I come to you in pieces. I, the Local Alien, seek answers to understand the perplexing nature of this planet. Where I come from (to be discussed at a later date), we creatures have no inquiries. We are either too dumb to ask or too intelligent to bother asking. Yet here, Earth — as labelled in the 23rd edition intergalactic atlas you sent us last year via Dish Network — blankets my brain with critical thought. It is my mission, as a visitor, landing here twenty-five years ago upon this warped planet, to entertain my curiosity and unearth clarity. I have taken human form, thus have dumbed my intelligence to even the playing field. Let's begin with how I know English quite good. Or, I'll pass on explaining and say that English seemed the most entertaining out of the cesspool of oral communication and I opted for the funner rather than the latter: Brooklynese. It seems that everywhere I walk, people can't help but approach and ask me vexing questions: "Can I borrow a smoke?" I should be the one asking the questions. Blogs seems to be the solution to communicating with you people with a ten-foot pole. I control the questions. If you want to answer, perfect. If you don't answer, pat yourself on the shoulder and lick your elbow, you've probably thought of something more significant to do with your finite lifetime. I empathize. I would rather endure a month's worth of Chinese water torture than waste my time on this electronic institution, but boy, do I have questions.
How are comedians still being produced yet the material is the same? And we still laugh? It's all about buzzwords today. Bitch. Balls. Damn Bitch. Damn balls. Comedians of ole relied on build-ups, suspense, and adroit locution. Now the Shark produces lazy humor: no thinking necessary. Ridicule has gone up five points in the last quarter. With the invention of YouTube and its ilk, TV shows take advantage of viral videos that look down on the misfortunes of others. Yes, we might laugh in secret at a child getting owned by a monster yoga ball when he least expected it, but if the boy had to receive five stitches and a cast, is it still funny? Only if you rewind the video from the beginning. Not only has comedy cut down on the writing, but the laziness now leans against the shoulder of random public domain home videos: No writing, just press play. Where's the passion? It seems all comedy has been done to death. The jokes are told through synonyms. Is there anything else out there that we've yet to tap? Is AIDS funny yet? South Park, care to comment? Offended? Deriding a serious, fatal illness? How about binge eating? Very similar. It's possible to eat to death. You could be enjoying a flavorful taco and then she accidentally suffocates you when she crosses her legs around your neck to hold in a potentially semi-fatal flatulence. Cue in the tomatoes and lettuce heads. Yes, I'm a jerk, but to some degree it had some merit of comedy. Also, it involved WRITING.
Finally, my innards of catharsis secrete.
