Picture this: Will Angus, a fine specimen of a finance graduate from TCU, is glued to his couch in Texas during the pandemic. Naturally, his degree is about as useful as an inflatable dartboard. To cope with the existential dread, he turns to social media, posting hilarious videos like a modern-day bard. “I always wanted to pursue comedy,” Angus confesses, “but let’s be real, I thought I was the only one hearing the punchlines in my head.”
Then one fateful day, an offer rolls in from L.A., inviting him to craft sketches for an Instagram meme page that has fewer faces than a “Guess Who?” board. “I had the typical ‘mom, I’m moving to L.A. to make TikToks’ conversation,” he recalls, sitting in a dim bar in Manhattan, surrounded by fellow comedic misfits and his boss, Jack Barrett. How riveting.
Angus quips, channeling Jerry Seinfeld’s spirit, “Telling my family about my stand-up aspirations felt like announcing I’m a new brand of vegan cheese. Harder than coming out of the closet!” His friends chuckle, possibly echoing the laughter from the crowd he yearns for.
These merry pranksters are feasting on chips, guacamole, and margaritas, reminiscing about how they morphed from bored college graduates to the dazzling faces of Almost Friday Media. Yes, a media empire born from the womb of boredom—like every great idea.
With a noble goal of resurrecting the brand of bro humor that vanished from cinemas quicker than your last relationship, they peddle their comedic wares through social media and YouTube. Astonishingly, they amass an audience larger than most TV shows—probably because it’s too risky to watch actual television during a pandemic.
Barrett, a vaguely scruffy man with a surfer vibe, started Almost Friday with his brothers, Max and Sam. They were drowning in creative jobs but starving for content that didn’t suck. “In 2019, we launched 27 Comedy because why not inflict our humor on the masses? We wanted to be the legends who pen the next ‘Old School,’” Barrett declares, possibly while gazing off into the Hollywood sunset.
In a plot twist straight out of a sitcom, their side project, a meme account, explodes from 5,000 to 250,000 followers faster than you can unmute your Zoom call. Seizing the moment, they team up with Andrew Kenward from WME, who sees potential in their memes as the seedbed for a full-blown content ecosystem. Talk about planting a money tree.
Nearly two years later, almost everything they touch turns to comedy gold: sketches, podcasts, clothing, and games. Their content runs through its veins like energy drinks at a frat party—without the toxic vibes or moral hangovers. “We’re here to thrive, not just survive,” Kenward proclaims, and you’d believe him if he wasn’t wearing a beer-stained T-shirt.
As they expand their empire, they’re hiring creators faster than a kid on Christmas morning. The bar has been set high for humor, and they’re cracking jokes aimed at the absurdity of real-life scenarios. Because nothing screams “nuanced comedy” like a hazmat team rescuing you from the depths of your crush’s Instagram.
They dare to be different, shunning the jock mentality of other male-oriented platforms. “We’re more self-deprecating, like that friend who always reminds you of your bad haircut,” Barrett says. They’re exploring the new world of comedy with a stack of classic ’80s movies as their blueprint, hoping to invite more people to the party, or at least to the bar they opened in Nashville.
Almost Friday’s robust online presence boasts over 123 million YouTube views, proving that at least someone is willing to tune into their shenanigans. They’re practically celebrities at this point, collecting revenue like kids collecting Pokémon cards—mostly from digital ads and brand deals. Yet deep down, Angus admits, “Our ultimate goal? TV and movies. We’re the spunky underdogs coming for Hollywood’s throne.”
They’ve even sold a sitcom to Hulu, a mockumentary pitching a character as quirky as your great uncle’s fishing stories, all while avoiding Hollywood’s notorious gridlock like it’s the flu. “If they want to keep hanging outside, that’s fine! We’ve got our beers and our punchlines,” Barrett says, leaving us all wondering if he actually invited us to the party.
