Comic In The Corner: Adam Rozenbachs

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Comic In The Corner: Adam Rozenbachs


You’ve just been made Prime Minister of Australia after a bizarre yet strangely believable series of events. What’s do you do first?

A few things. Firstly, a few more public holidays – I’m sure we can find some reasons, “Happy Packed To The Rafters Day everybody!” Secondly, I’d make question time watchable by turning it into a Big Brother style Parliament (although you can’t vote me, the Prime Minister, out). Lastly, I’d make New South Wales a separate country, so when you travel to Sydney you can get duty free (which would make parties in Albury/Wadonga pretty cheap and awesome).

Who in the world could you never make laugh?

The Pope – he just seems so serious and Popey. He has access to one of the largest, most dedicated audiences of all time and he can’t even get one smile. And, you know, there’s a little of material to work with there. Hack!

Some rad Melbourne restaurant is naming a dish after you. What is it?

The “Rozenbachs” is the dish you get when you’ve ordered, and then wish you had ordered something else. So if you order the bacon and eggs but then get food envy when you see what someone else has delivered to their table, then that’s what you get. It’s very popular, but extremely difficult to get right.

If Melbourne were a verb, what would it mean?
To Melbourne is to die of hypothermia even though it had been 38 degrees only an hour before. “He was Melbourned to death.” “But it’s summer; why didn’t he have a triple thermal layered jacket?”

Where can we see you perform next? 

I’m at the Portland Hotel on Wednesday December 19, the Hawthorn Hotel on Thursday December 20, and then am taking a break over Christmas and New Year’s (i.e. no one has booked me) until the Comic’s Lounge in January.

Where can we follow/stalk/find out more about you?

A website – – but it needs some serious updating. I am no longer Australia’s best up-and-coming female comedian. Twitter – @arozenbachs – but do be prepared to write ‘unfollow’. And I’m often running around Princes Park hoping someone mistakes me for a Carlton footballer. It’s not happened yet – maybe something to do with the fact footballers can run more than 300 metres without blacking out.