Humor Is Power

I write funny stories (including talking squirrels*). It’s good fun and I’m glad to do it. It’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness. More importantly, one must avoid becoming the darkness.

So I laugh and give a hearty shout out to anyone else who laughs. I won’t go quietly into the cage of the humorless. A seething mass of oppressive scolds may act like playground bullies but I wasn’t bullied in the playground and won’t be cowed as an adult. Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke. I’d make fart jokes on the way to the electric chair (and that’s where they’d put me if they could).

We’re aware of the situation. Our tide is not rising. Humor (and my favorite form of it, satire) has faded even in my short life. Assholes have grown plentiful and bold. Like vampires, they infect more victims and create clones of themselves. Worse than the undead, they leave the deep crevasses of their own misery and annoy our sunny world.

It’s not that they suck, it’s that they’re too numerous. A healthy society can (and should) tolerate a certain percentage of whining eunuchs. Let a few losers veer from woke to triggered and glory in themselves as they fuck up Thanksgiving dinner. Enduring occasional walking turd sandwiches was once a price of civilization.

The threat is their approach to critical mass. We suffer when thundering herds demand we assuage invented butthurt. A tiny fraction of the population as sourpusses is the limit. When they were few, we could ignore them. They flung poo like monkeys and we remembered why we’d evolved beyond monkeys.

Back to my point… and I do have one. Once they herded up and went full retard; the damage began. Angry future cat ladies and unemployable hothouse flowers from the daycare built of the skeleton of “university” are insufferable. They ejaculate anger and hatred until sane places feel as dumb as their home planets (see: Portland, San Francisco, Boulder, Austin, etc…).

They’ve used up all the reasonable things to bitch about. Terrified of a prosperous and free world, they’re roaming the countryside seeking parades upon which to rain. Not a flower blooms but what some walking nullity stomps it and shrieks “literally Hitler”.

Humor exposes the insecure to reality. They hate it. They’re fucking miserable because they have to be. Every time the rest of us smile, they feel the burn of emptiness.

This isn’t just a ranting blogger’s imagination. There are real world repercussions. I write under a pseudonym. I won’t even use my dog’s real name. I self host. I structure my site with wordpress software but migrated off wordpress.com. I won’t expand into video because YouTube would deplatform me. Social media has become a wasteland. Through it all, every joke sit for decades waiting for a fucknut to take it out of context and weaponize it.

I stay low amid the shitstorm. I don’t push for hits. My blog earns just enough to keep the lights on.

I keep on keepin’ on for a tiny audience that I hope appreciates it. I’ll never be big time while I’ve got a day job. I’m not big time enough to take an inevitable frontal assault of asshats.

Lord help pros who really are “big time”. A comedian in this climate is doomed or sold out. The sold out ones are terrible!  Their “jokes” aren’t jokes. Here’s a hint, if a comedian tells a joke that’s something like “Trump’s a dick”, it’s not a joke. There’s no build up, no punchline, no clever banter, no ironic twist, it’s just signaling. “Don’t cut me down like jackals. Please.” They’re terrified and it’s pathetic.

All this leads to Dave Chappelle. Dude’s got balls. Great big clanging ones.

I loved the Chappelle show. When it ended, as all good things do, I assumed the shitweasels had finally grounded his ass. Chappelle was gone with the rest. RIP dude.

Yet he popped up again. It’s 15 years later and he’s still standing. Who knew? I only found out because social media was bitching about his new special. (Ironically, that’s also how I discovered delicious Chick-fil-A sandwiches.)

I stampeded to watch Chappelle’s Special. I’ll immediately do anything a scold tells me I shouldn’t.

It was good. Not worthy of the ages, but pretty solidly good. Maybe it’s the very best one could accomplish in 2019.

He was incomprehensibly brave to challenge woke-fucks. He knows it. He was taking a career risk. Like a well prepped prizefighter he made it look easy. He did footwork the likes of which I haven’t seen in forever. Complex jokes led you down one path and then zipped behind to stick a kazoo in your ear. He skillfully wove jokes in, around, through, and about a poisonous environment. It was a masterful hour of verbal judo by a man who knew he had one shot to make or break it.

Did I mention humor has power? Nobody feared a joke more than the Soviets. Our version, the woke, have their nuts in a bundle over Chappelle. You know you’re over the target when you’re taking flak. They’re whining and bitching; because what else can they do? If they could do jokes better, they wouldn’t be such losers. Their whining won’t change the show. It’s recorded, broadcast, in the can; a good joke rises above all. Scott Adams was rambling in his egghead way that Chappelle’s work was a masterpiece; while I’m not that charitable it was pretty good. It wasn’t perfect but it was the best stand up I’ve seen since the children of Stalin took over. I hope he gets so damn rich and popular it affects the planet’s gravity.

Dave Chappell stepped into the ring and won a KO on behalf of freedom. He knows he did well. Likely we’ll see more of him.

A.C.

P.S. Ace of Spades has a less rant-tastic review with more video clips.

* Note: More squirrels will likely launch in October. A new chapter. Long delayed but I told ya’ I wouldn’t quit. You won’t have guessed what’s coming next. Hell, I didn’t know until I started writing.