political issue, be it immigration, abortion, gun laws, gay rights, etc. you best be prepared to get down and dirty with the details. A simple comment will simply not do. That's just lazy comedy. Which "good people" is this immigrant taking jobs from? Which jobs? Do you have a proposed solution to the immigration policy? Shall we build a moat around America and pour scalding hot oil down on anyone who attempts to enter our castle doors? I want the details here, people.

It came as no surprise when I learned that one of the gentlemen with the above comments is joining a frat this year and only has two female artists on his iPod.  He was also convinced that the best way to get women to talk to him on Tinder was to say really offensive, gross things to them.

Classy, bro.

Now I want to also make a point of saying that I understand that not all men in frats are sexist scumbags.  It would be unfair to classify all men in this way.  It just so happened that the improvisor I took issue with just so happened to be in a frat and just so happened to have some very interesting views on women.  Maybe some views that he doesn't even realize are stone cold sexism.

Some might simply say, "Boys will be boys," to which I say no.  Absolutely not.

Humans should be humans.

Teach your sons and daughters to be smart with their humor.  Speak up when you don't feel empowered.  And shape up when you say something stupid.

Sometimes we get nervous and sometimes we grab onto the Low Hanging Fruit because it's right at our immature fingertips.

But for the love of all that is Holy, please, please don't be that person.

Joining the Good Ol' Boy's Club: Women and Stand Up Comedy

I watched a documentary recently called Women Aren't Funny.   In the piece, comedian Bonnie McFarlane and company react to the hot debate spurred by belated Christopher Hitchens' article in Vanity Fair in 2007 titled Why Women Aren't Funny.  The article sparked so much of a response that it has since been taken off of the Vanity Fair website.  So McFarlane went on a hunt for the real answer to the question:

Well, are women funny?

While we are a progressive society and one that promotes the equality of the sexes, fair treatment in the workforce, and the elimination of the glass ceiling for women, you'd be surprised how many times I've heard the answer, "No" to this question.

From men and women, mind you.

In Hitchens' article it would appear that women are certainly not. Here's my favorite part:

"Humor is part of the armor-plate with which to resist what is already farcical enough. (Perhaps not by coincidence, battered as they are by motherfucking nature, men tend to refer to life itself as a bitch.) Whereas women, bless their tender hearts, would prefer that life be fair, and even sweet, rather than the sordid mess it actually is. Jokes about calamitous visits to the doctor or the shrink or the bathroom, or the venting of sexual frustration on furry domestic animals, are a male province."

Oh, bless my tender, fragile heart, Hitchens. You are right. My life experience with a battered heart and a broken brain are jokes for a man to tell. 

I can't even believe we're even having this discussion about whether or not women are funny, but whatever.  I hope you are doing stand up in a hell surrounded by women that are funnier than you and refuse to have sex with you, Sir Hitchens.

My condolences (he passed away in 2011...and I really am sorry about that...but like, I'm also offended by your ridiculous arguments).

To see more of his thoughts on how unfunny women are, click here for an exclusive interview.

For just about a year now I have been slowly experimenting with the Denver Stand Up scene.  It started off as little more than a silly bet from a college buddy one drunken summer night last August.  We both confessed that we'd always wanted to do it.  So she called the nearby comedy club and we signed up for an open mic that evening.

When we showed up the place was packed.  Mostly with men.  So we signed up and were randomized as numbers 14 and 18 on a list of 30-40 other comedians.  We then went down the street to go take some shots of liquid courage before our sets.  I figured my nerves could take a chill pill after a Rum and Coke and a few dollar tacos.

As we stumbled back to the comedy club in a stupor, I noticed my entire body tense up.  I brought with me at least 6 friends who I trusted to laugh at me no matter what happened up there, but I felt uneasy. 

An alien dropping in to survey a nearby galaxy of strange creatures.

I'd been introduced to the improv comedy world before and felt as though women were on the rise of doing comedy.  I was on an all-female improv team called Amelia's AirHearts and my college improv club almost had more women than men involved in comedy.  But this was different.  The few sets before mine and my friends consisted of racist, sexist, and downright offensive content matter told by and for a male audience.

I was about to talk about 4 year olds and that time a guy held my face on a date.  Was I going to fit in here?

Then I was announced on stage.  The Emcee made a comment about my gender in the worst way possible.

"Ohhh, it's a female comedian, everybody!  Look at that!"

I suddenly felt like the bearded lady at a freak show.  I started to question if I belonged in this setting or if I was just another strange thing that needed to be kicked swiftly off the stage and into a burning funeral pyre along with other Devil-worshiping witches.

I proceeded with my set in determination; 8 minutes that felt like 30 seconds but also 30 years at the same time.  I did my bits, got some laughs, and survived it with relatively few speech slurring incidents.  Since that first rough go at it I have taken it upon myself to go fairly sporadically to several other comedy clubs, dive bars, and coffee shops in the Denver Metro.  I'm doing my best and I'm surviving.

But that's the thing: some women are merely surviving at stand up, not thriving.

This is not to say that there are not successful female comedians, we all know there are.

Ellen Degeneres, Amy Schumer, Tina Fey, Amy Pohler, Mindy Kaling, Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon, Iliza Shlesinger, Whitney Cummings, Sarah Silverman, Joan Rivers, Wanda Sykes, Natasha Leggero, Maria Bamford, Ilana Glazer, Abbi Jacobson, like does everyone really need a reminder of how funny women are?

And these are just some of the big names.  There are countless amounts of women trying to break into comedy the way these women have successfully done.  And while women have made incredible progress in comedy, the stand up scene still leaves a lot to be desired.

If you pop into the Denver open mic scene on any given night you might find a handful of women there on stage.  Some are hosting, some performing, some watching. 

When I go to open mics I get some weird looks at the sign up.  Mostly because I look 12 and not old enough to be allowed in the bar much less do comedy, but also because I'm still a new face.  I'm not part of the boys club just yet.  I haven't been welcomed ceremoniously.  I'm just kind of there.  Occasionally shaking things up for the sausage-fest.

I feel a lot of feelings about doing stand up comedy as a woman.

Part of me feels like I could actually get good at it eventually.  Like anything else, comedy is a skill that I truly believe can be learned by anyone.  Rome wasn't built in a day and neither was Ellen.  So I feel encouraged to hone the craft and gain confidence in my comedic abilities.

Part of me feels strange; feelings of unwelcome surface as they did my first time.  Laughs seem harder to come by when you're not the usual but the unfamiliar. 

And part of me feels outraged, militant even. 

Why does this guy get to get up there and talk about his genitalia and hate of women for 5-10 minutes and get laughs and I get silence after quality insight on small children and brain injuries?

There have been times I have walked out of open mics offended and utterly upset.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe violence against women has ever been a laughing matter.

But what do I know.  I'm brain damaged after all.

Again, I am a newbie to the Denver stand up scene and I am still learning its in's and out's.  I claim no expertise in this field nor do my affiliates, my associates, or my dog.  Some are delightful with true talent.  Some have great happy hour specials.  Pretty much all of them have welcomed me with open arms and haven't thrown cabbage at me yet.

But there's still some well needed growing pains that need to occur before women are on equal footing with men in the comedy game.

I think the reason for people answering "No" to the question "Are Women Funny?" is that:

a. They may have suffered mass head trauma, severe concussions, or may have lost the ability to string together rational thoughts,

b. They simply don't see as many women doing comedy and therefore if you don't see something then it doesn't exist,

c. Women being funny all of the sudden is threatening to a patriarchy that yes, is still alive and well.

It's a double-edged sword for female comedians.  Or as I like to call them: "comedians."

Not only do we feel put on the spot by our unique gender to a field that is predominately male-centered, but it is likely that we feel pressure to be that much funnier just to prove to the world that yes, we are actually funny.

If you happen upon a conversation about women in comedy, it is likely that you'll hear the following comments:

"She's too raunchy."

"She just talks about dating all the time."

"I can't believe she thought it was okay to discuss her period.  Ew.  That's disgusting."

Really?

You don't find it acceptable for me to discuss a natural occurrence that happens within my body monthly that makes it possible to produce human life?

Well that's interesting.

The fact of the matter is that it really shouldn't matter who or what you are, you should be able to do comedic material on anything that's witty, truthful, or relatable.  If women want to tell bodily jokes like some men do, then why shouldn't they?  Shouldn't the same rules apply to everyone?

By the way, if you're a comedian I kind of don't recommend the "shock and awe" method.  This includes racist, sexist, ageist, homophobic, and really any other highly offensive content. 

Except for poop jokes.  Those are pretty much always a win-win scenario.

Just last week I was at an open mic where a gentleman told a bit about black people not being able to swim.  Uncomfortable laughs and disappointed head nods followed.  

Like. Why.

I have to give my partner in crime and best friend Brennyn mad props for escorting me to the variety of strange and uncomfortable open mics that I have ventured into.  She has watched in agony as comedians make rude, outlandish remarks on stage and remained completely supportive of my mediocre comedic timing.  Like I said, I'm no expert just yet.  I still have a long way to go before I feel at ease in my own skin in the stand up scene.

Just find comfort in the fact that there is indeed a place for women in comedy as there always has been.  It takes some women years to be as successful as their male counterparts, but there is no secret to the funny.  It's just hard work, dedication, and the ability to tell it like it is.

If you are a woman and have been contemplating comedy and your ability to be funny, know this:

You can do this.

Funny women are here.  And they are here to stay.