"Ladies, gentlemen, and variations thereupon. Thank you for coming tonight. My name is Richie Tozier. I'm here to make you pee yourself."

It was six months before Richie could stand in a spotlight without flashbacks. The D Tour was kicking off with a performance at Madison Square Garden, because that was what happened when you suddenly started averaging two scandals per month (three if you counted the Dick Pic Incident; it was just a picture of himself captioned 'Dick Pic' but apparently some People couldn't take a joke.)

"Everybody's been asking about my hiatus, so let's get this over with. I had a midlife crisis. Most of my friends were sure I'd die of scurvy before thirteen, so it is an accomplishment, but instead of getting a sporty red convertible or growing a mustache, I forgot how to English on live TV."

"I went back to my hometown, because that was always where I always expected to die of embarrassment. While I was there, I ran into my old— Don't let this fool you into thinking there's anything remotely restorative about Derry, Maine, okay? No, don't cheer. None of you are even from Derry. You know how I know? You're still alive. Derry almost killed me. I got trapped in a collapsing building, and a piece of rebar impaled me through the stomach. Yeah, ow. Thank you. My friends keep making corn dog jokes. I'm the funny one, in case you couldn't tell."

"No, the only redeeming thing to come out of Derry is Edward Kaspbrak. He said I could tell you his name. Don't stalk him. That's my job."

"I'm gay, in case you haven't heard. Thank y— Wow. This is the opposite of the reaction I always expected. No heckling? At all? I'm actually a little disappointed. You guys don't even have one tomato? What? ….Of course I do. One of my best friends was a Boy Scout. See, here's my— You didn't believe me, did you?"

"You may remember the paparazzi outing me while I was still in the hospital. I never officially responded to that— Eddie says shit emojis don't count. So here we go: Thank you."

"Don't get me wrong, you suck. Don't out people. Like, I kept that secret for thirty years. Do you know how much self-control that took? There were so many gay jokes I couldn't make."

"But if it weren't for the paparazzi, I might have never kissed Eddie Kaspbrak. We were both pretty repressed. He was actually married. To a woman. Who was exactly like his mother. I swear on her grave— I can do that now, because she's my mother too. Although I can't make 'your mom' jokes anymore, which sucks, because they're approximately all of my repertoire, and I'm finally performing my own material. My— Oh, tha— Wow... Thank you."

"Anyway, my husband is in therapy for his Oedipus complex. Just kidding! We're both in therapy. It's okay to not be okay, kids. He's glaring at me because I split an infinitive. Actually, it might have been the Oedipus complex joke. Kidding again! He approves all my material. So, you know, blame him."

"One thing I've learned in therapy is that when you have an irrational fear, you should practice something called 'opposite action.' It's basically exposure therapy, but it sounds less litigious. So for example, I'm afraid of clowns, which is a completely rational fear, but it's getting so bad that I can't even eat at McDonald's anymore, and that's like 90% of my work lunches. Don't tell Eddie."

"Anyway— Sorry. At least when I wasn't reading my own material, I stuck to it. ADHD brain, people. As long as I'm on the topic— probably about five more seconds, I also have PTSD. And AAA. That's not a disease, I just have batteries in my pocket. They're for the— Get this— the talking clown doll my husband bought as part of my exposure therapy. I also have a shirt that says, 'Free Hugz.' That's with a Z. Eddie thinks it's funny. He doesn't have to do exposure therapy, because by marrying his mother, he already exposed himself to his biggest fear."

"I wore the shirt to Pride— It's the only thing I own these days that has color in it— and people thought I was doing that free-dad-hugs thing. I got more human contact on that day than the previous three decades combined. Like, the only time I touched something warm was when I cleaned up after my neighbor's dog."

"So Pride— Pride was pretty great. Especially when you consider my second biggest fear, which was— I was afraid of coming out. That was rational in a town like Derry, but it isn't anymore. Especially not now that I have a smoking hot husband to brag about."

The spotlight swung away from Richie and landed in the front row. It was unrehearsed, an improv by the light tech, which would normally be no big deal, but the only thing worse than having the spotlight on him was having it on Eddie. Richie felt his breaths get shallow. Amplified by the mini mic, it sounded like pervy breathing.

He looked down and met Eddie's eyes. They were crinkled up with amusement, love, and like, forty years of worry. Eddie still worried, and Richie still repressed, but they were getting better.

Richie ramped up the pervy breathing anyway; he never claimed to be highbrow.