On the October 26 episode of the Korean talk-comedy show Malja Show, host Kim Young-hee brought up a rule designed to stop famously long-winded guests after one minute. Neuroscientist Jang Dong-seon immediately found the loophole: what if he simply spoke faster and squeezed everything into those 60 seconds?
The scene and the people
The KBS 2TV program aired at 10 p.m. Korea time on Monday, October 26, 2026, with a theme roughly meaning “Am I the only one like this?” Jang, a neuroscientist and science communicator, was asked why he had acquired a reputation as the “Park Chan-ho of neuroscience.” He said people compare four prolific talkers: himself, science presenter Gwedo, financial commentator Choi Gomin-su and former baseball pitcher Park Chan-ho.
Jang also told an anecdote about being booked alongside Park for another program. According to his account, producers split them into separate segments because they expected both guests to talk too much. That production decision is his on-air recollection, not an independently verified account of the other show.
Why is the rule named after Choi Gomin-su?
The hosts said an earlier appearance by Choi had involved such extended explanations that some audience members were caught dozing. Their solution was a comic “Choi Gomin-su rule”: anyone speaking for longer than a minute could be shown a stop sign.
For viewers outside Korea, the name is the backstory, not a person appearing in this particular exchange. Choi is known for lengthy finance-related explanations. The rule was introduced as a television gag; it is not a scientific claim that listeners lose concentration at exactly 60 seconds. Reports do not establish whether a full one-minute interruption was actually enforced during Jang’s segment.
Why bring up baseball star Park Chan-ho?
Park is a celebrated former Major League Baseball pitcher, but the reference here is to his Korean pop-culture reputation for elaborate, marathon storytelling. “Too much talker” is a familiar affectionate label in that context. The joke needs no baseball knowledge: imagine a guest whose answers are so extensive that a show allegedly avoids seating him next to another unstoppable speaker.
That sets up the contradiction. A talk show invites an expert to explain things, then announces a device to prevent him from explaining too much.
The punchline: more words per second
Jang added that his wife jokingly tells him to do all his talking outside the house. When he heard about the one-minute limit, he did not promise to shorten his explanation. He wondered whether talking at increased speed would satisfy the rule.
It is the difference between reducing the amount of information and merely compressing its delivery. The host wants a shorter answer; the guest hears a challenge to optimize his words per minute. A conversation has become a speedrun.
What actually made it funny?
The exchange builds in three beats: a familiar “talks forever” nickname, a stop rule born from an earlier guest, and a neuroscientist who treats the limit as a technical problem to solve. The one-minute boundary survives; the audience may still get the entire lecture.
This account uses contemporaneous Korean reporting and a pre-broadcast preview rather than claiming to have watched the full recording. Coverage in Korea is documented; worldwide virality is not.
