Knockout comedy

“I’ve always loved combat sports,” says Johnny Taylor. “They are a big part of my history.” The 34-year-old stand-up comedian spent years in amateur boxing rings, training for professional status, before a detached retina knocked him out of the fight. Now he’s turned his quick wits on the Sacramento comedy scene with his new show, Comedy Kill. It’s a fast-paced monthly showcase featuring short sets by six to eight Northern California stand-ups. Catch the next one on December 30, at the Sacramento Comedy Spot (1050 20th Street, Suite 130).

How long have you been doing stand-up?

I’m really new. May 1 is the first set I ever did.

And you already have your own show?

Well, I’ve been trying out material my whole life. With a big family that’s incredibly dysfunctional, I’ve been trying out new material at the Thanksgiving table and birthday parties—not really knowing I would ever focus it into something I could consider a career.

What made you take the leap from dinner table to stage?

I did a couple open-mics a few years back, but I didn’t have time to pursue it. I was working a shitty retail job, 60 hours a week as a manager, and that was paying the bills. I thought it was frivolous to spend time on something else I didn’t know if I was going to be good at. Then, this year, I just said, “I’m going to try to get five minutes together.” I did five minutes at Scramble at the Sacramento Comedy Spot. It didn’t go great, but it went well enough that I thought maybe I could do better.

How long did it take to get a solid five-minute set?

Pretty quick. [My first five] was simple self-deprecating stuff, like the fact that I have a lazy eye. Two of my five minutes was on lazy-eye material.

How often do you perform?

Four or five times a week. I hit all the open-mics and I’m getting booked quite a lot now, which is cool. And I’m always writing. You have to try the new stuff out, and you want to get better. It’s all about honing your skills.

What fuels your humor?

Personal stories. Aside from some artistic license here and there, most of my comedy is stories from my life. It’s not real jokey joke. It’s my life, punched up.

I saw a show where you mentioned your father has recently passed away. Is that a regular part of your routine?

Yes. I first mentioned it onstage here at Luna’s [Café & Juice Bar]. I was hosting about three days after my dad died. He died July 31. I talked about it onstage, and over time, it has become a bit, even though my dad’s death is very real. It’s one of those things where you’re going to cry all day long about it unless you turn it into something positive. So that joke has become a tribute to him. I’m keeping my dad’s memory around.

The premise of the joke is that you won the Stand-up Shootout competition in Sacramento the same weekend your dad died?

Yes. I won the contest, and the next morning I got a phone call that my dad died. The Sacramento comedy community was really supportive, but I got a Facebook message from a comedian who said, “Congratulations on winning the competition, but I’d bet you’d trade it for having your dad back.”

I remember reading it and thinking, “Yes, of course I would. Duh.” But the joke is, “No, I was funny that night. I wouldn’t trade it.” I actually felt bad about that punch line, but my friends told me that anyone that can connect with my comedy would know that’s not really true.

Have you written a joke that you didn’t like, but kept it in your set because it got laughs?

I have a new joke I personally think is stupid. It’s a joke about going to Subway and getting upset because I looked down at my sandwich and realized that’s what 6 inches looks like. I’ve been lying to women my whole adult life because I am not that big. That joke is sophomoric, but I told it and it worked and sometimes you just get addicted to killing.

What’s your biggest comedy triumph so far?

I’m really excited about Comedy Kill. I like hosting, because it’s a challenge. You’re taking the bullet, saying the first thing. I host [Comedy Night at Luna’s] a lot, too. I’m also excited I got to do the Throckmorton in Mill Valley, in front of 300 people in a packed theater for Mark Pitta and Friends. Doing well in that setting feels really good. It feels bigger than the moment. I think, “Oh, I’m going to look back on this and remember the first time I did the Throckmorton.”