Humor Isn’t Funny Anymore By Ariel Leal EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
So uhhh, this just in! Humor? You know it well, I’d assume. You know it; I know it. Guess what? It fucking sucks now. As it turns out, it’s not funny anymore. Still having a hard time understanding? Let me put it this way. You know jokes? They suck now. They’re over and they’re also done. Scientists have approached me personally to tell me that I have a solid thesis going regarding the death of good humor, and to be honest, I’m not surprised. Look, I’m just reporting the facts. If you bothered to read a book, though, you’d already know this. I’m just saying. If I’ve gotta be the guy to just go out and say something that needs said, then so be it. I’m just upset as you guys are about this. I used to be the undisputed King of Humor. Life was all smooth-sailing around when I first found out I had a penis. I used to go around say that it was comically large, like impossibly large. This was in elementary school and people would laugh at first. After a while, though, people stopped laughing and that was the first sign that humor was dying (and dying FAST). I laughed it off to say the least. I ignored it much like, in an ironic and humorous twist, everyone ignores me now. Well, I’d figured pretty early on that the first step to helping humor get its groove back was make my peers stop pay a little closer attention. I brought my father’s ancient and weirdly bedazzled Bowie knife into school, busted into a first-period Spanish class, ran up to my crush, and started peeling layers of my skin off. Get it? It’s called self-deprecating humor. This was a tough one because there are no flaws in my personality, so I needed to disfigure my perfect, soft body. My inscrutable, salmon-like flesh would make a little PAP sound as it fell on the cold linoleum.
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No laughs. They were speechless, dead silent. Bullshit, right? To call this research would be to undersell the impact it has had on our very understanding of human relations. And if this is all just research, just preliminary jibber jabber, then here’s your goddamn thesis: My body is a temple, and I will desecrate it for a good laugh. This is humor. Was it easier back in say, middle school? Maybe. But you could argue that it was, if anything, more abstract, a sort of first-wave Dadaism for the iPod Touch generation. Back then, acquiring a spitting smirk was as easy as just saying a bunch of random things. Genius, eh? I mean, can you imagine how ridiculous a purple giraffe is? Think about it. No, seriously. Stop reading this article and think about a purple fucking giraffe. It’s silly as hell, isn’t it? If humor weren’t dead, you’d be shitting yourself with laughter. I bet blood would be pouring out of your mouth it’s so funny. I don’t mean to get all “but have you really listened to the Beatles” on you, but like, giraffes are yellow, you fucking idiot. Why would they be purple?! That’s humor! Fucking priceless. Pulled that one out recently in the waiting room of an emergency clinic and I’m sure you can guess how well it went over. Yeah...no laughs. So I forced blood to pour out of my nose by drinking boiling water and spitting it onto my cock. Hold your applause for later, dipshit. I’m not even at the good part. My nose itself actually didn’t bleed, my throat did, but that’s probably because I was technically sleepwalking. Finally, the day came when I was forced to usher in a new golden age of comædie. I stood in the middle of the gymnasium during homecoming and painted my naked flesh yellow. I was a Simpsons now. I used a toothbrush shank to poke holes in my body until there was nothing left of me. If you fucking SJW’s seriously think “XD crippling depression ;33” bullshit is funny then
this bit should be fucking GOLD. I was literally GOLD, GOD DAMN IT. Chunks of my skinmeat were now scattered across the glazed, parquet court as my blood spilled. (Oh, the price of pioneering). Once again, no laughs. Things were going from bad to worse, but there was still hope. I would run around screaming that my penis was now comically small, like impossibly small, and you would not believe the sheer amount of nervous chuckles that would generate. Well, it only really worked if I cut a centimeter off of one of my fingers, but that was just for emphasis. I now have only 3 fingers and no left hand. As they say, “Comedy is typically worth just about 7 fingers of your choosing.” In college, I reached the peak of comedy. Here was my brilliant strategy: I would chain a bunch of big words together. That’s it. That is literally it. I would just put a lot of big and obscure words in the same sentence and people would be so confused that they were forced to laugh, even if the laughs weren’t particularly strong. Of course, by now if people didn’t laugh at “the pre-disposition of post-modern thinkers to throw the proverbial baby out with the cum that made it,” I would pull out a gun, point it at them, then shoot myself in my legs. Humor is really a just a high-wire act with a focus on misdirection, so with that in mind I’d wrap my bullet wounds in a tourniquet of barbed wire. I’d do this until people were literally crying… of laughter, I’d have to assume! To be fair, I have some issues deciphering the difference between those two sounds. I’m lucky though, I guess, because they seem to give me the same feeling. It’s good to realize things about yourself, and to value your unique qualities, and it’s good to make yourself laugh at least once every day. It’s nice to know that I am God.