Yours drewly

Fifty people clapped as Drew Lausch took the stage for his first paid comedy gig in New York City two years ago. He held the microphone with one hand and moved the other towards his naked hip. At this show “Comic Strip: An all naked comedy night’’ at Club Cumming in East Village, Lausch and other comedians could talk about anything they wanted, as long as they followed one rule: do it nude.

Tall, skinny and white, Lausch smiled on stage, blinded by the spotlights, wearing nothing but sneakers.

“Hey, guys. My name is Drew. I am a friendly faggot from Fargo, North Dakota,” he started.

He got a laugh.

Named for its co-owner, actor Alan Cumming, Club Cumming is a narrow gay bar where drag queens sing, DJs spin, and LGTBQ comedians perform under red lights.

On a recent Wednesday, drag queen Tammy Spanx hosted the Club Cumming Variety Show and welcomed the crowd — a mix of millennials, drags, and gay couples — with: “Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, welcome.”

Lausch, 25, laughed. The host had given him the seventh position of the night, so he sat next to the stage with his friend Danny Smith, drinking cocktails for more than 40 minutes.

Around 11:30 PM, Spanx introduced Lausch, the only comic of the night. He arranged his blond hair, took the mic and offered the audience graphic details about his sex life.

People laughed.

Lausch has been doing comedy since he moved to New York City in 2017. An extroverted performer from — indeed — Fargo, he finished his musical theater degree at Ithaca College and realized that he didn’t want to dance, sing or act in plays any more. He was done with theater; he just wanted to talk. He turned to comedy.

Two years later, Lausch works as a stand-up comedian four to five times a week, a film actor on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, a retail clerk on Fridays and a show producer every other weekend. On stage, he talks about his sexual orientation; on screen, he plays a gay friend. The two shows he produces in Manhattan with a colleague, Zach Teague, feature a mix of drag and LGBTQ performances. At Scotch & Soda, a clothing store in the Upper West Side, Lausch sells jackets and pants for $16 an hour.

Lausch grew up wanting to be an actor. He sang, danced, and performed all the way through childhood. On a Friday, after his retail shift, Lausch buys a salad at Lenwich, a noisy sandwich shop on Columbus Avenue. He rearranges his tufts of hair under a blue cap and confesses he’s famished; he hasn’t eaten since morning. Dressed in skinny jeans and white sneakers, Lausch grabs the only free table at the shop.

As a kid, “I was obsessed,” he says. “I was like, ‘Give me as much attention as you can, please’.”

He got it. His mother, Cheryl Lausch, remembers a three-year old singing for anyone who would listen. “Drew hated his pre-school meals,” Cheryl reports, laughing. “Instead he performed for the other kids during lunch hours.”

In third grade, appearing in the show “Orphan Train” in school, Lausch knew he would become a singer. In sixth grade, he played the main character in “Oliver!,” sure he would be a star. By eighth grade, his classmates had figured out he was gay, something he didn’t admit to himself. He was still determined to hit Broadway.

“Suddenly my sexuality was up for debate,” Lausch recalls with a shrug, leaving his salad on the table. “I was tap dancing in North Dakota, you know? I was gay.”

But Lausch, a popular kid, fought back. “I was a psycho bitch,” he laughs.

New to New York, Lausch took two comedy classes and started scouring the city for open mics and bar gigs. He also met Zach Teague, 25, a comedian from San Antonio, now his co-producer on two comedy shows monthly. As Lausch writes on his website, “Dreams really do come Drew.”

Teague, a head taller than Lausch, finds him hilarious. “Drew plays on stage a heightened version of himself. His persona is a twinkly gay guy that says crazy things and gets away with it,” he says. “In real life he is smart and aware.”

Indeed when he performs, Lausch becomes an over-sharing flirt. His humor is raw and raunchy, similar to his favorite comedians’, Amy Schumer and Chelsea Handler.

Offstage, Lausch is a polite, cheerful, 25-year old trying to get gigs, produce and earn enough money to get by.

On Mondays, Lausch rests. He sleeps till noon, runs errands, catches up with friends or auditions for acting gigs. At night, he does stand-up at queer shows and Brooklyn pubs like the Metropolitan Bar in Williamsburg. He doesn’t earn much at those gigs, maybe $5 or some drink tickets.

On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, Lausch shoots a web series in Harlem called “Sugar Baby” with episodes ranging from 8 to 15 minutes long. He wrote the script last fall and presented it to Ben Schwartz, a producer for the video company Prime Focus Media. For weeks, they emailed back and forth revising the script.

“I was doing another pilot and Drew was cast,” recalls Schwartz. “When I saw him improvise, I realized that we could work on the preproduction of this project.”

In the show, Lausch plays a gay friend in charge of a baby — just another version of himself, he confesses. The team has filmed most of the first season, and Schwartz doesn’t know if there’ll be a second. He’ll release the web series in a few months, then wait for the public’s response.

On Thursdays, Lausch is free to work on his act, contact comedians and drag performers for his shows, and go downtown to get some laughs. He spends Fridays at Scotch & Soda, where he loves his co-workers, Mona and Delia.

On Saturdays and Sundays, Lausch organizes the two monthly comedy shows he hosts at the West Side Comedy Club on the Upper West Side: “Homo You Didn’t,” an LGTBQ stand-up show, and “Bottomless,” a drag variety show with Teague. Every other month, they also produce “Haus Party” at Chelsea Music Hall, now their favorite show.

Dreaming out loud, Lausch says he’d love to write and produce a show, perform more, tour the world. He doesn’t have a Plan B; he has to succeed. “My only Plan B is finding a sugar daddy,” he jokes. “I am going to try until I die or until my parents send me to rehab, whichever comes first.”

For Lausch and Teague’s final “Bottomless” show, they assemble half a dozen comedians for a brunch. The room is half empty, but the crowd laughs hysterically at the hosts’ gay jokes.

After two hours, Lausch and Teague pull down their pants, underwear on, and say goodbye.

The audience laughs one last time.