Brandaraþjófnaður

Anyone who has ever performed stand-up is familiar with the red light, the universal signal that warns dawdlers it's time to wrap things up. In the '80s, comics at the Hollywood Improv came up with a novel use for the light. When shining steadily, it had the conventional meaning. But if the bulb began sputtering, it was the comedic equivalent of an air-raid siren, warning performers to lock up their original material immediately unless they wanted to lose it to a master thief.

Robin Williams, comedy's most notorious joke rustler, was in the house.

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Accusations of comedic skulduggery have also dogged Denis Leary, who has spent much of his career denying that he borrowed his act wholesale from Bill Hicks, the edgy, anti-establishment legend who died of cancer in 1994. Critics have long cited a laundry list of alleged similarities between Leary's 1993 album No Cure for Cancer and Hicks's earlier work, from Leary's angry, chain-smoking persona to specific jokes about tobacco, health nuts, and lame bands. The charges grew so widespread that they inspired a scathing joke among some of Hicks's friends that Leary had become famous only because, well, there's no cure for cancer.