Now that I’ve written a snotty and spiteful post about comedy, I feel it my duty to balance my Prose Karma and dedicate some energy to the righteous of the world.
As readers of this site know, I get Comedic Man-Crushes about bi-yearly. When they overcome me, I become a maniacal evangelist for my beloved’s cause: burning CDs of their best stuff for friends, reciting lines to my endlessly patient wife, carving their names into telephone poles.
This goes all the way back to my childhood, when I used to recite Peanuts comic strips and Monty Python routines into a tape recorder. I still have no idea why I did this; something just compelled me, as if performing my favorite pieces would make me funny by osmosis. I went so far as to enlist one or both my brothers to play opposite me as the pet shop owner in the Dead Parrot Sketch, or flesh out the Mountie chorus for the Lumberjack Sketch.
If those tapes ever surface–well, it’ll just confirm the dorkitude I profess on this site on a daily basis. However, I digress. Today I write of the latest heart on my Trapper Keeper cover: The Best Show on WFMU.