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“What you’re about to see here is real,” Todd Robbins warns the audience in the Players Theatre in Greenwich Village on a balmy Monday night in August. “And also dangerous.”

The six-foot tall, nylon purple suit-wearing 54-year-old twists a 60-watt light bulb onto the end of a power cord, plugs it into an outlet, and flips the switch on the wall on and off. Having proven the bulb is real, he unscrews it. “It’s warm, which is great because there’s nothin’ like a hot meal,” he says. “HA! Hot meal! It’s just like comedy.” Robbins laughs at his own joke for a moment before, with the expertise of a sculptor, he contorts his smile into an expression of mock-disgust at his own cheesiness.

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