The Day the Laughter Dried

I usually only come up with the titles for my posts after they're written. But today, I'm starting with a title.

The Day the Laughter Dried

So now I have to write something to match it.

It will be difficult.

Obviously, it's a play on the phrase "The Day the Laughter Died". I don't even think it's that well known as a phrase. I don't know where I've heard it. Searching on Google only brings up a comedy album by notorious reactionary twat comedian Andrew Dice Clay.

If you're not familiar with this man, here's a sample of his material from Wikiquote:

Like look at these Japs. These madame butterfly wok-using little nip motherfuckers! I mean I go into a bank and the name of my bank is hiuhuyuyuyu! They're takin over! Didn't we drop 2 bombs on them a few years ago? What was in those bombs, fuckin' fertilizer? And they're the worst drivers; I mean, how do you drive with your eyes 3/4 closed? You could blindfold these people with fuckin'dental floss! You don't give them keys to a car! You don't put your money in their fuckin' bank! You kick em in the ass and say "Get the fuck out of the country!"

Obviously a man of some integrity and intelligence. A product of his era, of course. The Day the Laughter Died came out in archaic 1990. It was a different world back then. You could say that kind of thing.

His misogyny and racism is quite impressive really. In comparison, Jim Davidson's routine have the sensitivity and elegiac beauty of an Alan Bennett monologue.

On the Wikipedia entry for TDTLD (as it's probably referred to by Clay's refined and discerning fans), one of the genres listed for the album is 'anti-comedy'.

I don't think you can legitimise ineptitude just by using the prefix 'anti-'.

"Yeah, I know this cake hasn't risen, and smells bad, and is decorated by rats' noses. But hey, it's an anti-cake. So in a way, I should be praised for my innovation!"

You should try to attain some connection to greatness. But it's not good enough for that connection to be "the opposite".

So, Andrew Dice Clay is a despicable human being, and an unfunny comedian.

If that's the case, what mileage is there in a blog post which parodies one of his albums? Not much.

There's not even any way to make the sentiment make sense on its own merits. Laughter can't dry.

Maybe if a comedian lost their voice due to dehydration. But that's unlikely. Most of them have water on stage. And if they did die, the headline probably wouldn't be that flippant.

So, I should probably change it. But I won't, because I've come this far.

***

I confess, I started this post earlier today, and resented having to finish it. I should probably improve communication between my past and future selves. Maybe I should get some of those Time Post-Its.

You know the ones: you write your note, then specify a date on the keypad, and the note appears at the designated time.

They're quite expensive. Also, it can unravel the fabric of time. And I like the fabric of time. It has stood me in good temporal stead. (The tense of that sentence may well be wrong, but I'm will not going to have to worry about it). Admittedly, the fabric unfolds too slowly on workdays, but that's a small complaint.

I'd rather be approaching the future than approaching the past. Because at least there's a good chance my clothes will still fit in the future. I wouldn't be able to fit into my childhood shorts and shoes.

I'm going to bail out of this post now. Let's pretend none of this happened.

Quick! Hannon! Help me out here!