Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
Have you ever sat down to watch comedy that’s so raw, so biting, that you think to yourself, why isn’t this stuff considered essential therapy? I mean, come on! If laughter isn’t the best medicine, I don’t know what is, besides, you know, medicine.
Let’s dive right into the deep end here. Comedy, in its purest form, is like surgery without anesthesia. It cuts deep and you’re gonna feel it— but boy does it feel good after. We’re living in a world plastered with so many ‘Proceed With Caution’ signs that you might as well wear bubble wrap as underwear. But in the realm of comedy, especially the kind that stings a little before it heals, there is no caution tape strong enough to hold it back.
Why are we so afraid of words? We tiptoe around topics like they’re landmines in a children’s playground. But here’s the kicker: comedy is supposed to rattle you a bit. It’s supposed to make you think and, heaven forbid, maybe even challenge your perspectives. If your beliefs can’t stand up to a comedian’s jokes, maybe they’re not as rock-solid as you thought.
And then there’s the whole charade of political correctness in comedy. Listen, I’m all for not being a complete jerk. But when we start sanitizing every thought, every joke, every nuanced expression of humor, we might as well hand out celery sticks at the comedy club instead of drinks. Because that’s how exciting our evenings are going to get! Dry, bland, and nutritionally dubious.
Comedy is like porn for the blind. Not because it’s dirty, mind you, but because it paints pictures vivid enough that you don’t even need your eyes. You just sit back and let the images explode in your mind. Nikki Glaser, one of those sharp shooters in the world of comedy, hit the nail right on the head with this analogy. It’s about feeling it in your bones, in the dark void of your pupil-less sight.
There’s something beautifully chaotic about stepping up on stage, where the only thing you’re armed with is your wit and the hope that the audience had at least a drink or two. Because let’s be honest, the sober ones are always the hardest nuts to crack. Not that I’m suggesting alcohol is a solution, but have you ever listened to economics sober? It’s no comedy show, I’ll tell you that.
As comedians, we’re like the court jesters of old, allowed to poke fun at the king without losing our heads—usually. But even jesters had to read the room. You push boundaries, you challenge the norm, but you also got to make sure the king’s not in a head-chopping mood. Same applies today, though now it’s not just kings and queens but the entire kingdom of Twitter ready to raise their digital pitchforks.
Are we offending you? Good. Because that means we’re doing our jobs. We’re not here to spoon-feed you sugar-coated niceties. We’re here to make you spit out your drink from laughing, or from shock, your choice. Being offended by comedy is like being angry at a mirror because you don’t like your reflection. Change the view, not the mirror.
So, here’s to the comics who leave you a little uncomfortable, who make you rethink your stance on life, politics, and whether pineapple really belongs on pizza. It does, by the way. They’re the ones digging into the messy, the uncomfortable, and yes, the profoundly silly aspects of human life. If we can’t laugh at the insanity of our existence, are we really living?
Wrapping up, remember this: comedy will save your soul, or at least give you a damn good reason to look forward to Mondays. It’s the unruly child of the arts, and it’s about time we let it play outside without a GPS tracker.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go prepare my next set—something involving politics, social norms, and an inappropriate number of vegetable puns. Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you—we’re going in raw, and we’re going in laughing. Pasta la vista, baby!
Source: Nikki Glaser: My Comedy Is Like Porn for Blind People
