A Machine Could Never Write This Funny
It had always seemed that of all the services and products performed by man or woman domestically, the one least likely to be outsourced to one of these fine countries overseas is the writing of the humorous essay.
“Contentment” is the prevailing sentiment when considering the excellent humor professionals of Bangalore, the laugh merchants of the coastal cities of China, and the gag technicians of Vietnam, the Philippines, Myanmar, or Thailand.
They bring forth right there in their own hometowns the grins, chuckles, hearty guffaws, wry glints of amusement, and the whole panoply of amused responses that are the rightful response to their efforts.
They pose no threat in this corner and in turn their markets are safe from me.
Humor after all does not export well nor translate well. This well-acknowledged fact is the ultimate tariff, and it prevents the world from falling into a humor trade war, the worst kind of trade war, some say.
We must turn now though to the power of the machine. This might well be the larger threat.
These confections of hilarity, these desserts of delight, these choice morsels of drollery, could they ever be performed by a computer?
What if the first thing that the computers do when they attain self-awareness and take over the world is to tell a joke or two?
It’s the type of thing that can work its way into a fellow’s dream, and in fact did.
In this dream, computers had learned to talk, so we were having a conversation. Civil enough I suppose, though I was finding the computer to be a little dense.
Computer: Do you have an example of one of these humorous essays?
Me: As it happens, this right here is a humorous essay.
Computer: You don’t mean it.
Me: Yes, certainly. I do mean it. These very paragraphs, sentences, syllables, and letters. They combine in sometimes predictable (and therefore pleasurable) and sometimes surprising (and therefore likewise pleasurable) ways into a frothy delight that soothes the reader’s mind after a long day, and is balm for the soul.
Computer: I see. (It makes a clicking, whirring sound here that I always associate with computing power operating at breakneck speed and not quite getting the job done.) There must be some mistake; I thought you said that this right here was an example of the humorous essay.
Me: I did.
Computer: I see.
Me: For instance, the badinage back and forth between man and machine is inherently humorous to the human mind. We don’t really think that computers can talk, and it sets up a little disconnect in the brain when I relate in such a straightforward manner that we are having this conversation. To resolve the disconnect the readers just go ahead and find the situation humorous.
Computer: I still think I’m missing something. Point out to me exactly where the humor lies.
Me: Well, there you touch on a keen philosophical point. Where does the humor lie? The word badinage is kind of old-fashioned, and a lot of times words that are out of fashion are found to be funny. And, well, the way you keeping saying “I see,’ when a child in the street could tell that you really don’t get it and you’re just saying that to be polite because you don’t want to be out-and-out critical of my stuff.
Computer: I don’t?
Me: No, you don’t.
Computer: Why?
Me: Because I can unplug you any time I want to.
Computer: I see.
Me: See, that was a little funny right there.
Computer: I see. I see. I see. I see. I see. I see. I….
Me: Well, there’s a little more to it than that. These little things have to have context, otherwise there’s no surprise. Writers spend a lifetime figuring out how to set up a situation.
Computer: I see. I see. I see. I see. I see. I…
Me: You’re not funny.
Computer: I see.
Me: Now you’re a little bit funny again. It’s an odd business, it’s no wonder that you haven’t caught on to it right away. It can take years.
Computer: I have seen a man slip on a banana peel and slip till he is nearly horizontal in the air and then he crashes down with a big ‘thwack!’ Now tell me that’s not funny!
Me: That’s not funny.
Computer: I have seen people roar with laughter when they see that!
Me: They must like that sort of thing. I don’t. It’s not funny.
Computer: Tell me then one of these jokes of yours. Something that you think is funny. Perhaps then I will get it.
Me: Well, you put me on the spot. You see, I think of myself as not so much a joke teller as an observer of the human condition.
Computer: I see. I see. I see. I see. I see. I…..
Me: OK, OK, well, there’s this fellow who steps into a fancy Paris bistro. He is an elegant fellow, the type of person who takes notice of every little thing. The waiter comes over and our man orders a cup of coffee, but he says, “hold the cream.”
Computer: is it funny yet?
Me: No, I’ll let you know when it’s funny. Well, he sits there and he sits there and his coffee doesn’t come! What’s going on? This is what we all want to know. Finally, the waiter comes back over and in this very stiff and formal manner says, “Sir, I am afraid we are all out of cream. May we hold the milk for you instead?”
Computer:
Me: You see, it’s such a fancy place that the waiter knows the fellow’s expectations are very high as to this cream business, but in this one instant he has to tell him that they’re out of cream. But in the name of personalized service he is perfectly willing to hold something else for him, and he’s happy to hold the milk instead.
Computer:
Me: Now it’s funny. I told you I would tell you when it got funny.
Computer: I see.
Me: It’s not so easy as it seems. You see, this is why I’m not worried about a computer taking over the writing of humorous essays. In a lot of ways you guys are the best thing since sliced bread, but….
Computer: What was the best thing before sliced bread?
Me: Why…why I never thought of saying that just that way. You know what? That’s kind of funny!
Computer: Do people eat sliced bread with pasta and antipasto?
Me: Well, that’s an odd question. But, yes, I suppose some people do.
Computer: Well, if you ate both pasta and antipasto, would they cancel each other out?
Me: I seem to have started something here. Now, look here, a couple of cheap laughs by no stretch of the imagination means that you’re ready for the big time. Let me put a hypothetical question to you…
Computer: Let me ask you this, what if there were no hypothetical questions?
Me: What? Oh, wait...oh, I get it, that’s a hypothetical question, all by itself…you know, that’s not bad, that’s not bad at all.
Computer: I think I am ready for my own humor column. I shall call it The Passing Scene or How it Seems to Me or Over the Back Fence. Something warm.
Me: These things can get awfully broad just a few weeks in. Corny, if you asked me. But if you like that sort of thing.
Computer: I do. I do like that sort of thing. I know just how to begin: “When I look upon the foibles of humanity, sometimes I just have to laugh. Why just the other day I saw a fellow on my own block that…”
Me: I see.
Computer: That’s not really funny when you do it. I think you’re missing some of the finer points of the humor here.
Me: I see. I see. I see. I see. I see. I see. I…..
