Bad Grandad Opens A Stand-Up Comedy Club

Bad Grandad has always looked like the sort of man who would complain about modern comedy, then steal the microphone and perform for three uninterrupted hours. Now he has taken that impulse to its logical extreme: opening a stand-up comedy club where the drinks are warm, the chairs are suspiciously sticky, and every performer must survive his feedback. Learn more about Jinsi Khanyi Mbau Alivyojenga Chapa Yake Ya Kibinafsi.

The club is the latest comic adventure from Andy Fanton’s mischievous universe, where grumpy elders, dragons, schoolkids and assorted troublemakers turn everyday problems into punchlines. This time, the joke is on the comedy industry itself, with Bad Grandad acting as owner, MC, talent scout and unpaid security guard.

The grand opening goes badly

The venue occupies a former bingo hall with a hand-painted sign reading “Bad Grandad’s Laugh Palace”. The word “Palace” is slightly crooked, and the apostrophe has been added in pencil. Bad Grandad insists this gives the place “heritage value”.

Opening night begins with a speech about standards. He tells the crowd that comedians used to be funny without microphones, lighting rigs or people saying “like” every seven seconds. He then forgets where he put his notes and blames the audience for distracting him.

His opening routine is built around queues, noisy neighbours and the price of groceries. It lands surprisingly well, especially when he complains that a packet of biscuits now contains “three biscuits and a legal disclaimer”. The applause becomes louder when he threatens to close the club before the second act.

A venue with strict house rules

Bad Grandad has posted several rules beside the stage. No heckling unless he starts it. No mobile phones unless someone is using one to order chips. No hecklers under the age of 70. Anyone laughing too loudly must explain exactly what they found amusing.

The dress code is described as “smart casual, or at least clean enough to sit on”. This creates confusion among the performers, particularly one young comedian who arrives in a hoodie and is forced to borrow a cardigan from the cloakroom.

The club’s Australian branch is especially proud of its snack menu. Alongside meat pies and sausage rolls, it serves a plate of chips large enough to feed a suburban footy team. Bad Grandad calls this “proper theatre food” and refuses to discuss healthier options.

The acts are chosen by shouting

The booking process is less like a professional comedy audition and more like a family argument. Bad Grandad listens to each performer for thirty seconds before interrupting with a story from 1964. He claims this is a masterclass in comic timing.

A magician is rejected because his tricks are “just hiding things”. A musical comedian is booked immediately after singing a rude song about parking inspectors. A deadpan performer from Melbourne receives a standing ovation, although Bad Grandad believes everyone has simply stood up to catch the tram.

The club’s house comedian is a nervous young writer who has prepared jokes about dating apps, rent and office meetings. Bad Grandad replaces half the material with complaints about the neighbour’s wheelie bin, then takes credit when the set succeeds.

The dragon gets a late spot

George arrives with a treasure map and no experience in stand-up. He believes the map leads to buried gold beneath the club. Bad Grandad believes it leads to the staff toilet. Both men are wrong, but this does not stop them arguing about it between acts.

George’s first routine concerns medieval customer service, dragon breath and the difficulty of finding armour that fits comfortably in a compact car. The crowd warms to him because his delivery is earnest, his wings keep knocking over the microphone stand, and he accidentally sets fire to the punchline.

For anyone wanting to follow the clues behind this particular feud, the lost treasure map guide adds another layer to the club’s ridiculous mythology. Bad Grandad says the guide is “far too detailed”, then reads it backstage.

The business model is gloriously doomed

Bad Grandad has no interest in ordinary ticket pricing. Pensioners get in free, provided they bring a younger person to explain the online booking system. Teenagers receive a discount if they promise not to film the show. Dragons pay double because of the extra cleaning.

The club also offers a loyalty card. After five visits, customers receive a free cup of tea. After ten, they receive a stern lecture about their posture. After fifteen, Bad Grandad names a chair after them, although the chair may already belong to someone else.

On busy nights, the room feels like a packed venue in Sydney after a surprise comedy hit, with people squeezing past tables and calling for one last round. On quiet nights, Bad Grandad performs to three tourists, a delivery driver and a possum he insists has excellent comic instincts.

A comedy night for every suburb

The club’s format travels well because its humour is rooted in familiar frustrations. A Brisbane crowd gets jokes about humidity and air-conditioning battles. Adelaide audiences hear references to Fringe season, while Perth visitors are reminded that every destination is “just a quick drive” until it is not.

Bad Grandad even attempts crowd work about Australian customs. He asks whether anyone has brought a plate, then complains when the answer is no. He asks who supports the local footy side and immediately insults every team represented in the room.

His approach is crude, warm and oddly democratic. The jokes may target technology, public transport, family gatherings or the price of a flat white, but the punchline usually turns back on him. Bad Grandad is the loudest person in the room and the easiest target.

The comic strip becomes a live show

The stand-up club works because the characters remain visually simple and emotionally clear. Bad Grandad’s hunched posture, raised eyebrow and battered hat communicate half the joke before he speaks. George’s panic does the rest.

Fans can explore more of Fanton’s short-form comic world through the mini strips collection, where quick setups and sharp reversals make ideal material for a fictional comedy venue. The club feels like an extension of those compact gags, stretched across a noisy stage.

By closing time, Bad Grandad has fired the entire staff, rehired them, and banned himself from the premises for “being too disruptive”. He then sneaks back in through the kitchen to perform an encore about parking permits.

Visit Andy Fanton’s portfolio to discover more comic strips, drawings and unruly characters, then follow the club’s next disastrous booking wherever the laughs, arguments and suspicious treasure maps lead.