One of Los Angeles’ delightful cultural veins is the weird places that it chooses to do comedy. Often marginalized by traditional venues and even cliques of performers as well, Los Angeles’ resident comedy folks have sought out movie theaters,…
This chronicles the untimely demise of one of the best shows I’ve ever been honored to perform at. Also: the only time I’ve been heckled by the LAFD.
The following is the second part in a series of essays written by the very talented writer/comedian Josh Androsky. In this segment, he chronicles life after heartbreak while wearing really great pants. Read on for something special.
I still haven’t looked at her facebook. I still can’t bring myself to talk to her, whether by phone or email or even a single texted emoticon. I had a thought of us, a muddled thought that was ostensibly about a moment that skewed negative but was compounded by a longing nostalgia. I looked down after feeling a slow rumbling fire in the lowest pit of my stomach and had one thought—
I have had one of those few months where you butt heads with the industry aspect of comedy, and come away bitter, jealous, and unappreciative of the artists we get to see develop night in and night out. In short, I have largely been phoning in my enthusiasm for comedy most of 2012.
“You ever feel nervous going up there dressed like that?” I get asked this question a lot by people who see me do comedy in women’s clothes. And the truth is that yes I do, especially when it’s a new venue or there’s people there who I’ve met in total boy mode who had no idea that I do this…
Last night I almost took another punch in the face for equality.
The guy before me on the list introduces himself when I first get to the bar. He seems like a nice person. I watch him perform. He says he just got out of a mental institution. His entire set is about having sex with animals. Then they call my name. This is the first time I…
The following is an essay written by the very talented writer/comedian Josh Androsky based out of Los Angeles, CA. In this piece he chronicles his life in the wake of a break-up, and his means of putting the pieces back together. Read on for an honest portrayal of the American male psyche - or, if you’re just into Vietnamese chicks.
It’s been 14 days since the last time I spoke with my girlfriend. Well—ex girlfriend. Ugh. That makes it sound so tragic. She’s still alive, so am I, and we’re very much the same people. We just don’t kiss anymore.