US Comic Bert Kreischer's Doing Everything He Can To Have Fun While His Fame Lasts

17 June 2019 | 4:11 pm | Anthony Carew

Ahead of his Australian tour this month, Bert Kreischer explains to Anthony Carew that he's always feared missing out on the party – and he still can't resist an invitation.

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“I remember my wife farted during oral sex one time,” recounts American comic Bert Kreischer. “I was giving her oral sex, she farted. And then I couldn’t stop laughing. But she was crying. And I asked, ‘Why are you crying?’ And she said, ‘Because you’re going to talk about this on stage.’ And I was like, ‘Oh, fuck! Yes, I am!’”

The 46-year-old — stand-up, podcaster, TV host, "professional fun-seeker" — is known for his rambunctiousness, a fondness for crossing lines of social etiquette and a tendency to take his clothes off. But, on stage and on his Bertcast, he’s also “open and honest” about his life, telling revealing tales about his family – his wife and two teenage daughters. Perhaps to a fault.

“I’m really exactly who I am off stage as who I am on stage,” Kreischer offers, “which can be extremely problematic. There’s no separation of church and state, at all. And that can be exhausting to some people, like my wife.

“I’m a little bit of an idiot. That’s part of what makes me funny."

“There’s a window into my life that I’ve created that everyone can look straight in through,” he continues. “But I can’t really put the toothpaste back in the tube. I’ve leaned into it. I’m like, ‘Fuck it! This is my family, this is my life.’ I don’t know another way to do stand-up. If something funny happens in my house, I’m taking that on stage. The more I try to change it to protect the innocent, the less funny it becomes.”

On even the most routine day, Kreischer will be bouncing around thoughts in his head, hoping to find something that will work on stage. His early comedy heroes were Sam Kinison and Richard Pryor, icons of that ’80s boom in stand-up, huge-sized personalities that, he offers, were all too real, speaking with candour on their lives. Though the height of their fame aligns with Kreischer’s childhood, he maintains he wasn’t actually funny as a kid. At least not intentionally.

“I’m a little bit of an idiot,” he confesses. “That’s part of what makes me funny: when I’m trying to be serious and failing. I was a pretty serious kid, and that’s what made people laugh. I was obsessed with precious gems, figurine horses and loincloths. And I didn’t realise there was anything funny about that at all.”

He was also an elite baseballer, earning a scholarship to Florida State. But once he got there, he soon ditched sport and “just partied”. A 1997 Rolling Stone story championed him as the "top partier at the Number One Party School in the country", in an article that inspired the 2002 National Lampoon movie Van Wilder.

“I have an intense case of FOMO,” Kreischer says, simply, when asked why he was, and still is, drawn to a life of revelry. “Anytime I hear about anything doing something, I want to be a part of it. I want to be doing the most intense, funnest, craziest stuff – I want my life experiences to be next level. I felt like spending all day at baseball practice while everyone else was out livin’ life, you were missing out.”

Does he still feel the FOMO now? “Hard as fuck! Yeah.” 

Even when Kreischer is exhausted — he is, after all, a middle-aged male in less than great shape, and a father of two — when he hears about a night of revelry, he can’t say no. “In my head, I’m like, ‘Fuck it! I’ll pull an all-nighter, roll in to do radio at 7. Do radio from 7 to 8, record the podcast from 9 to 10, go do another podcast from 12 to 2, hang out at the beach and have some cocktails in the afternoon, then I’ve got a pitch at 5, and then I’ll rest.’”

Kreischer isn’t just out to seize the day, but career opportunities. He remembers early in his career, when no one was interested in him, and so now reminds himself of various tried-and-true sayings (“Eat shit, cash cheques. Make hay while the sun shines. Strike while the iron’s hot”) when presented with offers to make appearances or do stand-up, which he almost always accepts.

“Imagine being the fat chick in high school,” he says, alighting on an ill-advised metaphor. “And, then, all of a sudden, you get to college and you’re the hot chick. If that’s me, but in this scenario in the comedy business, then I’m whoring myself out. I’m fucking everyone, I’m blowing everyone. I’m doing everything I can to have fun while it lasts.”