back in my ole college days, i took one magical class in stand-up comedy (’cause that’s what people who don’t really wanna do anything with their lives study in college). i tried out a variety of personas, from bat-shit crazy to uncomfortable-to-watch groucho-marx-esque mental patientishness. none of them drew more than that kind of uncomfortable laughter you get corpse-side at a viewing.

obviously, i had to stop trying to be me, and start trying to be steven wright.

the final exam was a performance in front of a crowd of fifty or more. i moped up to the mic, slumped down on a stool, and monotoned, “good morning,” which was hilarious because it was really night time! whammo! oh boy, i was off to a great steven wrightian start.

“this week, i decided to let the good times roll. unfortunately, i live on the top of a hill and they never rolled back.”

the audience laughed, and not in a pitying or trying-to-escape-out-the-closest-exit way. they laughed because steven wright, even in diet cola dave casey form, is the funniest bastard in the world. so thank you, steven wright. your emotionless delivery and receding hairline have convinced me that it’s okay if i’m going bald and it’s okay if i live a life entirely devoid of emotion.

in fact, it’s friggin’ hysterical.