The wind, you see, it used to carry something more than just dust and tumbleweeds. It carried laughter. Real laughter! The kind that came from deep down, from recognizing the sheer absurdity of being alive. Now, the wind just whispers. It whispers polite nothings. Like a distant relative, you barely know clearing their throat in the next room.
In the days of yore, humor was a bit like a roadside diner. Greasy spoons, mismatched chairs, the coffee bordering terrible. But it was real. It wasn’t trying to be fancy. It wasn’t trying to please everyone. It just was. You had your roughnecks, your farmers, your traveling salesmen, all crammed in there, sharing stories, telling jokes, some funny, some not so much, but it was all part of the same messy, lovely stew.
We had the Greeks. They’d put on plays, making fun of Zeus, Hera, all those notoriously flawed deities. It was like a cosmic soap opera packed with cheating, backstabbing, and general mayhem. And then the Romans, with their sharp tongues and even sharper satire. They weren’t afraid to take on the emperors, those guys with the laurel wreaths and the questionable judgment. It was a risky business, poking fun at power, but someone had to do it, and someone was!
In medieval times, Chaucer presented a parade of human quirks through his pilgrims…the pardoner with his fake relics and the Prioress with her so-called religious devotion and courtly manners. He used his tales to mock various aspects of medieval society, the Church, the nobility, and the common people. He exposed hypocrisy, corruption, and human folly across different social classes. It was a slice of life, served with a side dish of sardonic observation.
And Shakespeare, bless his heart, he wasn’t afraid to hold up a mirror to the world, showing us all our flaws and idiosyncrasies. He gave us kings and clowns, lovers and fools, ambition and despair, all mixed together in one glorious, chaotic mess. A party you weren’t quite sure you were invited to, but you were glad you came!
Then came the Enlightenment. Those folks thought they had all the answers: reason, logic, you name it. But Voltaire, he knew that laughter was just as important as reason. He used satire like a finely honed weapon, skewering hypocrisy and arrogance wherever he found it. And, let’s be honest, there’s a lot of hypocrisy and pomposity out there!
And then the cartoonists, those guys with the ink and the wit. Gillray and Daumier could capture the essence of a person, the absurdity of a situation, with just a few strokes of a pen. It was visual poetry with a punchline.
Then came the 20th century. Movies, radio, stand-up. The Marx Brothers, pure anarchy. They didn’t play by the rules because, well, what rules? It was just pure, unadulterated chaos. And then the likes of Lenny Bruce and George Carlin came around; they were truth-tellers and provocateurs. In Europe, Monty Python’s unique blend of wit, absurdity, and social satire didn’t just entertain; it challenged established norms, poked fun at the establishment, and encouraged a more critical and humorous perspective on the often ridiculous realities of modern life. All these satirists talked about the things nobody else would. The things that made people uncomfortable, and they never stopped!
But then, a climate of heightened sensitivity began to emerge. It started out with good intentions, I suppose. Trying to be kinder, more inclusive. But it turned into this thing! This doctrine! Everything became a sensitive area. You couldn’t say this; you couldn’t joke about that. It was like walking on eggshells, except the eggshells were made of “feelings.”
They started policing language. Policing thoughts. Policing jokes. It was like everyone suddenly developed an allergy to everything. You couldn’t even make a simple observation without someone getting their feelings hurt!
So, the comedians, they got scared. They became cautious. They started self-censoring. The studios got even more cautious. They started churning out these things, these products that didn’t offend anyone. But they didn’t make anyone laugh, either. They were just there, like wallpaper! And that’s what happened to satire, to humor! It got neutered. It got sanitized. It became this bland, flavorless mush that nobody really enjoys. But nobody complains about it either. Well, I suppose you could complain about it being boring. But that would be… offensive!
So, we’re left with this, this wasteland of humor. A dust bowl wouldn’t even do it justice! It’s more like an abandoned building where a comedy club used to stand. The jokes? What jokes? They’re more like pronouncements. Dry as dust, delivered with the forced enthusiasm of a hostage reading a ransom note! The laughter? Yeah! It’s more like nervous tittering, the kind you hear at a corporate sensitivity training seminar! The satire? Forget about it. It’s been declawed, defanged, and sent off to some re-education camp. Have we traded truth for politeness? No, it’s actually worse than that! We’ve traded life for safety. We’ve traded the very thing that makes us human – the ability to laugh at our own ridiculousness – for this, this suffocating blanket of niceness. Our roadside diner didn’t just get closed down! It’s like they bulldozed the whole damn building and built a parking lot for “feelings.” Just gone and reduced to nothing but a flat, grey expanse of…nothing.
But you know what? Enough. Enough with the hand-wringing. Enough with the pearl-clutching. Enough with the self-seriousness. Let’s just… stop. Let’s stop taking ourselves so damn seriously. Let’s stop talking nonsense. Let’s remember that we’re all just people. Flawed, ridiculous, beautiful, messy people. And maybe, if we can learn to laugh at ourselves again, we can find our way back from this parking lot of the soul. Perhaps we can rebuild that diner, put the coffee pot back on, and tell some damn good jokes. You know, the kind that makes you laugh until your sides hurt. The kind that makes you remember what it means to be alive!