7 Reasons Why Absurdism Is Cheapening Your Humor
1. A goat once told me so.
And this wasn’t just any goat, either. This was Mr. Fillberg. Yes, that Mr. Fillberg — the accomplished satirist whose work has appeared numerous times in The New Yorker’s “Shouts and Murmurs” section.
Sure, his prime was in the 1980s, and it’s been tough for him to find much work since then, but when I spoke to him after finding him on a farm in rural Oklahoma, he attributed that to the fact that in recent decades, he’s been focusing more on doing goat things: grazing, fainting, head-butting other goats. You get the idea.
Mr. Fillberg made it clear to me that he wasn’t a fan of humor’s recent trend towards absurdism. He blamed it on “that damn charlatan, Andy Kaufman.” I told him that absurdism has been a part of comedy since long before Kaufman was born, but he just replied, “You get what I mean.” I do.
2. It only appeals to people who have a compulsion to collect yo-yos.
The media is constantly trying to suppress evidence supporting this fact, but (believe it or not) it’s true. Scientific research has proven that those who are most drawn to absurdist humor harbor a secret urge to accumulate massive amounts of yo-yos and yo-yo-related paraphernalia.
This compulsion, in most cases, is suppressed. It then takes on deceptive appearances — an obsession with walking dogs, the urge to constantly greet people with the phrase “Yo,” etc.
Nevertheless, scratch beneath the surface of anyone with an interest that’s even remotely adjacent to yo-yos, and you will find that, more often than not, that they enjoy absurdist humor. Pathetic.
3. I don’t get it.
This may be a “me-problem,” but I’m just being honest.
In my mind, there are three essential pillars to any good comedy: people crossing their eyes, pratfalls, and Donald Trump impressions. Anything outside of that just isn’t very funny.
4. Hello! This listicle has now been taken over by the ghost of Bruce Springsteen.
Bruce isn’t dead (yet), but I — his soul — have found out how to briefly exit my mortal shell so that I can freely romp through various earthly and non-earthly realms.
I won’t take up to much of your time, though; I’m just here to ask you to join me on Instagram Live this Sunday for a special acoustic performance. Thanks, and have a good night!
5. It’s pretentious.
And when humor is pretentious, no one laughs. And when no one laughs, the gods shall weep. And when the gods weep, the maiden locked in the tall white tower will learn that her beloved has died. And when the maiden locked in the tall white tower learns that her beloved has died, a single petal will fall from a wilted daisy. And when that petal falls, all hope will be lost.
So sayeth the bards of old. Amen.
6. Everybody knows that Camus was the only one who truly understood the absurd.
The year was 1942. Al (that’s what I called him) and I were having coffee at his retreat in the the French Alps.
“You’re such a hunk, Al,” I said.
“Actually, can you please not speak? I’m keeping you in my guest room so that we can have a purely physical relationship. Let me focus on my writing, please.”
“Whatever you say, baby.”
“I’m serious. Shut up.”
Al loved to tell jokes like that. He wouldn’t even break character! God, what a great guy. Anyways, no one got absurdism like my friend Al. Read The Stranger. You think you can write like that? C’mon. No way. Get real.
7. There is no eel.
Contrary to popular belief, the famous “Moray Eel of Absurdist Humor” does not exist. It’s simply an urban legend.
You’re probably thinking, “But what about that famous essay by Thomas Ludwig Jones, ‘My Run-In With the Omniscient Moray Eel — Yes, I Mean a Literal Eel — That Visits All Who Properly Please Him With Their Absurdist Humor’?”
You idiot, that essay is pure propaganda. You’ve been lied to. Please visit my website www.TheTruthAboutTheEel.com for more information.
