Generate a Stand-Up Routine

[Stand-up Comedy Routine – 3 Minutes]

So I went to therapy the other day. Third session. I walk in, sit down, and the therapist says, "How are you feeling today?" Like she doesn’t already know I paid $180 to tell her I hate my life. I said, "Honestly? Like a raccoon that got into a bag of expired Cheetos. Confused. Orange. Regretful."

She nodded like, “Yes, that tracks.”

I told her I’ve been having this recurring dream where I show up to work naked. She said, "That’s classic anxiety. A fear of being exposed." I said, “No, it’s not anxiety. My boss actually caught me changing in the supply closet last month. HR said I ‘lack boundaries.’ I said, ‘I lack a locker room!’ It’s a tech startup, not a YMCA!"

Anyway, I’m trying to be healthier. I joined a gym. First day, I walk in, and everyone’s name-tag says their first name and their “fitness goal.” Like, “Hi, I’m Chad, and I want to deadlift my emotional baggage.” No, actually it was, “Hi, I’m Lisa, and I want to touch my toes without a waiver.”

I sign up, get the tour. The guy shows me the treadmills, the weights, the pool—“Oh, we don’t use the pool. It’s just there for irony.” Fair. Then he shows me the smoothie bar. I’m like, “You have a smoothie bar in a gym? That’s like having a cigarette lounge in a lung clinic.”

I tried a “Green Warrior” smoothie. Tasted like if lawn clippings had a midlife crisis. I told the guy, “This tastes like something my compost would reject.” He said, “That’s the kale, spinach, and regret.” I said, “You put regret in it?” He said, “No, that’s just the aftertaste.”

So I’ve been dating again. Online. I swiped right on a woman whose bio said, “Love hiking, cooking, and deep conversations.” I said, “Perfect. A normal person.” First date, we meet at this quiet wine bar. She sips her Pinot Noir and says, “I can’t believe people still use plastic straws. It’s like they want sea turtles to write Yelp reviews.”

I said, “Uh… yeah, terrible.” She continues: “And don’t get me started on capitalism. I once cried during a Costco commercial. It’s the false promise of bulk savings.” I’m sitting there thinking, “I came here for wine and mild flirtation, not a thesis on late-stage consumerism.”

Then she says, “You know what my spirit animal is?” I said, “A wombat with a union card?” She said, “No. A tired librarian who’s seen too much.” I said, “Mine’s a golden retriever who just found out the tennis ball is fake.”

I panicked. I told her my spirit animal is a sloth who’s late for its own funeral. She laughed! Progress! Then she said, “You’re chaotic, but in a way that could be therapeutic.” I said, “So you’re saying I’m like emotional CrossFit?”

We didn’t kiss. But we did agree that both of us cry during dog food commercials. So… connection?

Back home, my neighbor’s kid asks me to help with his science project. It’s a volcano. I said, “Kid, I’m not great with explosions. I still haven’t recovered from my last relationship.” He said, “It’s just baking soda and vinegar.” I said, “So… emotional support lava?”

We make it, it erupts, and it covers the entire driveway in pink foam. His mom comes out, sees it, and says, “Is that… strawberry toothpaste?” I said, “It’s a metaphor for unchecked ambition.”

She called me irresponsible. I said, “I prefer ‘unconventionally structured.’”

Anyway, I’m trying. Therapy. Dating. Fitness. Being a role model. Some days I feel like I’m figuring it out. Most days I feel like I’m one sad podcast away from adopting a goat and moving to Wyoming.

But hey—at least I’m not the raccoon anymore. Now I’m a slightly more self-aware raccoon with health insurance.

Thank you, you’ve been a warm audience. Like, suspiciously warm. Is the AC broken or are you all avoiding eye contact?

[Exit stage.]