r/StandUpWorkshop

I like quirky women. Unconventional. Weird fashion and such. I'm talking to this girl at a noisy bar, I thought it was going great until she said she's really into trans, which is fine, but I'm a fucking cis male, so I figured, well, you know, I'm not her preference. I'm a small man, 5'6" and 150 lbs, mixed Asian, so, I'm like, almost a girl myself, non-threatening, seemingly gay to some people, so I get it, she might want a friend. I'm nice and fun and safe to talk to, but I sometimes mistake friendly for flirting, so I shift more into a friendship-style conversation. But I screwed up! I realize I misheard her. She said "trains" and she's AuADHD and her "special interest" is TRAINS...... So I'm like, okay! It's back on! ....I still wish I didn't have to go after the black guys, though. Why I outta.... But wasn't that fun? We took a trip there, didn't we? Like, where we goin'? Where am I going with the joke? Misogyny, mocking neuro-spicy, homophobia/transphobia? Slut-shaming? No, it was old-fashioned racism. "I didn't want to go after the black guys." No, it's not that. They fuck better. I have a small penis. They gave a lot, I gave a little. It was like splitting a big check at a restaurant and I was just the tip. By the time it was my turn, I could tell she wasn't into it. She didn't even wake up once. Oh, God... That is not okay. So, uh, I'm on the dating apps....

I haven’t posted in a while, but I will below share a rough premise, and hopefully some potential laughter. Please help me out.

People never sit in their assigned seats on trains.
You get on board and there’s already someone sitting there.

“Excuse me, you’re in my seat.”

“Yeah, we’d really like to sit together. But my seat is over there.”

As if they’ve done me a favor and rebooked me.

And when I get to that seat, someone else is sitting there, sending me to another seat.
Ten minutes later, somehow I’m driving the train.

Last time, a man said:
“I’d really like to sit next to my wife.”
I said:
“So would I. Move.”

People make a lot of mistakes when booking train tickets.
Like last time, I saw a mother and her child had been given seats one behind the other.
And I thought:
“God, what a terrible booking.”
Because when you travel with children, it’s really important to book them in a separate carriage.

My eyesight is going rabidly as I age. I've already accepted that I'll be blind in the future.

Maybe if I also end up being deaf, I'll finally become the next Helen Keller

I couldn't live up to her standard. I'd be able to speak coherently

I have this class called life skills and the whole purpose is to refine or learn a new skill every week l chosen comedy because l want to become a comedian but l can't really get started with writing jokes all l got is some random punch lines like people dieding from autism and the only for jokes l got is "l love my family they're unique, when l said unique l meant weird. " that's weak so can l have some advice on what things do you guys usually think of, to start writing jokes ( is it slow usually to come up with making jokes please tell me so l can have closer) 🤠

I love hanging out with queer people.

Which is good. Because I am one.

But sometimes I get nervous around other queer people because I don’t think I’m… political enough for the gays.

I’m too gay for the straights.

But then I get around the gays and I’m like

“Fuck. They’re gonna ask follow-up questions.”

Because I care! I vote! I know what’s happening!

But I also have a really nice house.

And that’s confusing politically.

Like, I want what’s best for marginalized people…

But also…

Things are going really well for me personally.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

We had some new queer friends over recently, and the entire time I’m thinking:

Do they know?

Do they know I’m privileged?

And of course they know.

They’re in my house.

They parked in my ridiculous driveway.

There’s no hiding it.

I’m walking around like,

“Eat the rich!”

And they’re like,

“Secretariatrulez96, your kitchen has a bar top.”

“…eat the richer.”

And I know I’m privileged.

My dad has money.

My business is doing well.

I’m about to hire my third employee.

I’ve paid off over a hundred thousand dollars in business debt in less than three years.

Which sounds inspirational until I tell you how I started the business.

My dad gave me money.

And then I worked really hard.

But mostly in that order.

People love saying:

“I started my business with NOTHING.”

I started mine with…

A father.

Highly recommend.

Great startup capital.

Very low interest rate.

Fantastic customer service.

Available on weekends.

And I did work my ass off.

That’s what’s frustrating!

I want credit!

I just don’t want you to look into it too much.

I want you to be like,

“Wow, Secretariatrulez95, you’re such an impressive entrepreneur.”

Thank you.

“How were you able to secure funding for your first van?”

Moving on.

And the fucked-up thing is, every time something could’ve gone horribly wrong for me…

it just…

Didn’t…

I bought a van thinking I’d start working weekends and eventually start my business.

Immediately my current salon closed for a month.

Another mobile groomer in town moved away.

Suddenly everybody needed a groomer.

I was booked solid.

And I remember thinking:

“Wow. If you just follow your dreams it really will just workout.”

No.

The universe fucked everybody else.

AndI happened to be standing underneath it with a business card.

So now I have this insane guilt about how lucky I am.

Because the world isn’t fair.

And…

It’s working for me.

That’s horrible to say.

That’s like the rich-person equivalent of a serial killer finally admitting why he did it.

“The world isn’t fair…

and frankly…

I’m having a really good time.”

And I do care!

That’s the problem.

I care so much that I feel guilty when I’m enjoying myself.

I’ll be sitting in my nice house like:

“There are people suffering.”

And my wife is like:

“Do you want to get in the hot tub?”

…

“Obviously.

But somberly.”

I think I’ve confused guilt with activism.

Like if I enjoy my life too much, somewhere another lesbian loses healthcare.

I have to maintain a baseline level of sadness.

For the community.

That’s my contribution.

Other people organize.

I stare out the window of my nice house and whisper,

“This is problematic.”

And THEN—

because apparently I needed another ethical crisis—

my new queer friends came over…

and I realized there were brand new Harry Potter books on the book shelf.

Oh.

Fuck.

Because nothing says,

“Welcome, trans community!”

like the complete Harry Potter box set…

front and center.

And they’re BRAND NEW.

Not even old ones!

I don’t have plausible deniability!

I can’t be like,

“Oh, those? I’ve had those since childhood.”

Those books still have receipts.

And there’s a completely innocent explanation!

My mom bought them for me!

I was packing up my books when we moved, and I told her how sad I was that I didn’t still have some of the books from my childhood.

Harry Potter.

Flowers in the Attic.

You know.

Normal children’s literature.

One about a magical boarding school.

One about incest.

My formative years.

And my mom remembered.

She bought me beautiful new box sets.

It was incredibly sweet.

Unfortunately, one of those gifts now requires…

A political disclaimer.

So now these queer people are standing in my living room and I’m thinking:

Should I explain the Harry Potter books?

Nobody has mentioned the Harry Potter books.

Nobody is looking at the Harry Potter books.

We’re playing Cards Against Humanity.

And I’m like:

“Before we continue…

I’d like to address the allegations.”

Because I desperately want to tell them:

“I WOULD NOT HAVE PURCHASED THESE.”

Which is such an insane thing to yell unprompted at a party.

“Does anybody want another drink?”

“I DIDN’T GIVE J.K. ROWLING MONEY.”

“…okay.”

“MY MOM DID.”

Which is apparently how I handle moral responsibility

Again, highly recommend having a father

But for ethical liability?

Mom.

And I think that’s what I’m learning.

I can’t control every conclusion people make about me.

Somebody might walk into my house, see the Harry Potter books, see the nice kitchen, hear about my business and think:

“Wow.

This bitch really said,

‘I got mine.’”

And I want to chase them into the driveway like:

“WAIT!

I VOTED!

I TIP WELL!

MY EMPLOYEES LIKE ME!

COME BACK, I HAVE LESBIAN REFERENCES!”

But maybe that’s okay.

Maybe instead of constantly trying to prove I’m a good person…

I could just…

Be one.

Be a good boss.

Be kind.

Take care of dogs.

Love my wife.

Vote.

Help people when I can.

Enjoy the completely insane, beautiful life I’ve somehow ended up with.

And accept that the world isn’t fair…

even when it’s unfair…

In my favor.

…

But seriously—

the Harry Potter books were a gift.

I just need everybody to know that.

Please tell the trans community.

You Americans are so influential it’s almost impressive.

Quick history speedrun: Women in my country got the vote in 1906. We declared independence in 1917 and still call it the day we walked out of white slavery. We’ve been one of the most equal societies on earth ever since — high trust, high female education, low formal hierarchy. We used to function like a team.

Then 2017 hits. #MeToo goes global. Overnight a visible chunk of women under 30 dye their hair blue, start speaking in imported slogans, and act like they’re storming the Bastille in a country that already finished that fight a century ago. Darling, you’re not punching up. You’re yelling inside an American-made bubble and calling it revolution.

​

I watched two guys arguing. One was hitting every logical point—strawman, the works. There was a clear size difference. The big guy winds up his counter-argument… and I just watched it connect with the mouth of the straw-made man.

America’s the only place a dude will actually fuck you up for saying some words. I respect that.

I’m a nervous person. I hate confrontation. In a perfect world every awkward conversation ends in violence.

Where I’m from we just keep saying mean shit until somebody cries.

Then goes home and makes out with the mouth of a 12-gauge.

We are shy and sad people.

That's it thanks.

I suppose if I were a contractor and a client had a totally tore up house - a real fixer-upper - that I would be stoked, right? I’d be like “well let’s start with the foundation, that’s got a huge crack in it, the studs have termites, the roof is leaking, there’s like this weird blue awning on the front porch, that looks terrible, we’ll just rip that out.” And I’d be happy because I would know that I had guaranteed work for a long time… like, this place is MESSED UP.

Anyway, do you think therapists feel the same way when a lady walks into their office with a “Queers for Palestine” shirt on?

I'm at the age now where i am getting very absent minded.the alarm goes off in the morning,i sit on the edge of the bed and slowly put my shoes and socks on before my trousers.

I shuffle to the bathroom and have a good long look in the mirror.then my brain engages and i remember i'm not in work at the moment.

I shuffle back to the bedroom,take off my wife's shoes and socks and crawl back into bed.

Even if when they’re completely made up. Like, don’t lie, if you were the first person in history to actually find a magic lamp, and genie pops out and says ‘ok, ya got me, I’ll grant you two wishes.’ 98% of us would be irate. ‘What the fuck do you mean, 2 wishes?! I’m supposed to get three asshole. This is total bullshit’. Most impossibly amazing magic fortuitous life changing event in all of humankind happens to you, and your knee jerk reaction is still gunna be ‘man, what a rip off’…because of the expectations.

My husband is a lawyer. I called him around 8pm last night to check in. He said he’s elbow deep in a briefing and will be a few more hours.

Weird, all these years I thought his secretary’s name was Jill.

But if we’re really being honest, the last white guy that actually got canceled because of PC culture, was Tycho Brahe.

Edit: first I would spend ~10 minutes reading Tycho Brahe’s Wikipedia to the crowd. Then a couple nose jokes, and then finish with this.

So I have an idea that I feel like would be a good premise, but I'm just not really sure how to format this.

I'm blind, and I live with my mother, and I like listening to music a lot. Sometimes I sit in a dark room and just listen to music because… Why should I care if I have the light on. My mother hates when I do this and she has pathetic excuses like "I just don't like it" and "it's just not right"

I finally got her to give me an actual reason, and I guess she's concerned that it will make my vision… Worse? I have talked with other Blind people and apparently this is a stereotype or something, a misconception that people have.

I do have a little bit of vision left, but not much. I use a screen reader for everything. I have done research on this because I find it annoying that she's trying to control me like this, and her claims are false. So I want to make fun of her for it. I'm just not really sure how to write this out. You guys got anything for it?

In fifth grade our teacher asked everyone, one by one, if they had a nickname.  She got to me, Richard, and I told her my family calls me Little Dick, which got a few chuckles.

I told her they call my dad Big Dick.

My teacher says, oh, so your dad’s name is Richard too.

No, his name is Carl.

You guys remember the UnitedHealthcare CEO getting shot and killed 2 years ago walking to work?

Can you imagine being the next guy in line to take over? You go into the board room the next day and you’re given the biggest promotion you could’ve ever imagined receiving in your career, but you can’t even be excited because your old boss was killed the day before.

You immediately start to get paranoid. Your first order of business- no more walking into the office. Executive team is now fully remote. You then use the bulk of your salary increase to build an underground safe room at your house. You begin to develop stomach ulcers from all the stress. Unfortunately, you’re then told your health insurance provider won’t cover it, so you go kill the CEO.

Vigilante suicide.

After a long time trying to persuade me to cut down on my drinking,my wife tried one last gambit.She tried to appeal to my lazy side.

She explained to me,'do you realise you spend 40% of your wages on alcohol..if you gave up,not only would you feel much better,you could go to that job you hate so much 3 days a week instead of 5 and still earn the same money.

That was a lightbulb moment for me...

I now work 2 days a week,so i just have enough money for beer!

Did you guys know that Cutco is still doing the door-to-door knife selling thing? Who is actually still buying knives from theses guys? It’s the last remaining door-to-door salesmen experience in existence.

I can only imagine these guys are Jehovah’s Witness by day and knife salesman by night. Already have the sales skills, know all the residential neighborhoods, and have no fear of rejection. Maybe if they sell enough knives they buy a bicycle and covert to Mormonism?

I’ve been considering starting CrossFit. The workouts seem tough, but the prospect of telling everyone I’m doing it seems downright exhausting. Granted, I was vegan for a few years, so I think I’ll hit my quota.

They say that the North end of our county is all cowboys and Christians.

That means there’s a bunch of churches and a bunch of guns.

Church might be the safest place in town.... if it weren’t so dangerous.

OR: 

Church could be the safest place in town…..or the most dangerous.

OR???