When Comedians Ruled the Earth

Reclaim the art of storytelling and comedy to save the world

“We’re on a Mission from God.”

I came across this song recently by a musician named Billy Cobb entitled, “All My Favorite Comedians Are Dead”, and I have not stopped thinking about the piece for days.

A fun tune, yes, but this celebration of some of comedy’s greats who have passed on from this world is so shakingly filled with melancholy in my mind. All my favorite comedians are dead, sings Cobb. And it was said they’d live forever / Now the joke’s on them / They’ll never tell their jokes again. Sure, there are old legends that I love featured in the verses, like Buster Keaton and Jim Henson, who died long before my time of birth or childhood. But so many others in Cobb’s song resided in this world the same time as I for a time, such as Gene Wilder and Robin Williams . . . gosh.

While I talk so much about sci-fi, fantasy, action adventure, and (since becoming a full grown adult) horror that I scare even the cuddliest of puppies away, I have always had a deep respect, fascination, and belief in the art of comedy. (A sincere shoutout to the YouTube channel, Hat’s Off Entertainment, for teaching me so much about the history and significance of this genre in film and television). Cobb’s song got me thinking that others may not understand why comedians are so vital to society, and I decided that lack of know-how needed fixing.

‘Cause, ya know, what else am I supposed to do on a Tuesday night when my life’s already a joke?

“There Are a Few, Uh, Provisos . . .”

Ask anyone who knows me, and they might say my true-believer status in comedy is sort of strange considering I despise class clowns.

To clarify, I do not hate class clowns. I have experienced class clown types who have lifted me up through the drudgery of school, work, and daily life. Yet I will not deny that there are way, way too many straight-up privileged jerks, ignorant jerks, and selfish jerks who have gotten a pass through life because they are deemed attractive and makers of good jokes. They are on television every hour on the hour in commercial after commercial in-between horrible show after horrible show. They are not funny.

“Comedy is subjective.”

Sure, and they are still not funny.

The distinction is that the bad clowns do not lift people up; they only lift themselves up. They regurgitate the same predictable, tired, and uninteresting commentary, twists, and words we have heard a million times, all usually wrapped by the oh-so-holy and oh-so-enticing garb of the almighty robe of Cynical Sarcasm. But they look good and are admittedly clever enough to tune the masses to them, so, here we are. The bad class clowns are loud, obnoxious, unoriginal, and get all the money in the world for being sub-par talents when there are so, so many more brilliant comedians and actors out there.

Which means the world is still running on original factory settings. All is well.

Comedy is not a positive force when it is used to validate the arrogant dismissal of real people. I should not be in discomfort watching a piece of stand-up just knowing I am probably going to be forced to hear some unintelligent retort or uncompelling summary of a real world issue receiving blind applause and laughter. Where is the talent and power in trivializing, say, a corrupt government when real people are getting hurt? The Animaniacs, a cartoon for kids, can more constructively mock the awful powers that be than these overpriced clowns I am told to respect.

To illustrate, a comedian I have liked for years opened his latest stand-up special saying he will not discuss politics, only to do so for the next 15 or so minutes while mocking the idea of evolving gender titles. Firstly, a comedian cannot discuss politics? What are they supposed to discuss in a time when everything is political, then?

The job of King Lear’s jester was to call out his foolishness.

Secondly, regardless of how relatable the frustrations are to some in his audience, how in God’s name could mocking gender titles in a time when youths are being socially ostracized, with the government’s approving slap on the back, for dealing with yet another identity issue possibly be helpful to anyone? Thirdly, mayhap the biggest crime, the material was just not funny. My time was collectively wasted.

Rinse and repeat this kind of pattern and you lose the positive power comedy has in our world. Instead, comedy becomes a cesspool of appropriated pain of select groups of humanity for the entertainment and weaponized misunderstanding of the masses who decide that an arrogant fool with a microphone is worth supporting more so than the less fortunate among us.

The good clowns use the gift of comedy to save humanity and help us laugh together, while the bad clowns draw deeper dividing lines.

“Sometimes in Life [a Laugh] is the Only Weapon We Have.”

Because, jeepers creepers, if we did not have the good and blessed clowns of the world—the ones Billy Cobb sung about and those who are getting to such legendary status—we would all be dead, man.

You know them when you see them. What movies, TV shows, and stand-up specials that they starred or gave a cameo in stuck with you? What brilliant talk show host had the cajones to say what was on the side of truth and justice in the most funny way possible? What cartoon characters picked you up after a horrible day? What internet clowns actually brighten up your life? (Seriously, if Man Carrying Thing would like to join OBA for a podcast episode, I would be honored!) What lines do you quote from, say, Ghostbusters, A Knight’s Tale, Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, Clerks, Hot Fuzz, Red vs. Blue, What We Do in the Shadows, A Goofy Movie, Kung Fu Hustle, The Birdcage, The Simpsons, Happy Gilmore, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air . . . the list goes on for miles and miles and is always being added to.

The reason the noble clowns—and I think they far outweigh the lousy ones—are so essential is because they understand the undeniable fact that comedy saves lives in more ways than one.

Comedy can communicate, heal, connect others, and, perhaps the art form’s most underrated ability, educate. Sadly, I have never been able to find this recording again, but in college, I listened to a 1960s record featuring contemporary funny people, such as Lenny Bruce, criticizing governmental policies and cultural norms of the day. The madame who provided the introduction to the performance described comedians as society’s conscience. I never forgot, nor stopped believing, this description.

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A long while back, I was reading Avatar: The Last Airbender co-creator Bryan Konetizko’s Tumblr and saw a post of him recommending Hannah Gadsby’s stand-up special, Nannette, stating that men should watch the show. Being the Avatar acolyte that I have always been, I listened, and what I heard in that show changed me, opening my eyes to so many little things I never knew or considered. Tis the almighty George Carlin who showed me I had the makings of a political delinquent, which is why I am speaking to you now. As a wee little lad in the ‘90s, Men in Black showed me my place in the universe in the best of ways. While far from a laugh-out loud funny book, stumbling across Owen Egerton’s comedy novel, The Book of Harold, the Illegitimate Son of God, as a college freshman made me see religion and faith in a light I never had before. Futurama first taught me that masterful comedy could bring me to tears. Jon Stewart’s tenure on The Daily Show showed that the emperor, indeed, has no clothes, and honestly accurate observations could help keep them off.

“By Grabthar’s Hammer . . .”

We are all reminded every day of how evil and unfair the world is—constantly, non-stop. Laughter does not make the pain go away, and clowns never did much against systematic corruption. (Legislation and the judiciary system has not fared much better, to be fair.)

Case in point: In the same week I found Billy Cobb’s song and I was waxing poetic about that time Pee-Wee Herman asked about the Alamo’s basement, I read headlines that sunk my heart to my soles and made me want to rage.

Suddenly, comedy did not seem so meaningful compared to evil.

Then, I was reminded of something my sister told me earlier this year. We were headed out to our annual fan convention, and I remarked how I felt guilty having fun in a big city when, a hop-skip away from the event’s convention center, politicians were drafting legislation that attacked most of our fellow con attendees. She shared something she heard: the idea that even being positive, happy, and having a good time is an act of rebellion, because all that those who are against humankind want is for us to be afraid and wallow in our misery. In fact, I attended one late night panel at that very con that had me laughing so hard my stomach ached and I could hardly breathe: a glorious exhilaration.

I had never heard of such an idea, but I more firmly believe now that comedy, from Daffy Duck to Aisling Bea and beyond, is indeed a tool against this darkness. One of many.

The punchline to this conversation is to never be afraid to laugh. Never think of comedy as only a silly thing that does hardly anything of importance, and never believe mere silliness is in vain. Learn how to use this tool for good in your own stories. Do not try to be funny for your own ego. Do so to uplift your heart and others.

There are many genres and many art forms in this world, and we will need every single one to bring us to a better tomorrow. I love comedy, and I love the great comedians, and while not all of us are naturally funny (as my attempts at humor in this article show) we can all laugh and, in our own way, make others laugh.

And sometimes that is exactly what we need to survive.

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💬 Comment below:

• What storytellers, comedians, or artists share laughs and hope that uplift you on your darkest days?

• How do you hope your story or art will make people feel