Going on TV can be a nerve-wracking experience for any performer. It’s a huge moment and now, thanks to our good friend and worst enemy, The Internet, anything you do on that screen will live forever. I’ve worked my tiny ass off to get those opportunities and no matter the circumstances, I have to kill it. Every time.
Being on America’s Got Talent is massive. Every year 75,000 people audition. Around 400 get to go in front of the judges and from that group only a little over a hundred will ever make it to air. You can get a standing ovation and four “Yes’” votes from the judges only to have your performance never see the light of day. You won’t get a phone call. You’re simply in limbo, having no idea why they didn’t showcase you. I’ve seen it happen to phenomenal artists.
I’m fortunate to not only have been on the show in 2018 but to have been invited back in 2020 to do it all over again. While I’m incredibly grateful to the show for allowing me to be myself, my individual scenarios have been absolutely horrifying by comedian standards.
Let’s start in 2018. I walk on a stage that is lit as brightly as can be, with the entire theatre illuminated as well. Comedy happens in the dark for a reason. It’s easier to laugh when you feel anonymous. It also makes it easy for me to not be able to see every single face, but rather feel a general vibe from the room and play off that. But that’s not what happens at AGT. You can see every set of braces reflecting directly into your eyes.
Already, you’re at a disadvantage as a comedian. These people don’t go to clubs so the only comedy they know is watered down, family-friendly, producer approved jokes. No subtlety, no high-brow thoughtful humor. You have two minutes to prove to them you’re as worthy as a dance team that blows fire while doing backflips.
When the booing began, I knew I was finished. There was no winning. There was only survival. The cacophony of the crowd yelling, the horrific sound of those buzzers, the judges disapproving taunts: all of it combined to form an explosion of noise so loud I couldn’t even hear my thoughts. I was humbled, ridiculed, and even though I pranced off that stage with my tail between my legs, I was shaken to my core. It felt like the worst bomb of my entire life.
Some people would have quit. Most would have never gone back. Why would anyone choose to subject themselves to that level of torture...AGAIN?
I’ll tell you exactly why. Once you face something like that and come out on the other side, a feeling of fearlessness takes over your psyche. It can’t possibly get any worse, right? Wrong.
In September of 2019, I got the call that I was being invited back. I was doing everything I could to get a late-night set so I could show the world I’m a true stand up comic, not just a roaster. No one was biting or even returning my emails. So what do you do when you’re starving? You go back to the table that’s fed you before.
This time I was ready. Whatever the bottom is, I’ve already lived it. If the audience barks at me, I’ll gnarl my teeth until they back down. I was convinced I could win this fight.
Only, I’d never see an audience on the show again. I shot my second audition on March 14th, 2020... ya see where I’m going with this? I walked out onto that same stage, only now, instead of 3000 unruly peasants, I was simply staring at three iconic multimillionaires. All that pandemonium was gone. It was so quiet I could hear the stomp of my boots as I scuttled out to my starting position. COVID was officially here and everyone was on edge.
I’ve performed for three people before. I do comedy in LA. It happens. But normally those are in tiny coffee houses or the secret back room of a marijuana den. Looking out at these judges, 75 feet away from me, amongst thousands of empty chairs; the vastness of the space was impossible to avoid.
Once again, I didn’t allow this to shake me. I had a plan and no matter what, I had to be free and execute to the best of my abilities. Will they get it? Is this a talent? Is this relatable?
Thankfully, yes. It was far from ideal, but I accomplished my goal and got the pat on the back from each of these uber-famous celebrities who gave me a standing O. That’s ovation, not orgasm, although the latter would have been delightful.
When quarantine began the very next day, none of us thought we’d still be in this position. I figured a couple of weeks and I’d be right back to comedy clubs, traveling, filling my face with drugs, dancing like an uncaged buffoon at music festivals, eating sushi inside off a plate, you get it.
Thanks to a lovely little global pandemic, all of our plans were gunned down and spared no mercy. Simon had just told me, “You’re such a dick. I don’t know why I like you so much. You need to come back and do this in front of an audience.” As each day passed and felt increasingly longer than the one before it, I slowly realized that was never going to happen.
Every day was a new adventure of how the season would unfold. Constant emails and phone calls with producers. We went from Plan A to Plan G in a matter of weeks. Discussions were had that maybe I would shoot at home through a Zoom call (ughhhhhh), or maybe we wouldn’t do this at all.
I was recording content for them, coming up with different ways to present my material in case we couldn’t be in the same room, having every single word I say put through a ringer of executives and network Standards and Practices. I mean it when I say, there were hundreds of back and forths of what I was allowed to say and do, especially in a climate where society as we know it was shattering around us.
Because of this infectious invisible villain, I ended up not performing in the Judge Cuts episode. Producers and judges decided based on what they already knew about us who would move on to the live shows. Happy to say, they didn’t do me dirty and asked me to return.
But now, I’m going to do this LIVE ON TV FOR 10 MILLION PEOPLE. No pressure, right?
Everything was changing all the time and to make matters worse, I had nowhere to practice. When you see a comedian tell jokes on TV, you have to understand, they have told those jokes THOUSANDS of times. They run those sets into the ground to work out every piece of timing and rhythm until they can do the routine hanging upside down over a bed of spikes without missing a beat. That shit is ingrained in you.
With my set, I had to come up with original jokes. I threw them around to a few friends, but for the most part, I had no idea if they were going to work or not. On top of that, once again, there wouldn’t be an audience. Just the same super-rich personalities that have completely forgotten what it means to struggle and here I am, a lizard-skinned hippie pointing out their flaws. Uphill battle? Yeah. Slightly.
It’s tough to explain the process of getting that set to where it ended up. EVERYTHING has to be approved by a seemingly never-ending line of decision-makers. I’d pitch ideas, they’d shoot up the ladder, then come back down with notes.
“Go harder! Pull back! Is that racist? Can you explain this joke? I don’t like the wording here. What about music? Staging? Yes, that’s definitely racist. We can see his bulge in that skinsuit. Is that going to be a problem? Uhhhhh, let me check. We’re not going to pay for that.”
I could go on forever, baby!
And that’s just for the actual performance. Then came the Coronavirus guidelines. Being tested every three days with that swab poking your brain, never removing your mask, social distancing, not touching anything, NO CRAFT SERVICES (the horror!)
Through all of this, I was grateful. I had no work of any kind and I couldn’t travel, so being on the show filled my days with purpose. Had this been a normal year, I don’t think I ever would have come up with such an original and bold way to showcase myself.
Knowing I wouldn’t have an audience (again) made me push myself to develop something unique. How could I present material in a way that was exhilarating but wouldn’t rely on laughter fueling the fire? I pitched a bunch of ideas ranging from simple to absolute madness, and we eventually landed on the burn book.
I reformatted every single one of my jokes so they would work in a rhyme scheme. I hired my brilliant cartoonist friend Eddie Mauldin to illustrate the roasts of the judges. We found underlying music to make it feel intimate. So many elements had to come together to make it work, and all of them had to be approved by the team. If one person at the top said no, it was back to the drawing board.
What you saw me do in that live show was hundreds of hours of work coming to fruition. It’s one thing to have an idea. It’s another to execute. Watching it on TV later that night, I knew I had completed my task to the best of my ability. I created something that had never been done before and it had an immediate effect on everyone watching.
So here’s my point: It doesn’t matter what the situation is. There’s always going to be something that throws you off your game. YOU NEED TO RISE UP. You need to own every moment. No excuses. This is your time to shine and nothing can get in the way.
I don’t know if I’ll ever return to AGT. But going through their machine, being faced with adversity in so many different ways, it has made me realize that I am unstoppable. I’ve been through literal nightmare scenarios multiple times and somehow found a way to thrive. I’ve proven that I will be myself and not bow down or pander to make people like me.
Go be you. Whatever that means. No one can do it better than yourself. Stick to your guns, believe in yourself, and find a community of people who will stand behind you. It’s all out there for you to take. None of this was accidental. It’s capturing an opportunity and making the most of it. Go. Fucking. Get. It.