Thirsty Read online

  Look, if I started listing friends who inspire me, I would fall into the trap of not mentioning someone and end up with them getting shitty with me. There are references to all the women who have shaped and influenced my life littered throughout this book.

  However, one woman who has had a huge part to play in my life in recent years is my business partner, Janelle Koenig. I call her my ‘business partner’ because it seems the title that best fits what she is. She is technically my writing partner; she and I write all my ‘jokes’ together, although it’s a bit hard to call them jokes as I don’t actually tell jokes. What I do before the start of a new tour is bring Janelle the stories I have gathered in the past year, and we shape and order them into a show. But Janelle is also involved in every other aspect of my life. She is my business partner in the sense that every business decision is run past her and she is pretty much across my schedule at all times of the day. Just this morning I shot her a message as I’m hosting an event for a vodka brand. I said, ‘Need jokes on vodka.’ When I next checked my phone, there was a list of gags waiting.

  Janelle is a comedian herself, having had a successful career in stand-up in Melbourne in the 90s and early 00s. She was really the second wave of stand-up comedians in Australia, coming through around the same time as people like Greg Fleet and Wil Anderson. I’m in about the sixth or seventh wave. One night when I was fourteen, I was sick and Mum let me stay up late with her on the couch. She was watching the Comedy Channel on Foxtel and Stand Up Australia was on. I felt so adult being allowed to sit up with Mum and watch the show, especially when the material was so blue. I remember seeing a foul-mouthed Asian-Australian comedian who seriously made me laugh.

  Years later, after I had moved to Melbourne, I was back in Perth performing some stand-up at Rosie O’Grady’s pub and I stood up the back of the room while that very same comedian was on stage. I approached Janelle after the show and told her the story of seeing her on TV and we became friends immediately. Janelle had moved to Perth because her partner works in the mines and she had just had a daughter. With the extra time on her hands, Janelle offered to ‘have a look over your new show for you’ if I liked. It was my third tour, Naked, and I said, ‘Yeah, why not?’ having not previously collaborated with anyone on material. We have been inseparable since, and have just launched my eighth tour, our fifth one together.

  Janelle knows everything about me and could divulge some rather scandalous secrets. My management refer to her as my ‘comfort blanket’ and know that, for high-pressure gigs, it’s best to include Janelle in my contract, as I work better when she’s around, even if it’s just knowing she’s in the wings, keeping an eye on me. My career truly would not be where it is without Janelle. She and I have grand plans for world domination.

  Sometimes Janelle’s on the road as my support act, but she also still performs her own stand-up and hosts radio in Perth. If you ever get a chance to see her full solo show, do. You’ll see why I feel like I’m stoked to have this secret/not-so-secret weapon in my corner.

  Naturally, she has also proofread this book for me. So hey, Sugar Tits. Cheers for the vodka gags.

  She might not be exactly real, but Xena the Warrior Princess was another great inspiration. I loved Xena. As I’ve mentioned about seventy-eight thousand times, I love women, especially powerful women. I think women should run the world and men should just shut up and kiss me. I think a lot of young gay men my age really identified with Xena: a sassy underdog who looks great in leather. Gabrielle I always found a bit annoying, though. I mean, how did she survive six seasons fighting warlords, dragons, gods, etc, in sandals and a hessian crop top? One of the first men I ever thought about while masturbating was Ares, the god of war (I always had high standards in my fantasy life at any rate). Well, the actor who played Ares in the Xena series, not just some illustration in an old textbook. Bit creepy, given the actor playing Ares was in his forties and I was fourteen.

  I still watch Xena if it’s on telly and I own all six seasons on DVD. The Project on Channel Ten asked me to interview Lucy Lawless two years ago (that’s Xena for those losers out there) and I was beside myself. It was to be a live cross from Supanova at the Flemington showgrounds. Supanova is one of those big comic-con events where people dress in costumes from TV shows I’ve never seen and go along and trade comic books and compare stories about being virgins and chess champions. A generalisation, yes, but surprisingly accurate, I think you’ll find.

  All these nerds were of course in hot pursuit of Xena, who was the big name at Supanova that year. Well, her and the chick who was ‘Amazon’ in Channel Seven’s reincarnation of Gladiators. Here’s a confession: I always wanted to be a Gladiator. I thought they were so cool. I’m friends with Tiffiny Hall from The Biggest Loser, who was one of the Gladiators on the reincarnation series. I obstinately refuse to refer to her by anything other than her Gladiator name, Angel.

  When I rocked up to Supanova to interview Lucy Lawless and saw how huge the event was, I walked around thinking selflessly (as per usual), Suck it, nerds, Xena’s mine.

  I did the interview and Lucy Lawless could not have been cooler, nicer or in better shape. Seriously, she could still do a back flip over eighteen of Hades’ henchmen and throw her chakram at a devil all the while yelling, ‘Ayayayayaya!’ – in her sleep. Her chakram, by the way, was a little metal Frisbee thing she’d throw at bad guys. I always found it weird how she could throw it through the air – it would chop off the heads of ten soldiers and then come flying back to her where she would catch it perfectly, without slicing her hand off. I pointed this out to Mum one day when I was watching Xena and she said, ‘Oh well, I guess she’s perfected the technique.’

  In our interview, Lucy Lawless was weirdly sexual – in a fun way. I remember accidentally brushing her boob while gesticulating a little too wildly. Instead of letting it slide, I said, live on air, ‘Oh my God, I just touched Xena’s boob!’

  And she said, ‘Do it again, I liked it,’ with a laugh.

  I thought about doing it. Why not? How often do you get to touch Xena’s boobs? I mean, I don’t particularly like boobs but I guess if I’m going to like any boobs it’ll be Xena’s. Then I remembered the whole ‘live on air’ thing. I was also worried the nerds standing behind me with rock hard boners might explode in a tsunami of jizz and prescription glasses.

  After the interview, Lucy Lawless gladly posed for photos with me and then with all the fans waiting to see her. I watched for a while and was so impressed with how she had a personal interaction with each fan. They all wanted to know about Xena, and she never did the whole Hollywood actress thing I’ve seen so many times of ‘Oh, let’s not talk about that, let’s focus on my other projects’. Like when I recently asked Reese Witherspoon about Legally Blonde in an interview. Not. Impressed. I sometimes think about Lucy Lawless at Supanova whenever I’m doing a signing after a show and, on the rare occasion when I might be tired or upset or wanting to go to bed, I think, What would Xena do? And proceed to pull out my chakram. It doesn’t cut my hand on return, either. I’ve perfected the technique too.

  But then again, I think that in most situations at most times of the day.

  Without doubt, my stand-up inspiration is the greatest comedian of all time, Joan Rivers. I know that’s a big claim but I will fight anyone who disputes it. She was a pioneer for female comedians (as much as she hated being called that) and a pioneer for comedians like me who perform pop culture stand-up. Her career spanned longer than anyone else’s. And in terms of firepower, I am yet to see a comedian who could match her rapid-fire delivery of scintillating jokes, or ‘zingers’, as we call them in the industry.

  I first discovered Joan Rivers when I was fourteen. I had just got a laptop and had wifi in my room and one night stumbled across a clip of hers on YouTube. I obviously sort of knew who she was but I was a young teenager – I was only just coming to terms with what a boner was. Once I saw one clip of Joan Rivers, I needed more. And more. And more. I
fell deep into a YouTube black hole, staying up all night to devour every piece of stand-up and every talk show appearance.

  Joan made jokes about the frivolous world of pop culture, celebrity and fashion. And she made no apologies for being obsessed with that world. She was utterly fearless and didn’t care what anybody thought. I felt safe knowing that there was someone like her in the world. Not to mention she was a champion of not only gays but anyone who was just a little different or unusual. For a young boy who was at the time coming to terms with his sexuality (and boners), Joan was a great inspiration, as she pulled no punches and nobody was allowed to tell her who or what she should be.

  It was watching Joan Rivers stand-up maybe a year later that I suddenly went from thinking ‘I love this person’ to ‘I am this person’ and ‘I want to be this person’. That was when I started mulling over the idea of giving stand-up comedy a crack.

  Eight years later, I was Joan Rivers’ opening act.

  It was October 2013 and I was preparing to go on my first holiday. I had just finished filming A League of Their Own and had had a successful stand-up tour and saved enough money to fly to New York and put myself up in a nice hotel for ten days. My dear friend Kris, a fellow performer, had told me to get in touch with his mates Chip and Ron, who run a little cabaret bar called the Laurie Beechman Theatre in midtown New York, where Joan Rivers would regularly trial material, to see if she had any shows I could attend.

  I’m so fucking glad I sent that email. I mean, I could’ve just looked the dates up on the internet. But I sent the email and a day later got a reply saying, ‘Joan’s seen your stand-up. Would you like to open for her when you’re in town?’

  I read and reread and reread the email because I was convinced I had temporarily forgotten how to read. I couldn’t believe it.

  I immediately said yes and started to freak out – was I good enough to open for this woman? What if she thinks I’m shit? Don’t they say never meet your idols?

  I called Andrew, who was going to be in New York too, and we excitedly made plans. I then shouted, ‘I’m opening for Joan fucking Rivers!’ from the rooftops and plastered it across every form of social media I could find. I almost re-joined Myspace just to get another avenue for boasting. Time and time again I’ve heard stories of Joan Rivers’ generosity and warmth, and this was just one of those times. All it took was one sentence spoken to another person: ‘He should open for me.’ Little did she know it would change a young Australian performer’s life.

  Joan loved stand-up so much that if she happened to be in New York (where she lived), she would perform on a Monday night at the Laurie Beechman Theatre and then donate the money to charity – even at eighty-one years old. ‘I shouldn’t get paid for this, I’m testing out material on you,’ she would claim. She was such a consummate professional that she would give you ninety minutes of solid Joan Rivers gold. Money didn’t matter to her, laughs were the currency she craved.

  I was terribly nervous the first night I opened for Joan. I sat across the road at our hotel bar with another of my managers, Julie, and had a couple of wines to calm my nerves before Andrew joined us to head to the theatre. I stood backstage, terrified. Joan hadn’t arrived yet, so I wasn’t sure if she was even going to see me perform. Although I was nervous to have her watch me, I was more upset that I wasn’t going to get the opportunity to show her what I could do.

  My time on stage was such a blur that I can’t remember how it went but I remember there were laughs. Then I walked off stage, and straight into Joan Rivers.

  ‘That was fucking hilarious,’ she said.

  I almost simultaneously burst into tears and projectile vomited.

  She took my hand and had a conversation with me about stand-up comedy. At no point did she talk to me like a senior talking to a junior nor was she remotely patronising. She just spoke to me as a peer and even asked for some advice on a bit she was going to try out that night. Then she went on stage to perform the most amazing stand-up comedy I had ever seen. It was simple, not overthought, not depressing or political like so much stand-up is these days, just downright fucking funny. It was the closest I’ve come to having a religious experience.

  Coming home to Australia with the Joan Rivers tick of approval meant so much for my career and I could never thank her enough for it.

  The last time I opened for Joan Rivers was the night before she went into a coma and, sadly, passed away.

  It was 2014 and I was again in New York. By this point I was fine with opening for Joan. I felt far more relaxed, and just like I was working with a friend. She had also come to like me so much that she had loosened the ‘no swearing’ rule she normally asks of her support acts. This isn’t an uncommon rule for support acts – often the headline comic wants to be the first person to swear to get the full effect. At the time I was performing my New York Fringe Festival run in town with my friend, Thomas. I would do the show earlier in the evening and then race across town to open for Joan. The final night I opened for her was my birthday. My parents had flown in (of course they fucking had) to celebrate with me but also to see their son open for a legend.

  That morning I awoke to discover that despite relatively small crowds my Fringe show had received a five-star review in Time Out New York. I was so stoked. Hopefully this meant some people would buy a fucking ticket. That afternoon I did my show with Thomas to a quarter-full audience and then taxied up town to the Laurie Beechman Theatre. I walked out on stage, did my performance, introduced Joan Rivers and walked off stage and tried to sneak back into the crowd to sit and watch the show with my parents and Thomas.

  But before I could make it back to the table, I heard Joan say, ‘Joel Creasey, get the fuck back here.’

  I froze. This had never happened before. What was going on? But importantly, what the fuck had I done? I trepidatiously walked back to the stage. She met me at the edge, took my hand and guided me to the microphone stand. She kept hold of my hand and, with her free hand, pulled a piece of paper out of her bra.

  It was the review of my show from Time Out New York. She read the entire review to the audience and then said in her gorgeous Joan Rivers growl, ‘I am so proud of this guy. He is so fucking funny. Isn’t he fucking funny?’ And the audience cheered. Then she said, ‘He’s got three more shows at the fringe festival. You want me to start the show? Pull your phones out now and book tickets to see him.’

  The audience laughed and she said, ‘I’m not kidding. Pull your fucking phones out now and book tickets. I’m not starting the show.’

  I ended up selling out the rest of my fringe festival run.

  Once Joan had drained the room of their patronage for me, she said, ‘And it’s your birthday, isn’t it?’

  I couldn’t believe she knew. I said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your parents have flown across from Australia, yes?’

  I just nodded.

  ‘Where are they?’

  The lights came up on the audience and Terry and Jenny Creasey, ever the showponies (and probably with two bottles of wine in them by this point) waved enthusiastically. Joan Rivers then said the words I will be quoting on my posters from now until the end of time: ‘Joel Creasey – he is a fucking star.’ She told my parents how excellent she thought I was, and how lucky they were to have a son who was so funny.

  I couldn’t believe it – the ultimate validation from my hero. It is much harder to come out to your parents about wanting to be a stand-up comedian than to tell them you’re gay.

  The next day Joan went into a coma and passed away. I was heartbroken. I kept telling people, ‘I saw her last night. She’ll be fine. This is the media making it sound worse than it is.’

  Then I flew to LA and she was still in the coma. I was on the treadmill at the gym (that’s what you do if you’re a gay in LA) and saw the news flash up on the TV that she had died. I was crushed. I fell apart. It felt like there were no problems in the world we couldn’t face head on while Joan was alive.

&nb
sp; My then boyfriend Jefferey knew I’d be upset and was outside the gym, waiting to pick me up. We went home and watched the news about what had happened on loop while my phone rang off the hook with Australian media outlets wanting a comment.

  That night in West Hollywood and all around the world, gay bars hosted Joan Rivers–themed drag nights. That made me smile. Joan would’ve fucking loved it.

  I have come to the realisation that I’ve got to stop working with my heroes. Joan Rivers, Carrie Fisher . . . Meryl Streep better be careful.

  I’ve decided to start using my powers for good, though. So I’ve recently become a huge Donald Trump fan!

  14

  My Euro ‘Vision’ for the Future

  Only recently somebody said to me, ‘I grew up watching you on TV.’ I was taken aback at first and then shocked to discover he was nineteen and that it was really quite possible. Although I’m still often overwhelmed with nerves, anxiety and the occasional desire to throw in the towel and say ‘FUCK IT! THIS IS ALL TOO HARD! I’M GOING BACK TO McCAFE!’, after almost ten years as a full-time professional stand-up comedian, I have finally started to feel more confident in my place in the industry.

  I love Andrew and always will; he was my manager for seven years and had literally been there with me for every high and through every devastating low, yet towards the start of 2016 I inherently felt it was time for me to move on and began to investigate other management situations. I know without doubt that I wouldn’t be where I am today without Andrew and can’t thank him enough for all the work he did for me. He went everywhere with me and I loved having him around, both as a colleague and best friend. Very few people know me like Andrew does, and I knew he was going to be shocked and hurt by my decision to leave, which made the task all the more painful.

  By 2016, life with Andrew had possibly become too easy. In a way, I’d stopped trying – to the point that I’d contemplate catching up with mates but actually found it easier just to hang with Andrew. I knew I needed to change things up . . . purely for my own sake. I was getting complacent, which I didn’t like.