On following someone’s detailed instructions concerning how to dispose of his or her body after death, e.g. spreading the ashes over a particular lake at sunset and printing a pre-written obituary in the local paper, etc.:

Fuck that. I’m not running errands for you. You’re dead. You don’t matter anymore.

– Louis CK

 

7.9.13, 12:51 PM

Dear Der,

You were right about the Louis CK stand-up. I love it.

Louis speaks from a raised stage, literally. The audience may know more about stuff like iPhones and jobs. But Louis knows about the true things. Since he is up on stage in the spotlight, and they are down there in the shadows, he will take this opportunity to get a few things off his chest.

It’s strange. Many of Louis’s jokes aren’t really jokes, but more like fables. For example, he has this routine about how Americans really fucked up America.

First of all, in our initial confusion, we called the natives “Indians.” Why? Because we didn’t even know that America existed between Europe and India.

It gets worse. Louis impersonates two chummy colonialists chatting after an “Indian” just explained he was not from India:

“Ah whatever, you’re Indians. We’re already used to saying that… Stupid Indians…They think they’re Native Americans or something, kept saying something or other about ‘Iroquois.’ Can you believe this guy?”

The buddy throws up his hands, says, “Indians,” and shrugs his shoulders, as if to say, “Whatchya gonna do?”

We committed genocide, drove the animals to extinction, destroyed the land, and for what? Everyone gets a personal car to drive to work to sit in a cubicle and stare at a screen all day.

You know what these “Indians” did with their days? They just like walked around. If they stumbled across a cave that they thought was pretty, they were like, “I think I’ll paint for a spell.”

If they were tired, they found some grass and lay down. And it was comfy. When they woke up and were hungry, guess where they got their food. They picked it up off the ground.

There used to be delicious food on the ground! Not in grocery stores, but the freaking ground! Wheat, corn, and tomato. Rolling seas of wild buffalo everywhere for the easy taking. Roast that shit over a fire.

After dinner, we would sit in a circle. We may play a few instruments and smoke the peace pipe. Maybe we would paint our faces and dance, before heading to the teepee to fuck and go to bed. And we’d wake up and do it again, or not. Whatever.

But yeah, that life sounds horrible. Jobs are definitely necessary and real.

Then again, Louis doesn’t mention the reality of constant war and uncertain health, that is, the general savagery of Native American life.

But he’s not a scholar. He’s a comic. And despite the stereotype, he raises a convincing objection to contemporary culture. Thanks to the stereotype, people laugh and pay attention.

I have a deep respect for comics, especially because of the immediacy of the audience’s response and its bluntness. They may laugh, or maybe they won’t. They may even boo.

The crowd is always fickle. But for the comic it is even more so because there is only a split second to decide whether the joke is funny. Of course, it’s not an actual decision, not properly speaking, but more like a reaction.

Sometimes when a joke fails it might not even be the comic’s fault. Maybe the joke is perfect and perfectly delivered, only the audience needs to hear it one more time, because it’s juicy and stand-up is a live event and happens too fast, so the audience inevitably misses some things.

Maybe the audience is tired, or the few people who would usually laugh loudest and make it acceptable for others to laugh didn’t come, or they are super depressed because they’re in the middle of a divorce and a gory custody battle, or…etc.

No one will continue to laugh if she is laughing alone, unless she is a lunatic.

Hahahahahahahahaha!

It seems that a common trick used by comics to salvage a sinking joke is to address an audience member in the first row, who is laughing too hard or not at all, and to mock him.

Usually this mockery takes aim at one of two things, his clothes or the sound of his laugh. But really it could be anything as long as it is trite and to which every other audience member can relate.

The others laugh, not only because the joke is funny, but they are hugely relieved to remain in the safety of the faceless mass. As they struggle to regain breath between fits of laughter, they inwardly count their blessings because the comic on the raised stage in the cone of light didn’t pick on them instead.

Life may be mostly awful, but good art really gives you a perspective on things. Just think how much worse everything could be. You could end up like that poor guy with the weird laugh in the front row.

“Hahahaha,” howls the crowd. “At least the godlike comic is not making fun of me! Hahahahaaha!!!”

“Crazy fucking audience members. It’s insanity,” thinks the comic.

“Grow some balls!” says the comic, pacing the stage and sipping water. “Ha! Psych! Just kidding, as long as you remain stupid and faceless, I have plenty of material to keep you laughing all the way to your grave.”

And then – I mean, it’s insane! – the audience laughs even louder.

Your fellow creature,

– st