John McCombs

John McCombs takes the stage like a guy trying to get an argument started at a bar. He works the room with loud, forceful energy, pointing at sections of the crowd and demanding noise. He leans into the aggression of his military background, but uses it to undercut his own competence. He will bark an observation about international relations, then pivot immediately to his reliance on internet videos to fix a basic household leak.

He is a regular in Chicago clubs who has carved out an unusual touring path overseas. Instead of playing the standard expatriate, he treats European crowds like a focus group for American dysfunction, laying out the absurdity of how the rest of the world views the United States.

The act hinges on the contrast between his loud physical presence and his mundane reality. He builds routines around the difference between his city’s violent reputation and the fact that he lives down the block from a cat arcade. He is less interested in meticulous wordplay than he is in momentum. If a premise about public health care starts to lose the room, he pushes the volume up and gets to the punchline by force of will.

McCombs served four years in the Marine Corps before starting comedy. That background shapes his entire hour, serving less as a source of combat stories and more as a baseline for how ridiculous everyday problems feel in comparison.