They say a comedian never retires; they just find a new audience in the afterlife. But as I hang up my microphone, I’ve started to think about my final performance. You see, retirement for a comedian is a lot like being a mime stuck in an invisible box—you finally stop talking, but people still expect a show.
After years of punchlines and hecklers, I’ve decided that my last laugh will be just like my first—awkward, unexpected, and at my own expense. I mean, wouldn’t it be hilarious if, during my farewell tour, my pacemaker started picking up radio signals and I unwittingly became a walking advertisement for used cars or worse, a polka station?
And let’s face it, every comedian’s swan song should include a bit where they actually get upstaged by a literal swan—because nothing says “I’m done with showbiz” like being heckled by a bird with a better stage presence.
But don’t worry, even though I’m stepping down, my jokes will linger like that one relative who doesn’t know when the party’s over. My humor will haunt comedy clubs like an eternally encored ghost, forever dropping one-liners that echo into eternity.
So as the curtain falls, and I take that final bow, remember: in comedy, no one ever really exits stage left. We just find a darker, spookier stage to perform on. And if you hear laughter from beyond during a séance, that’s just me, testing new material on a very captive audience. 👻 🎤
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