THE SICK (AND SLOW) BURNS OF JOSH JOHNSON

The comedian tells jokes the way he found fame: slowly, and then all at once.

- JASON PARHAM

THE THING ABOUT FAMILY, JOSH Johnson wants me to know, as he scoots closer and angles his phone in my direction, is that they suck at boundaries.

It's morning in New York City, a pinch shy of noon, and we are on the subject of family because Johnson's phone won't stop buzzing. At first I assume it's work, and I want to ask if this is a common occurrence now, if his recent rise to semi-stardom has prompted a wave of attention. I want to know how he's handling it, or not. I want to hear what has changed for him, and if his dad's passing, in 2016, afforded him any perspective.

But Johnson, being the acute observer and anticipator that he is, explains the situation before I can get words out: Drama is brewing in the group chat. The saga involves, as these things often do, a crazy cousin. "It's really bad," says Johnson, caked in the soft lighting of a chic disco (transformed into a video- and photo-set today) in midtown Manhattan. Because said cousin keeps flooding the chat with bizarre QAnon propaganda no one wants or asked for, the family started another group chat without him. Except he found that one. And the one after that. He somehow keeps getting added to them, Johnson says, because "crazy finds a way."

The story ends there, and I realize I've been Johnson'd: A relatable, mundane premise has ballooned into a cosmic, or at least fairly comic, wisdom. As a stand-up comedian, that's Johnson's specialty. Maybe you've been to one of his sold-out shows. Perhaps you are among his 1.3 million Tik Tok followers. There's also a more-than-decent chance you've seen him on The Daily Show, where, as of this year, he was bumped from the writer's room to fulltime correspondent. Or maybe-it's all good, I forgive you-this is your first encounter.