Glen Tickle

Glen Tickle talks to an audience in the calm, unhurried cadence of someone explaining board game rules at a kitchen table. He rarely pushes for volume. Instead, he sets up a premise with a straight face, lets the silence hang for a second, and then adds a pedantic clarification that undercuts whatever dignity he started with. When he addresses the fact that his last name is actually Tickle, he does not perform outrage. He presents the paperwork and the childhood misunderstandings with the flat resignation of a clerk sorting out an error.

He operates comfortably on the clean comedy circuit, drawing heavy traffic through outlets like Dry Bar Comedy while remaining a regular at East Coast arts centers and indie basements. His crowd overlaps between parents and gamers; between tour dates, he still enters competitive Dr. Mario tournaments.

His sharpest material takes small domestic squabbles or odd personal fixations and treats them with legalistic seriousness. In Good Grief, an hour written after the sudden death of his younger brother, he applied that same unsentimental dryness to real tragedy, refusing melodrama and using blunt, affectionate silliness to keep the room laughing. His sets can drift toward routine territory when he leans too heavily on the generic chaos of toddlers, but his quiet demeanor steers the bits away from sitcom predictability.

He lives in New Jersey, where raising two daughters gives him an endless supply of low-stakes household disputes to unpack.