Woke Comedy

Mike Bodnar will never do stand-up again...

Never again...

There's some comedy I did twelve to fifteen years ago that today would get me in trouble. Obviously I can't say what it was, because, well, see above. Let's just say that times have changed, and the woke brigade takes no prisoners.

Were I to tell you the plastic bag joke, for example, the crowd would be baying for me to resign as a comedian. They'd put up a statue to me just so they could tear it down in anger. I would be trolled on social media, and I would have to publicly apologise.

Then there's the 101 Dalmatians joke. Nope, can't tell you that one either sorry. All I can say is that no animals were harmed during the telling of it, but I would be reviled today. Maybe I could sell it to Roy Chubby Brown (although it would be a bit tame for him).

The point is, I can never do stand-up comedy again; I'd be too afraid. I would have to write, edit, and rewrite my material multiple times to ensure there was not an ounce of anything that could cause offence. So much analysis would have to go into my material that any humour would end up crumpled in the waste basket and I'd end up with a sermon instead.

Not that I've ever given offence. Not once did I ever write sketches with the aim of causing offence, and I doubt many comedians do (except RCB maybe). But today offence is too easily taken, and there's the thing: people take offence where it has never been given or intended. So who's to blame? The giver - who may not actually exist - or the recipient? 

A bar waiting for a joke to turn up

I could not, for example, even fall back on that good old stand-by joke that starts, 'A man walks into a bar.'

What?? I’m sure to offend someone from the get-go with that. A man? No no, no, that just won’t do. What if the man identifies as a woman? Or used to be a man but has undergone surgery and is now female? Exactly; I am presuming too much. And anyway, does the gender matter? Well it might further into the joke, but by then my woke audience will have walked out, or thrown something at me.

So, 'Someone walks into a bar'? No, that won’t do either. What if they’re gender fluid and can be more than one gender at any given time? They are therefore not someone, but sometwo. Or something. They have the right to choose their own pronoun, to which I am not party, which puts me at a disadvantage.

Seriously, I cannot say, 'Something walks into a bar' because that doesn’t conjure up the right image at all. I mean, that something might be a stapler. Or a dishmop. Person! Yes, that will do. Let’s start again.

'A person walks into a bar...'

But wait again. Walks? Uh-uh; this is not inclusive, because of course not everyone – or everything – can walk. I could therefore say that a person wheels into a bar, but that excludes those who can actually walk, unless they're a cyclist. Enters, then. Let’s go with that.

'A person enters a bar...'

The blackness of the audience. No offence.

Why does it always have to be a f****ng bar? something calls out from the blackness of the audience. And when I say blackness I’m referring to the fact that when a comedian is on stage it is usually very difficult to see any further into the audience than the first couple of rows due to the glare of the spot lights. That’s assuming of course that there are any more people beyond the first two rows. I should be so lucky. Anyway, don’t shoot me for being racist about dim light. I’ll admit to being lightist, but that’s it.

But in this case I know there are more people beyond the front rows because one of them has just shouted, 'Why does it always have to be a f****ng bar?'

Well, er, it’s because a barman features further into the narrative.

A barman? Oh pur-lease. I hear a seat flip up and the exit door slam.

Okay, okay (sigh), a bar tender. Or barkeep. Whatever.

The remaining audience is strangely silent, their own glares outperforming the spotlights. This is going to be hard work.

Bill Bailey: funniest man in the world

So let's have an interval. This is where I declare my admiration for the world's funniest man, Bill Bailey. He can stand on stage for two hours and not offend anyone. People laugh till they cry, and where Bailey does occasionally make an acerbic reference to some societal failure or political indiscretion it generally has the audience applauding and whistling in agreement. He does it with panache, and in the knowledge that anyone who has paid up to £80 for a seat in the venue is unlikely to want to be easily offended.

Unfortunately, many casual stand-up comedy venues don't charge admission, so those audiences have no investment in enjoying themselves and can bring all their attendant frailties and cultural worries with them.

I am of course at a disadvantage in that I can't play any musical instruments. Bailey can play an entire orchestra's worth and be funny at the same time. I can't wring a tune out of a tambourine. (But come to think of it, who can?)

So, leaving musical instruments out of it, here's my take on Bill Bailey telling 'a man walks into a bar' joke and getting away with it; interval over.

A person rides into town on their horse, dressed as a cowboy - the rider, not the horse, obviously - and stops at a saloon for a drink. They enter the bar. Not the horse - I'm using 'they' as an all-encompassing pronoun for the rider here. 

Unfortunately, the locals have a habit of picking on strangers, which this person is. When they'd finished their drink, they found that their horse had been stolen. They went back into the bar, deftly flipped their gun into the air, caught it above their head without even looking and fired a shot into the ceiling.

A man, or possibly a woman or something

“Which one of you sidewinders stole my horse?” the person dressed in cowboy garb yelled with surprising forcefulness. No one answered.

“Alright, I’m gonna have another whisky, and if my horse ain’t back outside by the time I finish, I’m gonna do what I dun in Texas! And I don’t wanna have to do what I dun in Texas!”

Some of the locals shifted uneasily. The rider, true to their word, had another drink, walked outside, and found the horse had been returned to the post. The rider saddled up ready to ride out of town. The bartender wandered out of the bar and said, “Say pardner, before you go… you mind tellin' me what happened in Texas?” 

The rider turned, spat in the dust and said, “I had to walk home.”

PS: I unreservedly apologise to all those who find walking difficult or can't walk at all. And those who can't ride or are allergic to horses. The bar, just so you know, also served food - vegetarian, and vegan choices were available, the bar nibbles were complimentary and were accompanied by a little sign warning that they 'may contain nuts.' There was a space reserved outside the front of the saloon for disabled riders, and the bar was wheelchair accessible. The firearm used in the joke fired blanks only.