Forget etiquette and make comedy that's messy, inexplicable and human, says Parker Callahan

There’s this idea, perhaps you’ve heard of it, that in order to break the rules, you first have to learn them. It’s usually thrown out there in the first ten minutes of any writing seminar, or at a comedy workshop, or, most dreadfully, in awkward smalltalk at a networking event where someone named Stephanie tells you ‘structure sets you free.’ And honestly? No it doesn’t, Steph. It sets my ass on the ground where I can take a nap. 

In slang, ‘that rules!’ means something is really cool or great. The irony of this is that rules suck. They’re just secondhand advice masquerading as a guidebook, usually passed down by people who have marginally benefited from their service, but who ultimately, have been crushed by their weight. Rules are for people named Mark. Marks are straight men who live and die without ever once surprising a single person. Not even a baby. Sorry to everyone named Mark, but also, prove me wrong.

Now, a quick summary of the 2000 cinematic masterpiece Charlie’s Angels: Three brilliant, impossibly hot women with no last names work as elite private crime fighters for a man they’ve never seen. They beat people up in gravity defying formations. Sam Rockwell is evil (spoilers, sorry). Crispin Glover rips out locks of hair as souvenirs. Cameron Diaz dances in Spider-Man underwear. It is a perfect (capital F) Film. 

Why is this paragraph here? Because it shouldn’t be. Because it breaks the form. Because I like Charlie's Angels. Because it makes you stop and go: ‘Wait, what the hell is this gay guy doing?’

Now we’re getting somewhere. Walk with me:

Comedy shouldn’t be about what’s allowed. It should be about what’s possible. But so much of the comedy world, especially the industrialised pipeline of festivals, showcases, and character sets runs on invisible etiquette: How to write a bit. How to pace your hour. How to ‘connect’ with your audience. 

I’m more interested in what a comedian would create if they had never seen a special, never heard a podcast, and didn’t care what a critic thought. That’s where the weird stuff lives, and usually, where the good stuff does too. 

I have been burned by rules before, by the way. I went to school for music theory. I got a whole degree in how to organise sound, which is kind of like getting a degree in how to ruin your own creativity. 

I went in because I loved writing music: instinctually, joyfully, from the gut. But the deeper I got into the ‘rules,’ the quieter my intuition became. I was making technically correct garbage, and when I tried to break free from that, I was shepherded back in line to make more garbage.

Because that’s what rules do. They flatten. They sand down the sharp edges of your brain to make it palatable for mass consumption and connection. In music. In comedy. In life. Especially if you’re queer or weird or (God forbid) both. 

Not to get too real on your ass, but when you realise you’re gay, there comes a great, second realisation; the world and its rules we’re not made for you. All the traditions and societal benchmarks of success no longer apply to you. 

And while this can be scary, there is also a great freedom in knowing that you get to design how your life looks by simply following what feels right. Your intuition led you to that moment of honesty, and now, you can let it continue to lead the way.

And yes, I say all this as someone who exists at the chaotic intersection of stand-up, character work, performance art, and gay nonsense. My Fringe show, Soda Pop, is 60 minutes of multimedia mayhem where one moment I’m singing a song about thrifted underwear and the next I’m calling the police on you for doing something I asked you to do. If I sound like the work of someone who has done a lot of mushrooms, it’s because I AM someone who has done a lot of mushrooms.

My show is not easily pitchable. It’s not based on a traumatic experience. I don’t have an interesting story that I’m using to frame this spectacle. It’s just fun. Chaotic, dumb, deliberate fun. And yet it says something real about being alive, about being gay, about doing a pop concert/Ted Talk/spectacle in a Speedo for no good reason other than I wanted to. And the crazy thing is, I think you’ll enjoy it. 

In a world where you can stream 12,000 hours of stand-up on your phone right now, live comedy has to be alive. Messy. Surprising. Human. Something that feels like it came out of a specific person’s brain. I want to walk into a show and feel like someone cracked their skull open on stage and invited me to climb inside. I want a show that can’t be explained. That leaves me horny and scared.

Because the thing no one tells you is this: you are allowed to make things that don’t fit. You are allowed to let your instincts lead, even if they take you somewhere confusing, or ugly, or funny in a way you’ve never seen before. You’re allowed to start your essay chastising a fake woman named Stephanie and interrupt yourself with a synopsis of Charlie’s Angels for no discernible reason. And if someone tells you you’re doing it wrong? They’re probably named Mark. 

• Parker Callahan: Soda Pop is on at the Assembly George Square Studio at 10.05pm.

Published: 30 Jul 2025