By the time Sal Vulcano drops the phrase “fear-based parenting” into conversation, it’s already obvious the man’s been cataloging neuroses like a biologist tagging butterflies. His debut stand-up special Terrified—a title that might as well be tattooed across his psyche—isn’t just a collection of jokes. It’s a love letter to anxiety itself, wrapped in 60 minutes of nervous laughter and childhood trauma disguised as punchlines.
“I started realizing every bit I had was rooted in fear,” Vulcano says, half amused, half exorcising demons. “I’m just an anxious, neurotic person. I was looking at all my stuff on a board and went, ‘Oh my God, it’s all fear-based.’” The idea clicked: a horror-movie aesthetic for a life lived on edge. Creature from the Black Lagoon meets Staten Island Catholic guilt.
Fans might know Vulcano best as one-fourth of Impractical Jokers, a show that’s survived 11 seasons—and counting—of public humiliation. But stand-up is a different animal. “I started doing comedy around college,” he says. “It’s funny, because I never mention Jokers in my act. I purposely separate it. The show’s one thing, but stand-up—that’s me.”
That separation took time. “You don’t want your first special to just be your first 10 years of jokes,” he says. “I wanted it to have a through line. Something that meant something. I’ve been doing this for decades, but I didn’t want to put anything out until I felt like I’d found my voice.”
That voice? Nervous, self-effacing, and constantly waiting for something to go wrong. “My parents used fear like seasoning,” he says. “If you didn’t eat your vegetables, they said you’d have to go to the hospital for a needle. We thought that was normal!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Now I’m realizing how insane that is. We were just laughing about it the other day, tears streaming down our faces. That’s what Grim’s Fairy Tales were! Just scare the kids into being good people.”
In Terrified, Vulcano weaves childhood paranoia with adult absurdity, including an Amsterdam misadventure involving hash, Rufus Wainwright, and a butter knife (“I was convinced the waiter was going to kill me, so I held the butter knife under the table. If he attacked, I was gonna lather him up real nice”). The story’s as funny as it is pitiful—a man armed with dairy products, fighting off invisible assassins.
But comedy, for Vulcano, has always been a survival mechanism. “I’m an overthinker,” he admits. “Like, the kind of guy who locks the bathroom door when I shower in a hotel. I know it’s not logical, but if there’s a murderer in the room, that extra second of jiggle time might save me.”
Even in the chaos of Impractical Jokers, he finds that analytical streak useful. “Before every season, we all have a panic attack,” he says. “We’re like, ‘That’s it. No more ideas left.’ And then we somehow make 26 new episodes.” He laughs. “It’s exactly like Larry David on Curb. You think you’re done, and then something dumb happens in real life and—bam—that’s the episode.”
Still, 300 episodes in, Vulcano’s not coasting. He’s juggling Jokers, two popular podcasts (Hey Babe and Taste Buds), and a new tour called Everything’s Fine—a title that sounds suspiciously like a lie. “Every two years, I end up at the doctor with chest pains and they give me a CAT scan,” he says. “It’s always just stress. I guess that’s part of the process.”
He compares comedy to golf: “As long as I’m playing against myself, I’m good. The second I start comparing myself to other comics, it’s over.” Still, he’s not immune to fandom. His living room shrine features a signed photo from Don Rickles—one of his idols. “I met him a couple years before he passed,” Vulcano recalls. “He walked in, I said, ‘Mr. Rickles, this is my dad,’ and he goes, ‘What the hell do I care about your father?’ I was like, that’s it. That’s the dream. He insulted me. I’m done.”
That meeting ended with advice, affection, and a note scrawled across the photo: To my pal Sal. I know you’ll make it. Love, Don. Vulcano beams recalling it. “That’s one of the first things I grab if there’s ever a fire.”
Between his laundry list of titles—comedian, podcaster, and a knack for turning mild panic into universal laughter, Sal Vulcano might be the most relatable comedian working today.
For more on Sal's fears, comedic adventures, and the latest on Impractical Jokers, check out the full interview above and then check out the video below.
