QuipTracks: The Blog

I once knew a truly remarkable man, although it took a great deal of time to discover that he was anything worth a remark. I first met him at a swanky party for comedians because I am a notable comedian and not a hack at all. He, however, gave the immediate impression of a hack. At a party for funny people, his apathetic demeanor stuck out like a sore thumb. Wondering if perhaps he had wandered into the wrong estate or was maybe a relative of somebody else, I struck up a conversation. We introduced ourselves and I asked what he did for a living.

“I’m a comedian,” he replied with a straight face.

I gave him a quizzical look. “Say something funny.”

He chuckled insincerely. “I’m not that kind of comedian.”

I thought maybe it was a joke and I smiled a little, scrutinizing his face for a hint of his intentions. I quickly realized he was not being funny, and my half-smirk faded. I awkwardly wandered off and tried to socialize, but my thoughts were tied up trying to unravel the mystery of the strange man.

Days later, he added me on Google Plus. Initially, I didn’t recognize him, so completely devoid of personality or character was his face, but I added him back to be polite. His posts popped up in my stream often, but they never strove to entertain. His comments were utilitarian, never humorous, but were always prefaced by “As a comedian…” He shared articles about accounting techniques and stock market fluctuation without a word of commentary. His profile listed his professions: comedian and vacuum salesman.

One day, he posted the following:

“As a comedian, today I was startled to see that several high-profile stocks took an unexpected dive. Fortunately, my portfolio is sufficiently diverse.”

Flummoxed and frustrated by a long day writing real comedy, I left a comment. “You are without a doubt the worst comedian I’ve ever heard of.”

He didn’t reply. A real man of comedy would have posted an image macro of Captain Jack Sparrow with the words “But you have heard of me.” Not this clown. No, even clowns are funnier than this guy.

That day, I gave up trying to understand and moved on with my life. Everybody I knew felt the same way. Many in my circle kept in contact with the fellow, but only for his business connections and for networking purposes. Nobody knew why he insisted that he was a comedian.

Last Thursday, I got a call from a friend saying that the strange man had suffered a stroke and had died. The funeral was to be held the next day. Per the man’s written instructions, the funeral would be a plain, open-casket affair, but there would be free sandwiches, so I went.

The morning of the event was suitably overcast. A dull day for a dull man. As a corpse, he was even less remarkable than in life, his expression blank and his face completely forgettable. I went up to the casket to pay my respects twice, forgetting I had already done so. The only sadness I or anybody else may have felt was due to the faint disappointment that we would never understand him. The puzzle of the unfunny funnyman would be lowered into the ground unsolved.

Once the crowd had settled into their seats, the pastor began the eulogy. I could tell from my pew that he was struggling to come up with something to say. After a few seconds, he shook his head and began.

“It’s funny…” he started uncertainly. “Thomas always said he was a comedian, but I don’t think anybody here, or anywhere for that matter, actually ever heard him tell a joke. I don’t think he made the world even a little bit brighter… for anybody” He paused for a forced cough, perhaps regretting pointing out the elephant in the room.

In that silence, I suddenly understood. “The pastor is absolutely right,” I blurted out, eyes wide. “It IS funny.” I started to laugh a little. “It’s REALLY funny!”

The people next to me chuckled a little, and the people next to them started to chuckle. Then an older fellow at the end of the aisle snorted loudly with laughter, and the whole room erupted into uproarious guffaws and sounds of jubilee. It was the funniest thing anybody there had ever or ever would experience. The joke of a lifetime… literally.

Thomas whatshisface was truly a glorious man. A man who could truly commit to the bit. A martyr for the art of comedy. An inspiration to us all.