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It took quite a while for the audience to calm down, but Matt was just left completely confused.
He had no idea what was so funny. What's the connection between getting into grad school and stealing earphones?
But he'd already made up his mind:
He was gonna take that bit and use it to make a point—a critical one!
Kyle, Mia—you two are really something. Just because you got a little bit of attention, you think you can use the director's name to pressure me?!
Fine, you've got guts!
But don't think I'm just gonna take it lying down!
Just wait until you two join the Comedy Club. I'll show you why the flowers are so damn red!
Matt's expression was shifting all over the place—he'd already sentenced them to death in his heart.
Meanwhile, Nick was scribbling notes, jotting down the structure of Kyle's skit.
Kyle's setup was kinda long this time, but the punchline still hit hard.
A lot of comedy shows get nervous—they're afraid the audience won't laugh, so they try to get a quick laugh in right from the start.
But that usually doesn't work well.
A good show builds anticipation, and the moment people look forward to most is the end.
In comedy, the ideal structure is to slowly raise the audience's expectations and laughter as the performance goes on.
If you get a laugh too early, that becomes the benchmark. People subconsciously expect each next joke to be even funnier.
But most shows can't pull that off.
So what you get is a decent opening laugh, then a flat storyline that drags on, hovering between funny and awkward.
Especially if it ends with some emotional reunion scene—completely kills the comedy vibe.
Kyle, though, started with a casual chat-style intro. He wasn't trying to make people laugh right away—he got them to listen.
It felt like a simple everyday conversation. After a minute or two, boom, first punchline:
"You wanna go to grad school?"
"Alright, steal a pair of earphones, and you're in!"
That joke had the crowd laughing for a solid ten seconds.
And don't underestimate those ten seconds—in comedy, that's huge.
Ten seconds of laughter gives the audience a minute or two to savor it before they're ready for the next joke.
That's the ideal upward flow of a comedy routine. And you don't get that just by using internet slang or self-deprecating humor.
Comedy is about storytelling. It's not just a collection of one-liners—it needs logic and flow.
Without that, the quality of the performance can only go so far.
This applies to both stand-up and sketch comedy.
Kyle's two-person routine had really solid internal logic, which made it super smooth and satisfying to watch.
Once the applause died down, the performance continued on stage.
Mia shook her head, saying,
"Why are you always talking about some fantasy world stuff? You got someone with 'nonsense that makes sense' walking around like it's normal?"
"Pfft—fairyland? Little fairy? Hahahaha~"
"Damn, only Mia could pull that joke off. If it were any other guy, he'd get roasted alive!"
Another round of applause broke out.
Kyle smugly added,
"Our section chief's a genius. He can take nonsense, twist it into logic, and suddenly, it works for everything!"
Mia looked surprised.
"Really? You can make sense out of nonsense? Got any successful cases?"
Kyle proudly replied,
"Let me give you a simple one."
Mia raised an eyebrow.
"Alright, show me. I wanna learn something new."
Kyle held up a finger.
"Our section office—one section chief, three staff members."
Mia nodded.
"Oh, four people in one office."
Kyle grinned.
"We'd been stuck indoors for days, no flavor in our mouths. Then the shops reopened. The three of us figured—let's go out for some roast duck!"
Mia swallowed hard.
"Gulp—nice! Let's go then!"
Hahaha, Mia was practically drooling at the mention of roast duck!
The audience chuckled in agreement.
Kyle shot her a look.
"Sounds good, but who's paying?"
Mia wasn't having it.
"Why should I pay?!"
Kyle waved it off.
"Exactly. Nobody wants to fork out the cash. So let's make the company pay!"
Mia was stunned.
"Public funds?! That's bold!"
Kyle laughed.
"Not that bold—just the right amount to eat and drink well."
Mia shook her head.
"There's no logic in that at all. You can't even come up with a decent excuse."
Kyle smirked.
"That's you talking. To our section chief, it's totally reasonable."
Mia looked skeptical.
"You're telling me he could spin that into something legit?"
Kyle hunched over slightly and said,
"So I asked the chief—'Boss, we're dying over here. Stomachs are empty. Can we go out for some roast duck?'"
Mia asked curiously,
"And what did the chief say?"
Kyle puffed out his belly and answered in a thick accent:
"Ni men xian da ge baogao ba~" (You guys write up a report first~)
"Pfft—what kind of accent is that?! That's hilarious!"
Lily actually choked on her drink, and some came out her nose. She had to cover her face.
Even Nick cracked a grin. He hadn't expected Kyle to use a local dialect as the punchline to mock a leader.
Language is a core comedic tool—dialects, especially exaggerated or unexpected ones, can be hilarious.
One classic example: a pretty girl starts talking, and she's got a deep, gruff guy voice. That unexpected twist always gets laughs.
"Damn, Kyle, you really have range. I'm starting to get my hopes up for you," thought Nick, feeling pumped.
He knew all the tricks in comedy, but these days, he could only pull off "play dumb" and "contrast-based" humor.
He knew other techniques too, but never had the right script or stage to use them.
That's why actors often beg to be part of a performance when they see a great script—they don't even care about the pay.
Nick had been waiting for someone like Kyle—a creator with fresh material and potential.
Lily also cracked a wide grin. She never expected the usually well-mannered Kyle to bust out that countryside dialect—it was such a fun twist!
Only Matt looked unimpressed:
"Pfft, accents? I'm a tongue-twister king! I can do a dozen dialects. That little countryside drawl? And people are laughing at that?"
"How low is their bar?!"
If the audience could hear Matt's thoughts, they'd roast him alive.
"Your dialects? You're so bad, even people from those regions would want to beat you up!"
"Congrats everyone, get rich?"
Bro, you trying to offend folks from Alabama now?!
Back on stage, the performance kept rolling.
Mia still didn't get it.
"Why the hell do you need a report just to eat roast duck? Isn't that leaving a paper trail?"
Kyle stuck out his belly and said in his thick accent:
"If it's official, then it's legit~ Got the report, it's approved—everyone's in it together!"
"Hahahaha! So that's how it works!"
In a nearby office, rookie employee Lucas, working overtime on a report, was laughing out loud watching the skit on his phone.
"Kyle, you nailed it! Just one line and you summed up the whole point of reports—it's all about shared responsibility!"
Suddenly, he understood why they write reports, approve reports, and then carry them out.
Upper, middle, lower levels—it all gets tied together.
If things go well, credit goes to the team.
If things go badly, everyone shares the blame.
But if there's no report, and it goes well—the leader takes the credit.
If it fails? That's all on you.
"No wonder some bosses love writing reports but hate approving them. They just want to push the responsibility onto you without committing themselves!"
Lucas finally understood his job—and he was cracking up while watching the show.
Mia's eyes widened.
"Wow, you guys really know how to make things official!"
Kyle responded calmly.
"Exactly~"
Mia stared for a while, then finally asked:
"So how do you even write a report to get roast duck approved? Teach us—seriously!"
Kyle mimed holding a pen and tapping it:
"Easy. Just write: Leader—Colon!"
Huh?
What the hell was that?
Colon?
The audience was totally lost, but not for long.
Mia grabbed Kyle's arm.
"Wait, wait—what did you say just now after 'leader'? Colon?"
Kyle, still in his countryside accent, explained confidently:
"Yeah, two dots—colon! Gotta show some respect to the leader, right?"
Mia gave him a "what the hell" look:
"So you're talking about punctuation marks now?!"
Kyle, nodded seriously:
"Of course. When you write a report, if even one punctuation mark's off, it gets rejected. So yeah—colon!"
"Pfft hahaha! You need a damn colon just to get roast duck?! And it's gotta be a perfect report, down to the punctuation?"
"This is way too real. Just like writing a thesis—not about the content, just the formatting!"
"Hahaha! Yeah! Back when I used pirated Office and didn't have that specific font—got my paper sent back!"
The audience burst into uncontrollable laughter, each remembering their own hilarious struggles from the past.
"....."