Work Text:
Who? Weekly, Friday call-in show. Friday, September 8, 2016
Caller: Hi Who? Weekly, longtime listener, longtime caller. So, my brother was at the last stand-up show Richie Tozier did before he came out…he said the guy was totally spaced out and forgetting the punchlines to his own jokes. But now knowing that he's gay and was just like, sick of saying all that dumb shit, it’s way more interesting. He saw like, a breakdown in real time! Anyway, good form Bella Thorne, bye.
Lindsey: We don’t really talk about stand-ups because they’re mostly Whos, but Richie Tozier’s kind of interesting. I wouldn’t say he’s a Them—
Bobby: Certainly a Them among some heterosexual men.
Lindsey: But he’s cuspy. He’s like, not quite Jeff Dunham or Dane Cook, but he’s like, of that vein. Which is why it’s so interesting he came out as gay.
Bobby: And it also came out that he doesn’t write his own jokes.
Lindsey: Yeah, that’s the whole thing, is that like, his comedy has always hinged on this very bro-y, pseudo-fratty, straight straight straight humor. Like, Ugh, my girlfriend has feeeeeelings. So he can’t be like out and keep doing that material.
Bobby: That he didn’t even write! Lindsey, do you think he’s gonna write his own material?
Lindsey: Like, Ugh, my boyfriend has feeeeelings?
Bobby: No, I mean like is he going to have a total Nanette moment.
Lindsey: Interesting!
Bobby: Nanette moment! Nanette moment for Richie Tozier!
Lindsey (clapping): Show-us-what-you-can-do, Richie Tozier! Okay actually I don’t care that much. And he may not even be a Who, so we shouldn’t be talking about him. Next caller!
Us Weekly . Tuesday, September 12, 2016
Following the cancellation of his Pull My Finger tour, comedian Richie Tozier was spotted buying Lactaid and Claritin at Whole Foods in Beverly Hills.
The New York Times Magazine, Talk. Sunday, January 25, 2017
“SORRY ABOUT THE CURSING”
The real Richie Tozier talks recent gigs, his writing process, and being himself.
In August, you admitted to not writing your own stand-up material. How has this affected your relationships with other comedians? Well, the ones who didn’t like me before are pretty happy I’m not getting paid anymore. So I’ve made some new friends.
So you’re still in the scene. Yeah. I’m carving out a niche for sloppy, foul-mouthed, middle-aged gays.
Does it bother you to be categorized now as a “gay comedian”? No, because I’m lazy. I let all the tabloids do the coming out for me. Hey, Mom and Dad… Plus, I think it’s important to lower the bar.
Lower the bar? Straight people have overcorrected out of guilt. Like, “Oh, hey everyone, listen. Turns out gay dudes? Are not all party-drug-peddling Satanist Dahmers.” And everyone was like, “Oh, okay. Gay dudes are super neat. They’re hilarious. They’re fashionable. They have summer homes.” Hold up, straight people, hold up! That’s way too much pressure!
What was your last gig? I played a bar in Glendale called World’s Okayest. There were fifteen people in the audience. I did a joke about a surfer dude commercial airline pilot, being the world’s worst Staples employee in my 20s, and a bit about limes. I’m in the workshopping stage.
What made you interested in stand-up? I went to my friend’s bar mitzvah when we were thirteen. During his speech, he started pacing around, and then he went off at his dad, who was the rabbi. I was the only standing ovation.
Even as an adult, you have a class clown vibe. Was this true as a kid? It was more like low-class clown. I couldn’t stop cursing. I still can’t stop cursing, except now there are no teachers to slam me with check-minuses for behavior. Wait, you’re gonna have to take the cursing out of this interview, right?
Yes. Sorry about the extra work.
What’s the hardest part about writing your own stuff? I’m more vulnerable now, and I have more responsibility. Before, it was just a character, and the people in my jokes were characters. Now I have the power to joke about something real. But I’m worried about hurting myself or the people I care about. I’m not quite there yet.
What’s your process like? I’m still figuring it out. There’s a lot of people-watching involved. Sometimes I’ll sit on the bus and write there. Or I’ll talk to myself in the backyard. It’s not all bad, it’s just that I have so many years of jokes backed up like a septic tank, and it’s all coming out now. The shitty dam is broken. Now I just have to figure out what’s good shit and what’s bad shit.
Who’s the funniest person you know? That’s classified, because it would go straight to his head.
Are you seeing anyone? C’mon man, I thought this was the Times.
My Brother, My Brother and Me, episode 344: Our Dad Gets ******
March 12, 2017
Excerpted transcript, starting at 18:35.
Justin, reading a question: "I’ve been dating this girl for a few weeks. She’s cool, really smart and funny, but she has this poster of a clown in her bedroom, right on the back of her door. It’s not a horror movie clown or anything, but it still freaks me out because I’m terrified of clowns"—and “terrified” there is italicized, bolded, and underlined, I didn’t even know you could do that in an email. "I can’t even go to a circus because I’ll start hyperventilating. And so far, I’ve managed to avoid this clown poster because we’ve mostly hung out at my place, but things are going well and I feel like it’s only a matter of time before something happens at hers, so… Brothers, please help me. How do I fuck in front of this clown?" And that’s from Sick of Clowns in San Francisco.
Griffin: That’s the worst kind of safe sex mechanism I’ve ever heard. Jesus.
Travis: Condoms? More like…clowndoms.
Justin: Okay, that was terrible, that was absolutely the worst, there’s no way we’re qualified to answer this… Luckily, I know just the guy to help! Let me just get him on Skype, just make sure I have his contact info right…
[Justin poorly imitates the Skype calling thing.]
Hey, Richie. You there?
Richie (doing a voice): Richie? This is Archibald the Clown Condom, I can protect you from all the venereal diseases and all the shitty comedy—
Griffin: Wow, not even on our show for thirty seconds and you’re already disrespecting our brand?
Travis: Yeah, it’s like, quit clownin’ around—
Richie: No, I’m sorry, guys. That wasn’t me, I have no idea where that came from. I’m really grateful to be here, seriously.
Griffin: Talking a big game for someone who has a picture of Bert from Sesame Street with sunglasses photoshopped on as his icon on Skype, seriously man, is this 2009 or something—
Richie: Says the man whose icon is a fucking—what is that, a Pokemon?
Griffin: Obviously it’s Wingull.
Justin: Obviously. Now come on, guys, we have a listener to help. And this—for everyone at home, we’ve got Richie Tozier on the line. Richie, he’s a comedian, I would say up and coming except that it’s more like he was up, and then he disappeared for like three months, and now he’s back—
Griffin: You’re like, Richie, you’re like on a weird career roller coaster only you switched the ride up halfway through. Like, before it was a shitty wooden roller coaster that you think is gonna collapse right as you get to the top of the big hill, but now it’s, like, sleek and has real seatbelts, and you can go upside down, and you’ll throw up after—
Richie: You’ll Throw Up After. Title of my Netflix special.
Travis: What’s your Comedy Central one, the one that just came out?
Richie: It’s called, uh, Your Dad Is Gay and I’m Fucking Him! We really had to fight for that, and by we I mean me—the producers wanted to star it out, like, f-star-star-i-n-g, in case any kids happen to see it or something. And I was like, what’s the point of a comedy special if you don’t cause the network to get sued over some toddler learning the f-word from it, right?
Justin: Oh, I want my toddler to learn the f-word from our podcast. That’s the real way to do it. It’s probably already happened and I don’t know. Cooper, if you’re listening, I’m proud of you, honey.
Griffin: Okay, okay, bringing it back. Richie.
Richie: Yes?
Griffin: How does our wonderful, brave, fully rationally afraid listener fuck in front of their nightmare clown?
Richie: Oh, shit.
Griffin: What?
Richie: Am I qualified to answer this? I’m not sure I’m qualified to answer this.
Travis: Dude, you literally told us your specialties were clowns and emotional repression. And 80s alt rock, I guess, but that’s not as funny so we kinda focused on the first two.
Richie: Yeah, no, I’m kidding, I’m totally qualified. I was just vamping. Alright, listener, here’s what you do. You go into that room, right—like, you’re at her house, you’re watching a movie or maybe an extremely funny Comedy Central special, and you know shit’s gonna go down later so you pause it—obviously pause it—tell her you need to piss, and go over to her room and shut the door and stare that clown right in its beady little eyes, and—you know what you do?
Travis: What?
Richie: You bully it. Just fucking bully it. Like it’s middle school and you’re gonna shove it in a locker. Tell it how stupid it looks and that it’s never gonna make any friends, and after a few minutes of that it won’t scare you any more.
Travis: That’s—
Griffin: I mean—
Richie: And if that doesn’t work, there’s always making it look like some teens broke in and graffitied a penis right on top of the clown.
[a beat]
Justin: Okay. I guess that’s it. Bully the clown.
Travis: Hold on. Hold up. Richie, I have some questions.
Richie: Yes?
Travis: What kind of bullying are we talking? Like, old-fashioned steal your lunch money stuff, or like, the new shit, fake Facebook accounts—
Justin: Fake Facebook accounts? That’s a thing?
Travis: Yeah, teens are really mean now, it’s like—
Griffin: You bully them on Tumblr. There’s this thing called anonymous asks—god I hate that I know this.
Richie: I also hate that you know this. Are you on Tumblr? Should I be on Tumblr?
Justin: I just did a quick Google search and, uh, there’s a Tumblr that’s just you edited—like, there’s this picture of you standing on a red carpet and grinning like a robot that just got arms and has no fucking idea what to do with them, and—and some teen, at least I’m assuming it’s a teen, they’ve edited it so that you’re standing in space, or on the Statue of Liberty, or—oh shit there are some weird ones, definitely don’t look this up—
Travis: I’m looking it up. I’m looking it up!
Richie: I’m texting this one of a really small me standing in between the Hulk’s buttcheeks to my boyfriend, what the fuck.
Griffin: WHY ARE WE ALL ON TUMBLR IT’S 2017 OH MY GOD I’M GETTING A YAHOO. I’M GETTING A YAHOO RIGHT NOW.
Justin: There’s one—there’s one that’s just Richie with a smaller Richie standing on his shoulders with a smaller Richie standing on his shoulders—
Travis: These kids and their Photoshop, I’m telling you, I would’ve never made it through high school if we had this when I was thirteen—
Griffin: Okay okay okay okay okay, I have a Yahoo, can I please for the love of God do a Yahoo—
Richie: A Yahoo?
Griffin: From the Yahoo Answers Service! Richie! Have you really never listened to our show before?
Richie: I’ve seen, like, a few clips on YouTube, like that one about Justin listening to Jimmy Buffet—
Travis: Oh, yeah, that’s a good one.
Griffin: Okay, so you should know that sometimes we answer questions from the Yahoo Answers Service, and I found one about clowns just for you. Are you ready?
Richie: Hold on.
[A beat; Richie can be heard getting up from an office chair and making some vague groans—is he stretching?—in the background. He returns.]
Richie: Okay, I’m ready.
Griffin: Great. This one was sent in by Adrian, thank you Adrian, and it’s a question from Anonymous, who I’m going to call Hulk, and they ask—
Justin: Boopadoopboopadoopboopadoopboopadoopboopboopboop—
Richie, harmonizing: —aboopadoopboopboopboopboop—
[A backbeat comes in, most likely added by Griffin in post.]
Justin and Richie, in a terrible off-key chorus: —aboopdoopaboopdoopaboopboopadoopboopadoopboopadoopboopadoop—
Justin: HAUNTED DOLL WATCH!
Travis: My life just flashed before my eyes.
Griffin: That was like, the music you hear when respawn in P.T. And I loved it.
Richie: It’s a gift.
Justin: Thank you, Richie, for that beautiful moment. I will treasure it always. Now, we have a haunted doll—this is breaking, it came in just as we were talking about the teens on Tumblr—
Griffin: Oh, it’s a fresh one?
Justin: The freshest. Okay, so this listing is called “Haunted Doll,” open parentheses, “Photo Paper,” close parentheses, “Scary Halloween Kreepee,” hyphen, “Naughty Clown,” another hyphen, “Make a Wish.”
Richie: Hold on, sorry—where exactly are you getting this?
Justin: eBay. Obviously. Get with the program.
Richie: So you’re telling me someone on the internet is just selling—okay, actually, this isn’t that weird. Now that I think about it, I get it.
Justin: Oh but you haven’t heard the description yet, my dude.
Richie: Should I be scared?
Travis: Probably.
Griffin: Eh.
Justin: Okay, so I’m sending this link in Skype so that you guys can look at this picture, because it really is indescribable, it’s like the ghost of a clown that went to prison for thirty years for embezzling funds from a children’s orphanage, like, it has that energy.
Griffin: This clown is like, the clown that eats other clowns. Not even the weirdest clowns want to hang out with this clown. It’s just in its own clown corner, fucking watching horse porn or something, while the other clowns are partying.
Travis: This clown is like…this clown is washed up even by clown standards.
Justin, laughing: Oh my god. Yeah. This clown ran the Big Apple clown scene in the eighties, and now he's all washed up and eating the leftover peanuts the elephants dropped at the circus.
Travis: And the ringleader is like, shoo. Git. Git out.
Richie: I’ve gotta say, I kinda want to buy this clown just so that I can burn it, and then throw those pieces into the ocean. Just to make sure nobody else ever has to look at it again.
Justin: And you guys haven’t even seen the description yet!
Richie: The what?
Justin: Oh yes. I’m not gonna read all of it, because there is a lot to deal with and this could easily become our whole episode, but I just want to give you a few highlights, okay? So here’s how it starts: “I love my Scary Halloween Kreepee dolls. They are silly, bratty and so much fun.”
Griffin: Sure, fun, if you like getting your heart ripped out of your chest and eaten.
Justin: Right. Next up is: “They want you to name them but if you wish you can email me and I will tell you their name after your purchase.” Like, the name is some kind of Rumpelstiltskin secret that you can only unlock after spending three-forty-nine—yes, that’s how much this clown costs—plus shipping.
Travis: They should be paying you to take the clown.
Justin: Later on, we get, “Every single one of them is compassionate and will care for you from the bottom of their heart. They will deeply love you from the bottom of their heart forever and ever.” And then, later, the ethos of the thing, “I have over 20 years in the spiritual field, Chaplain, run a non-profit ministry, taught psychic development, radio host for California Psychics as well as a reader, Ionixx and Reiki Master.”
Griffin: Hold on. Hold up. How does one person do all of this?
Richie: Wait, did you say radio host? I listen to late night radio a lot—what do you think are the chances I’ve heard this fucking weirdo?
Travis: Oh, way too good, Richie. Way too good.
Justin: And then, the kicker. “The Kreepee energy is a special powerful positive and protective haunted spirit energy that I work with. Each spirit has happily agreed to enter into the paper doll. Most of all have fun with your new friend! Kreepee Family!”
Griffin: Kreepee Family!
Travis: Kreepee Family!
Richie: I want to leave the podcast.
Griffin, in a clown voice: Oh, it’s too late for that, Richie! Once you have joined the Kreepee Family, you are stuck here! Come play with us! Play with us in the space!
Richie: Hmm, let me think about that…no.
Justin, doing Amelie: Play with us in the space, Richie! I am Kreepee Family now on DVD!
Travis: Are you really doing Amelie right now?
Justin: Yeah, man. I dunno, it just felt right.
Griffin: Can we go back to my Yahoo? I had a really good one.
Justin: Okay…yeah. Yeah, we can go back to your Yahoo.
Richie: Please go back to your Yahoo.
Griffin: Thank you. So Anonymous, what did I call them?
Richie: Hulk.
Griffin: Right, Hulk. Hulk asks, “hello, Can clowns be metal?”
[Justin starts laughing.]
Griffin: “hello, Can clowns be metal? my pal Toki says yes but everyone else says no. i am dr rockso the rock and roll clown and i do cocaine!”
Richie: Oh, well, if you do cocaine.
Griffin: Also—and this is really important—the category for this question is “Rock and Pop.” As in, music.
Travis: So, they want to know if clowns can be rock and roll?
Richie: I feel like, inherently, there’s some resistance, just in the color schemes—
Justin: I don’t care about the category. We don’t need it. I’m going to answer this question, and I’m gonna answer it literally.
Travis: And?
Justin: You can make a clown out of anything, if you believe.
Griffin: What the fuck—what is this, Pinnochio? Tinker Bell? If you believe in the clown?
Richie: I buy it. Clowns can be metal. Yeah.
Travis: Also, can we talk about how this guy’s name is “doctor rockso?” What is his degree in?
Richie: Rocking. Obviously.
Griffin: I’m reading it again, guys, and this has gotta be a contender for the question most definitively written while someone was high. I mean—
Travis: You’re just saying that ‘cause of the cocaine.
Griffin: Yes, but also, the capitalization? The mysterious doctorate? The pal Toki? Who the hell is Toki?
Justin: Look, I don’t know why we’re still talking about this. I already answered it. Actually, I have another question here, and I really think we need you for this one, Rich—
Richie: Wow, okay. I’m ready.
Justin: Great. Yes. So I have—I’ve got another question from a listener, a great wonderful listener at home who we love. They say: “I just came out to my dad. And it went really well, he was super supportive. And he’s continued being supportive—he’s been offering to watch gay movies with me, and he got me a Pride flag for my room, and stuff.”
Travis: Aww.
Griffin: Damn.
[Vague sniffling sounds that may or may not be Richie]
Justin: Yeah. And—”But he might be getting a little…too supportive. As in, every time we’re out in public, he’ll tell everyone in earshot that I’m gay and he’s proud of me. We live in a pretty progressive area, so it’s not dangerous or anything, and I appreciate that he wants to share this, but it’s getting awkward. He literally did an announcement over the grocery store loudspeaker the other day. So, brothers…how do I get my dad to tone it down on the pride?” And that’s from Not Even on Grindr Yet in North Hollywood, which—okay, more than I ever wanted to know about a listener’s sex life, but you do you, I guess.
Travis: I think what you need is some kind of preemptive sign, like, a T-shirt that says, “I’m gay and my dad’s proud of me.”
Griffin: Or maybe like a rainbow scarf? Would that do it? Or—
Richie: Nah, guys, I’ve got it. Easy. The next time your dad does this, the next time you’re out in public and he says, “I love my gay son” or whatever, immediately follow it up with, “He’s talking about Richie Tozier. His son and my brother, Richie Tozier.”
Justin: So wait, you’ll—
Griffin: So you’re this guy’s son now? That’s what you want?
Richie: Your listener gets another person to displace the embarrassment onto, and I get a supportive dad by proxy. Never had a real one, so I’ll take it. Win-win.
[awkward silence]
Travis: Okay, Richie, I know you haven’t listened to our show much before this, which is—your loss, but it’s fine, whatever—but you have to know this one thing. We have this rule, like, no bummers… And that means, well. It means you don’t do anything to make us sad. And you just kinda violated that, a little.
Richie: Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t…it’s part of the emotional repression, right?
Justin: It’s okay. Just, now you know for next time.
Richie: Right, sure.
Griffin: Wait, I can pull this back. I’ve got one more question. A quick one, just from me. So, Richie, let’s say you had an, uh, let’s call it a clown box. A box for a clown. And it’s extremely cursed, right, and you accidentally let it loose and there’s a boy there, a very good boy who did nothing wrong, and, uh—
Richie: Okay I haven’t listened to much of your podcast but I’ve seen your TV show, you son of a bitch, I know this isn’t a hypothetical—
Griffin: Wait, I didn’t mean to, I—
Richie: YOU ABANDONED YOUR BOY!
Griffin: I REGRET IT EVERY DAY!
Richie: YOU BETTER REGRET IT! YOU BETTER ATONE FOR THAT SIN EVERY DAY UNTIL YOU DIE!
[A beat.]
Justin: Alright. Thanks for…whatever that was.
Griffin: I deserved it.
Travis: I didn’t.
Justin: You did. Okay. Richie, remind us why you’re here today.
Richie: Your dad is gay and I’m fucking him.
Travis: Yeah, the—the Comedy Central special, right?
Richie: No, I’m fucking your dad. Like, for real. Clint McElroy, right?
Griffin: WHAT—
Justin: HOW DID YOU—
Richie: Nerdy guy with glasses, kind-of a deep radio voice, really loves Kenny Chesney? Yeah. We met at a beach bar and just really hit it off, he showed me his whole collection of Green Lantern comics and then we—
Travis: NO—
Richie: Went out to dinner, man, sheesh.
[A beat.]
Richie: And then we fucked.
Griffin: THAT’S MY DAD YOU ASSHOLE OH MY—
Richie (imitating Clint McElroy): Oh, yeah, Richie, just like that, yeah.
[Justin can be heard laughing, like just insanely giggling, and then there’s a faint bump.]
Travis: Oh, shit, did you—did you kill Justin?
Griffin: What a sick fucker, you fucked our dad and now you’ve killed our brother.
Richie: What can I say, I know how to milk a good promo spot. Just like your dad knows how to—
Griffin: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL FLY TO L.A. AND—
Richie: Fuck my dad? Good luck, the guy’s been dead for ten years.
Justin (faint): Okay. Wow. Okay. I’m good, guys, just fell off my chair, wow.
Travis: And that’s… We’ve gotta go to the Money Zone, that’s it, we need this money to save our family.
Griffin: Thanks for being here, Richie.
Richie: Thanks for having me.
[Money Zone.]
Billy on the Street with RICHIE TOZIER!!!!!
969K views • July 23, 2017
Billy: HELLO, NEW YORK! I’m Billy Eichner, I’m here with my good friend and fellow obnoxious gay man Richie Tozier—
Richie waves.
Billy: —and together, we’ll be terrorizing the people of New York City! Let’s go.
They start running. The camera follows shakily—Billy has the full-tilt stance of a former high school track star who refuses to believe he can no longer do a six-minute mile, while Richie just has a stance. Barely. He’s hanging in there.
We close in on Victim #1: a heavy-set man in dark jeans and a gray baseball cap, carrying a plastic bag full of groceries.
Billy: Sir! SIR! For a dollar, sir, would you give Richie Tozier your dad’s number?
Victim #1: Would I what?
Billy: Richie Tozier, the comedian, he’s right here and he’s very funny, he will take your dad out to a steak dinner and tell him jokes about—
Billy glances at Richie; Richie shrugs, like, this was your bit, man.
Billy: —about international soccer the whole time. He’ll make your dad laugh, sir, will you—
Victim #1 reaches into his shopping bag slowly, as though facing off against an angry bear—which, okay, Billy wishes—and pulls out a can of beer. Bud Lite.
Victim #1: If I give you this, will you go away?
Billy slaps it out of his hand—it lands on the sidewalk with a clunk.
Billy: NO! Let’s go, Richie!
They run; the man goes and grabs the beer, considers it for a moment, then slowly opens it and drinks.
Cut to Victim #2: A short, older woman with a blonde bob haircut, wearing a linen turtleneck even though it’s seventy degrees outside, and walking a white terrier.
Billy: Ma’am! For a dollar, ma’am, would you give Richie Tozier your dad’s number?
Victim #2 stops in her tracks, the dog yapping at her heels then going to investigate Richie, who has come up behind Billy and bends for a moment, catching his breath. This guy needs a gym membership, that wasn’t even five blocks. As he straightens, Victim #2 looks at him, and her eyes widen.
Victim #2: Wait. Richie Tozier?
Richie holds up a peace sign.
Billy: In the flesh, ma’am, here in New York, armed with peak humor and self-deprecation and a lot of good playlists, seriously, he DJ’d my birthday party once and let me tell you it was insane, that man can Cotton Eye fucking Joe—
Victim #2: Richie Tozier. [recognition is dawning] With the Comedy Central special, right? My daughter loves you. She said you gave her the courage to come out.
Richie [shaken]: Wait, she—what? Really?
Victim #2: Can I get a picture? She’ll never believe this.
Richie takes a step forward, but Billy cuts him off, crossing guard saving innocent kids from oncoming traffic style.
Billy: NO!!! We’re supposed to be wooing dads, not moms!! Come on, Richie, stay focused!!
They take off again, the dog trying to chase—Richie stops to give it a pat on the head, and Victim #2 snaps a photo.
Cut to Victim #3: a young woman in a black leather jacket, tight dark curls piled atop her head, fashionable jeans rolled up to show off her short high-heeled boots. Striding like she’s going somewhere important. She probably is.
Billy: Ma’am! Would you—for a dollar, would you give Richie Tozier your dad’s number?
Richie runs up behind him; he seems to have gained his second wind. He stops by a signpost and leans up against it, like, ‘Sup. It’s not convincing. His forehead is caked in sweat.
Victim #3: Wait—what?
Billy: Would you give him your dad’s phone number! For a dollar! Come on, it’s not that complicated! Just ten digits, preferably in order—
Victim #3: What for?
Billy: What for? What FOR!! [he shakes the dollar at her] For—for love, romance, two straws in one milkshake and kisses on the jumbotron at Mets games, what the fuck do you think it’s for!!!
Victim #3 looks over at Richie, who is trying very hard to look like the sort of person who enjoys Mets games, then at Billy, who is trying very hard not to cross the four or five steps worth of distance and strangle her where she stands. And then she—shrugs. Wait, she shrugs?
Victim #3: Okay. Sure. Why not? My dad’s kinda sad, he could use…I dunno. Whatever this is.
She rummages in her purse, a tiny silver thing on a leather cord, and pulls out—well, first cinnamon gum, Advil, lip gloss, and a grocery store receipt—but then a pad of sticky notes and a pen. She writes down ten digits and hands the paper to Richie—but Billy yanks it out of his palm and holds it aloft, like, GOAAAAAL! Richie shrugs, and turns to the woman.
Richie: Thanks. I think.
Billy: THANK YOU! HE’LL CALL! YOU WON’T REGRET THIS!
He starts to sprint off, then remembers the dollar and pivots, the audio quality’s not great so you’ll have to imagine the squeal of sneakers on pavement, and then he nearly collides with the woman as he runs back.
Billy: YOUR DOLLAR! NOBODY HAS EVER DESERVED IT MORE!!
And he runs off, throwing out a hand to pull on Richie’s sleeve, before she can start to regret it.
Finally, cut to Victim #4 and Victim #5: two young guys in button-downs, one (#4) shorter, with dark hair, slicked back, in a floral print top, and the other (#5) taller (but not as tall as our host) and blonder in a bright yellow top. Both wearing Allbirds.
Billy runs up between them on the sidewalk, arms flailing.
Billy: Sirs! Sirs, would one of you—or both of you, would—for a dollar, for a dollar, sirs, would you give Richie Tozier your dad’s number?
Victim #5: Who? My dad’s what?
Billy: His phone number, come on, pay attention—
Victim #4: Wait, Richie Tozier? Like from—oh, I get it, wait—wait, this is a prank, right? Like—
Billy: It is not a prank, he’s right here! Right—[he turns, revealing that Richie is not, in fact, right here. Richie has not been right here for several blocks now.] Okay, he’s out of shape, but I swear on this dollar—
Victim #4 is skeptical and Victim #5 still confused, but as Billy points down the block, Richie materializes around a corner, slumped and panting.
Billy: Told you! Richie Tozier, in the flesh and ready to treat your dad right, to listen to all his problems, to—[Richie slows down to a walk]—to bring him chicken soup when he’s sick, to hold his hand when he’s nervous about football, to let him win in Wii Tennis, to make the potato salad for the Fourth of July barbecue, to—[Richie’s within earshot now]—to FUCK HIM RIGHT IN THE ASS LIKE HE DESERVES—
Richie takes a deep breath and sprints the last few steps.
Richie: Okay. Okay. Yeah. Hi.
Victim #4 looks back and forth, like his head is on a swivel.
Victim #4: You—he—you—he—
Billy: Spit it out, we don’t have all day!
Victim #4: [to Richie] Don’t you have a boyfriend?
Victim #5: Dave, hold on—
Billy: Yeah, Dave, hold on, Dave, this is a conversation between Mr. Tozier and your dad—
Victim #4: You do, you talked about him in your special, I thought the whole thing about buying him a hammock was really sweet, and now you’re—what, picking up random dads on the streets of SoHo? What?
Richie stops, as though someone flipped a switch.
Richie: Oh, my God. Yeah. What the fuck am I doing?
Billy: FOR A DOLLAR—for a dollar, Dave’s friend, get Dave to shut the hell up. Oh my fucking God.
Victim #5 obligingly puts a hand over Victim #4’s mouth. But it’s too late; the Damage has been Done. Richie looks around at them, shrugs at Billy, like, sorry man, like a kid who intentionally flunked a final so that he could go smoke in the park for two more hours. And then he picks up and sprints back the way he came.
Billy, taking off after him: RICHIE TRASHMOUTH TOZIER YOU FUCKING MORON THE CAR IS IN THE OTHER DIRECTION—
[Ending logo.]
The Mary Sue: Richie Tozier, the Internet’s Favorite Comedian, Launches Charity to Help LGBTQ+ Youth
February 10, 2018
Richie Tozier took the comedy world by storm last fall, when he pivoted from “your mom” jokes to “your dad” jokes. His Comedy Central special, “Your Dad Is Gay: And I’m Fucking Him!”, will go down in history as the most-gif’ed hour of television ever produced, from his vivid descriptions of facing clownery homophobia in rural Maine to his impersonation of L.A. ambulance sirens. His new, queer-focused, self-written comedy has attracted a younger fanbase, largely teens who identify with his personal story of repression and acceptance.
Now, Tozier is giving his status as a gay icon some weight. This morning, he announced the launch of a charity, The Outreach Network, which will connect LGBTQ+ teenagers around the country to free psychiatric consultations, sexual health resources, support groups, and more—all accessible virtually no matter how rural your town is.
“Fans often tell me, watching your show is like therapy, but free,” Tozier wrote in a statement posted to Twitter and Instagram this morning. “And that’s flattering to hear, but my shows are literally the furthest thing from therapy you can get, short of watching golf in silence with your dad. The Outreach Network will help you get real therapy from real professionals, not a balding comedian who’s cried at Great British Bake-Off twice in the past week.”
Mental health clinics around the country have already signed up for the platform, along with sexual health clinics in fifteen major cities. Tozier has donated $500,000 to kick the organization off, and he announced a fundraiser later this month to raise up to $500,000 more. His goal, he wrote, is to fund up to five free therapy sessions for any teen who needs them, along with subsidized medication and STD testing.
“In all seriousness, mental health is a serious problem for the queer community,” he wrote. “We’re more likely to be diagnosed with anxiety and depression, we’re more likely to attempt suicide. And that’s particularly bad for trans kids. I’m not going to paste in statistics here, because if you’re reading this, you probably already know them. But suffice it to say that this is a community that needs support, and I see The Outreach Network as a way to give back some of the massive privilege I’ve attained over the past year.”
Basically, if you weren’t in love with this guy before, you probably are now. The organization is accepting donations here.
[Editor’s note: This is not sponsored content! We just think he’s neat!]
Tan France Gives Richie Tozier a Street Fashion Makeover | Dressing Funny | Netflix Is a Joke
1.2M views • Oct 8, 2018
Tan: Hello, I’m Tan France, and this is Dressing Funny. Each episode I’m dressing some of the funniest people on the planet. Today we’re pushing Richie Tozier’s style to a new level.
Richie: Hi, Tan. I’m Richard Tozier.
Tan: Rich—Richard? Are we going by your given name?
Richie: Actually Richard is just a nickname, Richie’s short for Ricochet…
Tan: And Tan is short for Taniel. See! I can joke, too.
Tan and Richie: Welcome to Dressing Funny.
Tan watches Richie thumb through a stack of Supreme sweatshirts.
Tan: Do you share clothes with your boyfriend?
Richie: Oh, no. No, he’s like, little.
Tan: Little? How little?
Richie: Like 5’9”.
Tan (scolding): Richard…
Richie: Ricochet.
Tan (hands up): All right, we’ll move on. How do you shop for yourself?
Richie: Like…honestly…I’ve taken a lot of clothes from comedy club lost-and-founds in my life…
Tan: No.
Richie: I go to like…Kohl’s…or vintage stores.
Tan: Vintage stores! Are you interested in vintage clothing?
Richie: I guess. It stands out more. Men’s clothing stores are all like…they’re just like navy and black, it’s so boring…
Tan: So you like dressing in graphic tops and color. Can I ask you a question? Is this look [gesturing] you, or is it the old you?
Tozier is wearing a green zip-up hoodie, a Power Rangers t-shirt, and baggy-ish jeans.
Richie: I never really thought about it in those terms. I think it’s me. I do like color.
Tan: And there’s nothing wrong with that. We can do patterns and color and have it be refined and age-appropriate and the correct size. Would you like that?
Richie: Yeah, anything to stop looking like an adolescent…Parrothead.
Tan: Okay, I’ve picked out some clothes for you in that dressing room. Let’s see how they look.
Richie emerges from the dressing room in a colorful knitted sweater and black straight-leg jeans.
Tan: How do you feel?
Richie: It’s cool, but…
Tan: But?
Richie: I’m kinda uncomfortable it doesn’t have pockets.
Tan (sighs and steeples fingers): Pockets. Okay. Richie, I have one word for you.
Richie: Hit me.
Tan: Posture.
Richie: Okay.
Tan: Two words. Your posture.
Richie: Jeez, France, I got it.
Tan: When you had that hoodie on, you had your hands jammed in the pockets, and you were actually dangling your arms down, your shoulders were curving forward. It doesn’t inspire confidence. Not only others’ confidence in you, but how you feel about yourself. Try standing up with your shoulders back.
Richie straightens. Tan rotates him toward the mirror.
Tan: See?
Richie: Yeah. Okay. I like the sweater. [flexing in the mirror] I could meet a dude’s parents in this sweater.
Tan: Great. I actually want to put you in some more clothes. Do you know about streetwear? It’s very bold, it can be quite colorful, it’s kind of a young person’s fashion but I think we can extract some elements that are relevant to you. Let’s go!
Richie pokes his head out the dressing room door.
Richie: I don’t know if I can come out, dude. I might set off a metal detector.
Richie emerges from the dressing room again in a pumpkin metallic jacket and plum metallic brogues .
Richie: [frantic metal detector beeping noises]
Tan: Stop beeping, I love this!
Richie: Can I say something nice about myself?
Tan: I wish you would.
Richie: I look like Bruno Mars, but tall.
Tan (exasperated): Must your self-confidence come at the expense of us shorter men?
Richie: It’s okay, Bruno is a way better dancer than me.
Tan: And now we’re back to self-depreciation. It’s okay, Ricochet, it’s a process.
Black-and-white shots of Tan and Richie’s lunch break at a hot dog cart. We return to the stack of sweaters.
Richie: I wanna turn the tables.
Tan: Yeah?
Richie: I wanna dress you. [looking at the camera] Is that allowed?
Tan: Uh, it’s not not allowed.
Richie (imitating Tan’s accent very poorly): Let me dress you in a bloody jumper, gov!
Tan: Okay, you know what? Absolutely not. Come on, we’re going to try your formal look next.
Tan shoves Richie back in the dressing room. A few minutes later, Richie comes out in a green-and-rose colorblock wool blazer with matching slim-fit trousers. The camera zooms in on blue ombre monk shoes.
Tan: Now this would be like, an Emmys look.
Richie: Ha!
Tan: Let’s practice our step and repeat. How do you usually pose?
Richie: I kinda just like, stand. [hanging his arms by his sides] With my arms like this. My hands curl up into like, these creepy little baby hands. It kills my manager—she begs me, she begs me to stop standing there like I’m someone’s uncle. Then I like, start stroking my chin or giving thumbs up and she realizes how much worse it could be and leaves me alone.
Tan: One step at a time, Ms. Manager.
Richie: Yeah, I just learned about skinny pants today. I’m not a Beautiful Mind, I have limits.
Tan: Okay, one last look. I know we’ve been pulling streetwear elements, but I think—just for fun—we’re gonna do one full streetwear look. Wanna get adventurous?
Richie: It won’t kill me.
Later: Richie comes out looking like a head-to-toe, way-too-old-for-this clown. He wears a colorblock windbreaker with matching waterproof pants , plus a matching BAPE camo baseball cap and fanny pack .
Tan: [unable to speak lest he laugh uncontrollably]
Richie: Oh, so you’re as deeply disturbed as I am?
Tan: No, no, no—
Richie: [singing incomprehensibly, perhaps a show tune or Michigan J. Frog]
Tan (hiding behind a mannequin): Stop!
Richie (extremely weird voice): You’ve activated the entertainer in me, Taniel!
Tan: This is not a look you could meet a man’s parents in.
Richie: I don’t think I could meet anyone in this look. I think—I think I’d be apprehended if I went outside like this.
The two of them look in the mirror. Richie looks truly, outstandingly goofy. They sigh.
Tan: What’s the boyfriend gonna think?
Richie: He’s gonna call me a fuckin’ idiot.
Tan: We went so long without cursing.
He pats Richie’s arm.
Richie: It was only a matter of time.
Tan: Good work, mate.
Vanity Fair: Richie Tozier Is the Comeback Clown
August 7, 2019
Richie Tozier never stops talking. This is neither a tagline nor an exaggeration: The man has a mouth like a Japanese bullet train, capable of crossing a country in eight hours without so much as spilling a glass of water. The first time I meet him, for lunch in the East Village between classified production meetings, our conversation veers quickly from Manhattan gentrification to his charity to youth leaders of the Sunrise Movement to fall Emmy predictions. At one point between ordering and eating, he notices that my notes already fill three pages, and his face goes white.
“How much of this s— are you writing down?” he asks.
“As much as I can,” I reply.
And then he grins, tearing into a piece of bread. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
***
The sudden disappearance of a comedian seemingly at his peak, followed by his return and rise to fame of an entirely new flavor, is now nearly as ubiquitous as Tozier’s boxy hipster glasses. In summer 2016, he badly bombed a show in L.A.—forgot his jokes, taunted his audience, trashed a backstage bathroom—and then vanished, seemingly off the face of the earth, for three months. We now know that a family emergency called him home to Derry, Maine, where he reconnected with old friends, including Eddie Kaspbrack, now his fiancé.
“You know when you go back to your old middle school,” Tozier says when I ask about his time in Derry, “and you see your old locker, and you think, man, those assholes really used to shove me in here, how did I fit—but at the same time, you’re terrified that your old bully is gonna come barreling around the corner and you’ll shrink two feet?”
I shake my head, wondering if this is supposed to be a universal experience.
Tozier shrugs then takes a bite of his burger—a veggie burger, no cheese, because his fiancé wants him to eat healthier, but “Don’t you dare tell Eds I’m actually trying.” “Well,” he says, “it was like that. The shit we deal with as kids, the ways we grow and don’t, the people who help us through it—it’s easy to forget all that s—, but it’s not too hard to remember.”
After that summer, Tozier’s comedy changed dramatically. He began writing his own material, for one.
I ask how he writes his jokes. “Oh, I don’t,” he replies. Then, after a long enough beat that my face was clearly doing something ridiculous, “I speak them. Trashmouth Tozier, right? My best stuff comes when I’m just running my mouth. So I voice record myself, or I scribble stuff down, and then I transcribe and revise later. Eddie hates it. I write in the shower a lot, and he thinks I’m yelling at someone.”
But it isn’t that simple, of course. True, Tozier’s comeback show, where he performed for a crowd of three thousand, was kept under wraps, the script read only by him, Kaspbrack, and a select few agents and producers. But now, he has a veritable writers room: eight comics, many of them with credits on the best sitcoms in L.A., whom Tozier gathers when he has a new set to write. He invites them over to his home in Beverly Hills, where they pull apart his jokes, then reconstruct them for maximum laughs.
“I need eight people to tell me I’m an asshole, because if just one does it, I won’t believe them,” Tozier explained.
And the writers room also serves as a natural litmus test; Tozier has recruited a diverse team that would be on his case early if he were to step in one of the pitfalls so commonly plaguing comedians in the age of #MeToo. “If anyone’s uncomfortable with something, they say so, and we change it,” explains Max Yao, one of the writers and Tozier’s friend since their Groundlings days. “It doesn’t happen often, though.”
I ask Tozier his thoughts on what some comedians call the rise of PC culture. He answers easily, in between fries: “They’re lazy. Making fun of people—that’s the lowest form of comedy. Kids are making masterpieces on—on f—ing TikTok in their bathrooms every day of the week, and some a—hole with a whole team of writers and six months to hone a set says he can’t write comedy unless he’s being racist? Come on.”
This attitude, one that aims to punch up rather than down, is a common feature of Tozier’s recent sets. His Netflix special, for example, includes an elaborate story about his high school science class which links images and extrapolates until, suddenly, he’s critiquing for-profit colleges and student debt. Tozier considers himself “lucky [he] failed out of college in the 90s,” unlike his fiancé, whom he calls “educated enough for the both of us, unfortunately.”
***
While Richie Tozier never stops talking, Eddie Kaspbrak never stops moving. Listening to a conversation between the two men is akin to watching a pinball machine with two balls going at once, slamming into each other and the walls and the levers and each other, lighting up their surroundings in a trance as mesmerizing as it is chaotic. (Kaspbrack laughed when I told him this metaphor—apparently Tozier spent many an afternoon at the town arcade when they were kids.)
Over the course of one twenty-minute walk with their dog, a beagle named Stanley, through their L.A. neighborhood, they manage to call off their engagement, call it back on, invite me, uninvite me, call the engagement off again, debate eloping, call the whole thing back on but disinvite everyone except me, and finally agree on what color napkins to have at the reception.
“Eddie’s the hardest person in the world to impress,” Richie tells me. “He hates, like, ninety-nine out of every hundred jokes. But when I get him to laugh, it’s like—that’s it, right? That’s the whole point. That’s the bottom f—ing line. Don’t tell him I said that.”
I tell him that all of his quotes are on the record. He puts his head down on the table and groans, unruly dark hair spreading across the white tablecloth.
“Can you at least put a d— joke after it, then?” he asks.
Kaspbrack is a risk analyst. He says every day with Tozier is an exercise in crisis scenarios: bad jokes, paparazzi, terrible food, worse booze. But mostly, the jokes. Tozier’s shows are so successful now that he likes to “challenge himself” by improvising ten minutes of every set, and Kaspbrack spends that whole time backstage terrified that this will be the time Tozier goes too far and says something that gets him arrested or punched in the face.
“Have you run the numbers?” I asked Kaspbrack. “How long does he have before his career upends?”
Kaspbrack laughs at that, and Tozier—hanging the dog’s leash up on the other side of the kitchen—turns and stares, as though pulled by his own personal gravitational field. They share a look, heavy and incomprehensible, and then Kaspbrack turns back to me.
“Sorry, what did you ask?” he says.
They’re a bit like teenagers in love. In between the endless bickering, I half expect Tozier to hold up a boombox and shout, “Go to prom with me!” or Kaspbrack to start in on an I hate the way I don’t hate you monologue. It’s good that they share a house now, Kaspbrack’s told me, because Tozier used to climb up to his bedroom window when they were kids, and an attempt now would probably mean Tozier falling and throwing out his back.
Much of this relationship has been captured in Tozier’s sets, if somewhat obliquely. The infamous line, “My husband is a b— and I like him so much” has been immortalized on T-shirts and stickers, but there is still a pronounced distance between Tozier’s on-stage punchlines and their subject, all sharp wit and intense emotion in ironed polos. Tozier may never stop talking, but Kaspbrack talks fast, especially when he’s talking about Tozier—five minutes into our interview, I had to stop, put down my notebook, and pull up the voice recorder on my phone, a first for this reporter.
“Is it strange, to have him tell jokes about you on stage in front of strangers?” I ask.
Kaspbrack sighs and leans back in his chair, as though bearing the weight of some small, self-contained world on his shoulders. “It is and it isn’t,” he says. “Yeah, it’s a bit like having someone scrape the inside of your brain and then blow it up on a projector, but at the same time, he’s been telling jokes about me for years. Even when we were… When we’d drifted apart, before the summer we went back to Derry, he was telling jokes about me. That’s how he understands the world. He flattens it and makes it into, like, a mirror, or a window, so that people can see themselves.”
I try to ask another question, but Kaspbrack keeps going: “And anyway, he’s—you know, I have this thing about dishes. I don’t mind if they’re left in the sink, but I need them to be stacked in this particular way, with, like, larger pans and plates on the bottom, then bowls, then glassware and utensils, everything soaking in water. I don’t know why I’m like this, it’s crazy. But I am. If they aren’t stacked, I get so stressed, I can’t do anything. And Richie—he used to not do his dishes at all, he’d just leave everything where he used it, but after—after we got together, he’s started stacking. Plates on the bottom, then bowls, then glassware and utensils. He’s got this insane chaotic mind, always moving, but he slows down and puts things in order, for me. So I don’t care, you know, I don’t care if he jokes about me. That’s the world’s Richie Tozier. I have this other Richie Tozier, who stacks the dishes, and sneaks stupid notes into the lunches I pack for work, and—well. You get the idea.”
And then Kaspbrack lurches forward. “You’re not gonna tell him I said that, are you?”
I remind him, as I had reminded Tozier in my first interview, that all quotes are on the record. He sighs, and then brightens, and says, “Well, if everything’s on the record—one time, in high school, Richie got so drunk, he thought he was impervious to the cold, and jumped in our town’s quarry. And this was Maine in December. It’s a miracle he didn’t get hypothermia.”
***
I would be remiss not to mention that Tozier is up for an Emmy in a couple of weeks—it is, after all, the reason I pitched this feature in the first place. It was at the top of my list of questions. And yet, I forget to ask about it until our final interview—sitting in his and Kaspbrack’s kitchen late one Wednesday evening, halfway through a bottle of Barefoot Moscato that Tozier swears was a gag gift from a friend. (Kaspbrack tells me, when Tozier gets up to go to the bathroom, that he has a whole case in the basement.)
He gives me the standard answer: he’s honored to even have been nominated, everyone in his category is so talented, please don’t ask what he’s going to wear because he isn’t qualified to answer, and so on. I write it all down dutifully. And then, he says something else—something that made me pause, and sit up, and listen:
“It wouldn’t be for me.”
We live in an age, now, in which a celebrity is not quite a person. This has always been true, of course, since long before the invention of tabloids, but it is especially true now. The Richie Tozier who smiles and cracks jokes in YouTube clips is not the Richie Tozier who walks the dog with his fiancé and takes blurry photos of L.A. sunsets. Yet rather than bemoaning this divide, attempting to show fans the “real him,” Tozier leans into it.
His persona, that scrappy gay comedian who tells teenagers across the country, “If your parents don’t like it when you come out, f— ‘em,” is neatly packaged and projected outward. Not marketed, per se, but extended. He donates proceeds from his shows to mental health clinics, and advocates for more inclusive sex ed in high schools, and sends free pride pins to teens who use the Outreach Network. When he wins an Emmy—because he will, if not this year, then another—that will be projected outward, too. It will be a signal, both something Hollywood can point to to say, hey, we’re progressive now, and something the queer kids of American can point to to say, hey, he made it, so why can’t I?
Richie Tozier will win an Emmy. He will make a brilliant speech, heartfelt and funny and inspirational. And then he will go home with his fiancé, and they will lean back on their couch and throw popcorn at each other as they watch the footage. And that, in its own way, will be inspirational, too.
People Magazine, 9/8/2019
Comedian Richie Tozier married Edward Kaspbrack at the The Carneros Inn in Napa on Saturday. Counted among family and friends were celebrity couples Bill Denbrough and Audra Phillips as well as creatives Ben Hanscom and Beverly Marsh. Where’s the happy couple off to for their honeymoon? “None of your business,” Tozier quipped!
Who? Weekly , Friday call-in show, 9/13/2019
Caller: Hi Who? Weekly. You probably saw it, but Richie Tozier married a random insurance guy over the weekend. Who is actually his childhood friend. You guys talked about him a couple years ago when he came out, and I just thought it was sweet. Crunch crunch, me in Greece.
Bobby: I don't have much to say about this except that it's nice.
Lindsey: Yeah, it's nice. I'm happy for him. He may be a Who, but he's a Who with Them tendencies.
Bobby: Next caller!
Variety, The Best and Worst of the 2019 Emmys—excerpt
September 23, 2019
Best: Richie Tozier’s speech.
Embedded video:
Announcer: And the winner for Outstanding Writing for a Variety Special is…Richie Tozier!
Richie: Hey, everyone. Hi. Wow. This is—it’s like—
He looks at the trophy, shakes his head quickly as though clearing something, then starts over.
Richie: I spent my whole adolescence terrified. Looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to come shove me into a locker, running my mouth off to drown out the constant refrain of insults going in my head. I was in the high school marching band, you know, for like five minutes, I played the cymbals all though the Star Spangled Banner, and the teacher told me to listen or get out. So I got out. I told these stupid jokes because I thought, nobody wants to see what’s underneath.
Richie: Only it turns out, someone does. A lot of people do, I guess, because here I am. So this—this is for thirteen-year-old Richie, and all the kids out there like him. It’s hard. I know it’s hard. But push through it, through the crap, and I promise, they will want to see you. And this is—this is also for Eddie, Eddie, my husband, who gave me the courage to write my own jokes, and do my own dishes, and open the blinds when I get up in the morning, and walk up on this stage when they called my name, and—and everything in between. I love you, Eds. Thank you.
He gives a little bow, then stares up at the lights for a moment, as though convincing himself this isn’t a dream, and then walks off stage.
Buzzfeed: 12 Times Richie Tozier and His Husband Said Gay Rights with Their Whole Chests
September 29, 2019
Because what better way to celebrate the Emmy win of America’s favorite gay comedian than with a list of times he was, you know, gay and funny?
- Richie’s comeback show. Obviously. Gotta start this out with a piece of seminal queer history. Stonewall who? Moonlight what? I only know Richie Tozier getting up there on stage in front of a packed house of L.A. dudebros and saying, “So, I have a really big announcement. I mean, a whopper. Get your pants ready… I fucked all of your dads.” And, as we know from later interviews, Eddie was backstage the whole time with a bucket on hand in case Richie had to puke. True love, right?
[An embedded photo shows a blurry camera photo of Richie at that show, wearing an absolutely terrible orange T-shirt and baggy jeans.]
- The first time he mentioned Eddie in a set. It’s a standard relationship stage: you meet, you go on a few dates, you move in together, you introduce them to 500 people in your comedy set. Richie actually made it his cold open, so you can imagine the kind of trust that must’ve taken.
[An embedded video shows Richie walk out onto a stage in a crowded bar, wave, adjust his mic, then lean in and say, “So, my boyfriend doesn’t like it when I eat chips in the middle of the night.” He then leans back, as though pushed by hurricane-force winds, as the audience cheers. “Oh, did you all not know I have a boyfriend?” he goes on. “Well, yeah, I do, I love him very much, and he fucking hates it when I eat chips in the middle of the night.”]
- Their first red carpet together. Before this, Richie had been infamous for not knowing how to stand at red carpets. He’d stand there with his arms straight out like planks. But at this event, the premiere of a friend’s directorial debut, everything was different: he actually grinned at the cameras, or more accurately, grinned in the vague direction of the cameras while really grinning at his then-boyfriend.
[An embedded photo shows Richie with his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, laughing at something Eddie said as though it’s the funniest joke he’d ever heard.]
- JFK airport paparazzi pics. On their way home from a friend’s wedding, a lucky fan snapped this picture of Richie and Eddie napping on each other’s shoulders in JFK. Look at them supporting each other. Literally.
[An embedded photo shows the two men napping, bags at their feet. Eddie is wearing a sweatshirt that appears to be two sizes too large, Richie’s glasses are askew, and the photo’s not high quality enough to say for sure, but he might be nuzzling the top of Eddie’s head.]
- Richie’s “poem for eds, 7 am.” This one speaks for itself.
[An embedded tweet from @richietozier, posted at 7:03 am on May 15, 2017. Caption: “a poem for eds, 7 am.” The tweet includes two photos: first, a gray comforter covering an-approximately-human-sized lump in the center of a large bed, and second, a screenshot of a poem written in the Apple notes app. The poem reads:
There once was a man from North Maine,
Asleep he had no sense of shame.
His ass that won’t quit,
Pulled in all the blanket,
Leaving me, shivering, in pain.]
- Broadway stage door. Richie had a six-week run at NYC’s Radio City Music Hall in summer 2017, and, no matter how cold it was or if it was raining, he always went out to the stage door after. One Tuesday night, he went outside to find Eddie waiting, with a scowl and an armful of roses. According to the fan who caught the whole thing on video (see below), it was their anniversary.
[An embedded video, rather blurry, shows Richie lifting Eddie up over the barrier, roses and all, and dipping him in the kind of romance-movie kiss that should never work in real life, except that it does, and it’s adorable. Eddie is complaining about how slow people walk in midtown the whole time.]
- Charity dinner for The Outreach Network. Richie had just announced The Outreach Network, his charity providing resources and support systems to LGBTQ+ youth, and he kicked off fundraising with a gala event featuring many of his friends and top comedians. He called it a “comedy auction”—each “host” spoke for a prescribed amount of time, determined by bidding results. The event lasted a marathon six hours, but the highlight was when Eddie got to speak for 30 seconds (a bid by his and Richie’s friend, architect Ben Hanscom.)
[An embedded video shows Eddie walking up to the mic on stage at a packed club, glowering around the room for 28 of his 30 seconds, and then saying, clearly and concisely, “Fuck you.” Richie, sitting in the front row, bursts into hysterical laughter.]
- Breaking his Emmy nom to his Eddie. Gently. Richie wasn’t the only one having a big career moment the day Emmy noms were announced. The ever-prepared, Type A beau finally won his lengthy (and allegedly uncontested) campaign for control of his office’s volunteer fire safety committee.
[A screenshot of Richie’s Instagram story just an hour after his Emmy nomination. Image shows text message exchange between Richie and Eddie.
Richie: good news
Eddie: Me too
Richie: yeah? you first
Eddie: They made me fire marshal at work :)
Richie: aw, with the hat and everything? congrats man
Eddie: what’s your news?
Richie: it can wait
Richie captions the exchange: Don’t want to steal his thunder]
- Comedian Throws Back Out, Gets Engaged. What an iconic headline, from Us Weekly, no less. Our guy reportedly decided to spontaneously propose to his boyfriend while they were cuddling in a hammock in their backyard; this led to an argument, which led to Eddie pushing Richie out onto the ground. He threw his back out. But this photo, taken by Eddie pre-painkillers, still shows the goofiest smile ever seen outside of a cartoon. Gets engaged, indeed.
[An embedded photo shows Richie in the passenger seat of a car, giving a thumbs-up (with a glint of silver around his ring finger) and, in fact, sporting the goofiest smile ever seen outside of a cartoon.]
- The Vanity Fair photoshoot. The feature itself was great and all, but we’re not here to talk about that. We’re here to gush about those photos of Richie and Eddie, both in the kind of cashmere sweaters they sell in bulk at Providence outlet malls, sitting side-by-side on their back porch. Walking their dog. Sharing a bottle of wine. It’s literally the domesticity dream.
[No embedded photos because of copyright, but the previous paragraph is hyperlinked gratuitously.]
- Pride 2019, New York City. Instead of performing at World Pride like many other celebrities, Richie marched with his then-fiancé in the Queer Liberation March, an alternative, anti-corporate protest Pride event. Richie spoke at the rally following that march about The Outreach Network, which was very moving and totally worth checking out. But for the sake of this article, let’s focus on this photo of them marching. Literally saying gay rights!
[An embedded photo shows Richie and Eddie holding hands as they march down a crowded street. Richie is decked out in streaks of pink face paint, Eddie is wearing a rainbow fanny pack, and both of them are brandishing signs: Richie’s says STONEWALL WAS A PROTEST, and Eddie’s says PROTECT QUEER & TRANS KIDS. Eddie is yelling, face drawn up as though he’s marching into battle, and Richie is smiling sideways at him.]
- That Emmys acceptance speech. Normally, you don’t expect comedians to get real with these, but Richie really pulled out all stops. When he said, “This is for thirteen-year-old Richie, and all the kids out there like him,” this writer started bawling. What better way to get back at your childhood bullies than flaunting your success and your marriage, right?
[An embedded video shows the full speech.]
12.5. Okay, the headline says 12, but I couldn’t resist sneaking this bonus in: Richie and his husband getting interviewed after the ceremony, a joint interview because they were physically inseparable. (Like, they were even spotted going to the bathroom together. Winky face.) I mean…just look at this. Love is real.
[An embedded video shows a Variety reporter asking Eddie how he feels about that dedication. He replies, “Oh, really relieved.” “Relieved?” “Yeah, if he didn’t dedicate it to me, I’d have to divorce him.” At this, Richie pulls Eddie in and presses a kiss to his temple, grinning like it’s their wedding day all over again. “You say the sweetest things,” he says.”]
Video (2:26) posted to Twitter by user @rtoziers
Posted October 27, 2019
3.5k retweets, 6.2k likes, 434 replies
Caption: “HE HAS THE BOOK! I REPEAT! HE HAS THE BOOK!”
The video shows a stage door outside a New York theater. Richie Tozier, dressed in a fitted navy suit and surrounded by screeching fans, is making the rounds, signing programs and taking selfies. He comes closer to the camera, looking right at us.
Richie: Hey, thanks for coming.
OP: No, thank you. And, uh—I, uh—I actually have—I have something for you.
Richie: For me? Moi?
She hands off the camera to a friend, and we see OP—a teenage girl with short, blonde hair tucked up under a baseball cap—pull a book out of the bag at her feet. The book is red, bound in cloth, and appears to have stitching in the shape of a heart on the cover. OP holds it in both hands.
OP: So, I have—well, a lot of my friends and I, your coming out and your shows the past couple years and everything, they’ve really meant a lot to us. Us being, like, gay kids on Twitter, you know.
Richie: Yeah, I have an idea.
OP: Yeah, so we—I wanted to do something to thank you, and to congratulate you on winning the Emmy—congratulations, by the way, oh my God, your speech, I cried—but yeah. This is for you. It has a lot of messages, from folks on Twitter and Tumblr and everything—it’s three hundred and sixty seven people, total. Some people sent photos, or drawings, and some of them wrote a ton, it ended up being a huge book, so it’s kinda heavy, but—yeah. Here. I hope…I hope you like it.
She holds out the book. Richie takes it hesitantly in both hands, lets it sink on his palms, as though he’s just been handed the collective heart of three hundred and sixty-seven gay kids. Which, in a way, he has.
Richie: You—you—hold on. You’re telling me three hundred and sixty seven people wrote messages? Thanking me?
OP: Yeah.
Richie: And not just because my jokes make them feel like good people by comparison? Like, I actually made a difference in their lives?
OP: Yeah. Yeah. You mean so much to us, and I just—I hope this can show you some of that. I just—thank you. Yeah. Thank you.
Richie, voice going a little hoarse: Wow. Okay. Shit, wow. I’m gonna read this later, and, uh—definitely not cry, uh, actually, I’m not crying right now or anything either. Yeah. Can I give you a hug? Would that be okay?
OP: It would be so okay.
They hug—it’s awkward, over the barrier, but Richie’s arms go up around the girl’s shoulders, and her arms encircle his waist. And for a moment, the crowded stage door, the city street, the world—all is quiet, narrowed, to these two circles of arms. All is soft street lights and warmth.
OP: Thank you.
Richie: No. Thank you.
The video ends.