In the book Watt
, Samuel Beckett's title character enumerates a hierarchy of laughter, ranging from the "bitter" and the "mirthless laugh" to the "risus purus,
the laugh laughing at the laugh, the beholding, the saluting of the highest joke, in a word the laugh that laughs—silence please—at that which is unhappy." You know, he may have been on to something there, but I still feel bad for laughing at this:
God, why do I find that so funny? I feel so guilty about it. Where can I go? To whom can I turn in this, my time of doubt. Waitaminute, I know...
Wow, I feel much better now. Redeemed, even. Did you see the clothes those folks were wearing. Fortunately, 30 years from now, nobody will be able to look back on our fashions and laugh
. But do you know what that whole era really reminds me of? Pac-Man.
Damn. I never realized the how, like, existential that game was. One thing I always wondered: what the hell were those pellets? Marshmallows? Crack rocks? I hope they tasted better than this:
I guess there really is nothing funnier than another's unhappiness. At least, the unhappiness of a local TV news reporter. It's enough to bring a warm glow to a lowly WWeek intern's heart.
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