10 December 4 - 10, 2025 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents Comedy on the Come Up McKinney’s Emily Nicole Carruth is racking up millions of views for videos giving a hilarious voice to everyday objects. BY PRESTON BARTA I f you’ve ever suspected your keys are plotting against you, or that the Tupperware stained with spaghetti sauce holds a deep, sorrowful grudge, you’re not alone. Emily Nicole Car- ruth, a 24-year-old comedian from McKin- ney, has built a massive following by confirming our deepest, most absurd suspi- cions: our stuff has feelings, and they are of- ten dramatic. Through a series of viral skits on social media — find her as @badbittyontheblock on TikTok and @e.n.c on Instagram — Car- ruth has become the designated psychic for the inanimate world. She gives a voice, an accent, and a surprisingly complex emo- tional life to everything from a half-empty shampoo bottle to a mischievous printer. Her unique brand of observational humor, which anthropomorphizes the mundane frustrations of daily life, has made her one of social media’s fastest-rising stars. But before she was giving pep talks to for- gotten leftovers in her Los Angeles apart- ment, her sense of humor was being shaped right here in North Texas. “All my friends who kind of had the same humor, and being together there is what shaped a lot of my comedy, honestly,” Carruth says of her upbringing in McKin- ney. She credits the local arts community and a funny family for nurturing her come- dic instincts. “My dad’s one of the funniest people ever,” she says. Family movie nights weren’t just for watching; they were for riffing. “We would make jokes about everything we watched.” This foundation, combined with an early diet of Saturday Night Live and skit-based YouTube pioneers like Jenna Marbles, helped forge her distinct point of view. It’s a perspective that looks at a stained container and doesn’t just see a cleaning challenge, but a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions. The genius of Carruth’s comedy lies in its uncanny accuracy. She doesn’t just assign a personality to an object; she assigns the right one. We watch and nod, thinking, “Yep, that’s exactly what that would sound like.” This isn’t an accident. It’s the result of a creative process that is both spontaneous and meticulous. “Those things that happen, I have feel- ings towards them,” she explains. “So, it’s the idea of, ‘what if they had feelings back?’” This empathy for the inanimate is the core of her work. “It’s sort of like bringing to life the feelings they’re bringing out in me... it feels so visceral to me when I experience it.” When an idea strikes — often a single sentence or a fleeting moment of frustration — it goes directly into her phone’s notes app. “Because if you don’t write it down, sometimes you lose it,” she says. While she doesn’t have to film immedi- ately, capturing the initial spark is critical. From there, it’s a process of experimenta- tion. She tries out different voices and per- sonalities, sometimes editing an entire video before realizing it’s not quite right. “I’m like, ‘That’s just not this guy,’” she says. For Carruth, something as simple as a beleaguered tube of toothpaste requires the perfect tone, sass and accent. Her breakout video, the now-iconic “Spaghetti Tupperware,” is a perfect example of her method and a piece she remains incredibly proud of. The skit features Carruth as a Tupperware container, permanently tinted orange, lamenting its fate with a world-weary sigh. “When I filmed that, I was crying-laugh- ing to myself,” Carruth recalls. “It’s the most I’ve ever made myself laugh. And so, the fact that it made so many other people laugh, too, was just such an amazing feeling.” The commitment was real, too. She went to the grocery store and bought marinara sauce specifically for the video, smearing it all over her mouth for authenticity. “I was like, this might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but the fact that it paid off was so incredible,” she says. Though she now lives in L.A. to pursue her larger ambitions of acting and writing for film and television, Carruth’s connection to North Texas remains strong. Coming home is a multi-sensory experience filled with a sense of nostalgia. “There’s a Kroger right by my house. Ev- ery single time I pass it, it’s like I remember being in there when I was four in a little princess dress,” she reminisces. Her closest friends are still her friends from home, and their holiday reunions are a cherished tradi- tion. “I think my favorite people in the world are all there.” However, while she remains fond of her Texas roots, her ultimate goal is to take the storytelling she has mastered in 60-second clips and expand it onto the big screen. “That’s always been the dream, ever since I was little, to see myself in the movie the- ater telling a story,” she says. While comedy is her current domain, she has ambitions to explore other genres, in- cluding horror and coming-of-age drame- dies. For now, Carruth continues to build her world one skit at a time, navigating the challenges of staying original in a trend- driven digital landscape. She avoids spend- ing too much time on social media and often needs to retreat from distractions to tap into her unique creative flow. It’s a discipline born of self-trust. “I have managed to be extremely com- fortable being myself and putting that out there,” she says. “I think it’s very hard, you know, to not question... ‘What are people gonna think about me?’” For Carruth, the answer is clear: what’s more important is what she thinks. And what she thinks is that the world is alive with stories, even in the most overlooked corners of our homes. We’re just lucky she’s here to translate them for us. ▼ CULTURE LIVING IN SIN CITY WE GO BY ‘BIG D,’ DID YOU REALLY EXPECT US TO BE A BUNCH OF SAINTS? BY ALYSSA FIELDS D espite there being a church on what feels like every corner, and a fair per- centage of those being mega- churches, Dallas is full of sinners, according to a new report, and not us. Don’t shoot the messenger. A study from WalletHub named Dallas the eighth most sinful city in the United States. Naturally, analysts observed the city across the seven deadly sins: pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth. You’re probably wondering how, exactly, you measure a city’s sinfulness. It’s mostly crime data and Google search records, of course, as well as other obvious metrics, such as the number of spray tan parlors within city limits and the high school dropout rate. For sins like lust, which Dallas ranks sev- enth for in the nation, the analysts examined Google search traffic for the term “Tinder.” Maybe if the analysts had spent a Saturday night Ubering home alone from Knox-Hen- derson, they’d understand we need all the help we can get. We’re horny, what can we say? You would be too if you lived close enough, but still too far, from the unofficial Sexy Man Capital of the World: Austin. The study also analyzed factors such as Google search interest for “XXX Enter- tainment,” which any man in state lines can tell you, is likely to be a lot of search- ing and not a lot of actual watching. As of last year, porn perusers are required to submit their government-issued identifi- cation to access popular pornsites like PornHub. You can still access seedier web- sites without having to relinquish a profile headshot and your legal address to the sex work industry, but the Observer does not accept culpability for any viruses one might obtain on their great hunt for videos of naked girls french kissing. You can thank Attorney General Ken Paxton for that one, who himself is enduring a divorce filed on “biblical grounds,” which is the politically correct way of saying the sin known as adultery. Don’t worry, Paxton is working almost daily to enforce a new law that requires public school teachers to dis- play the Ten Commandments. So even if he could use a refresher, the next generation certainly won’t. According to the report, Dallas also has a problem with envy. This was determined through theft and fraud statistics. So we’re a bunch of horny liars with some sticky fin- gers. On the bright side, Dallas ranked low for greed, as well as gluttony, which WalletHub classifies as excessivity and vice usage. For that, they used the presence of casinos and marijuana usage, neither of which is legal in Texas, among other measures. So, for once, our lack of legal access to fun puts us ahead. Or behind, depending on how much you fear the fiery kiss of Hell. Las Vegas was ranked the most sinful city, expectedly. However, in a not-that-surpris- ing twist, Houston ranked second. We’ve al- ways believed something was off there, and now we have proof from the Puritans. We’re of the opinion that Dallas’ greatest sins are far beyond the typical. A far worse offense than consuming some THC is pay- ing $17 for a vodka soda at a pretentious speakeasy that is neither a true speakeasy nor fun to be in, but your friend says you just had to go, which happens nearly every day in this city. Or maybe reading the free news of your city’s only alt-weekly and never contributing to keep the city’s journalism scene alive. Sophie Misercola Emily Nicole Carruth, McKinney native and rising comedy star, brings a touch of hometown humor to her viral skits. ▼ Culture Sean Gallup/Getty Images We go by ‘Big D,’ did you really expect us to be a bunch of saints?
