“K” IS FUNNIER THAN “C”
Listen Up, Klowns
The komedy is about to get extremely hardkore
“Going forward, to build a breakthrough Twitter 2.0 and succeed in an increasingly competitive world, we will need to be extremely hardcore. This will mean working long hours at high intensity. Only exceptional performance will constitute a passing grade.” — Elon Musk memo to Twitter employees.
To: Klowns at Kolossal Komedy Workz, Where “K’s” are funnier than “C’s”
From: KEO K. K. Kunningham
Knock knock. Who’s there?
NOT YOU — If you don’t sign this binding loyalty kontrakt.
If we are to suk-seed in an inkreasingly kompetitive world, our kommitment to komedy needs to bekome “extremely hardkore.”
Think long hours. Think high intensity.
Get ready to grind, klowns.
That’s not just my favorite demeaning expression. From now on every one of you will wear the full kostume to the office every day. That means the red nose. Slap shoes. Fright wig. Frightened, krying kids should be the goal.
I want your ass here, in Full Bozo, every day, every night, for as long as it takes.
If anyone even THINKS the words “my personal life,” it better be in a hilarious giggly falsetto.
No one wants to bang you anyway. That’s why you wound up in komedy, klown.
Get ready for 18 hours days. I want to smell your week-old flop sweat. I want to see you punchline drunk, dirty and slurring.
I want to see your sleeping bag on the floor next to your desk, stained with laughter pee.
When you dream, you better dream funny. When you wake up, you better wake up funny.
When you fart, a flag better spring out of your ass that says BANG!
We’re gonna get those 4Q funny projektions up — or you’re k-k-kanned.
The Klownage around here has been kontemptible.
How many times do I have to say it — a spit take sprays the straight man in BOTH eyes! Kommit to the bit, klowns!
Where are the pratfalls? We’re gonna do kalisthenics and kegels and high gravity steep stair drops until it gets funny around here. Repeat after me: bruised ass equals funny.
Wile E. Koyote never EVER learns. He falls in a kanyon 500 times and komes back for more. ALWAYS. Now THERE’s a klumsy fucker that kommits to the bit.
None of you kandy-asses want to put in the hours on impressions, satire, puns, sarkasm, irony or punchlines anymore. But you will.
Assignments for tomorrow 6:30 a.m. meeting, in person, full Bozo: watch Richard Pryor Live on Sunset Strip, both seasons of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag, then read P.G. Wodehouse’s Kode of the Woosters.
I will expect detailed written reports on all three with suggestions for alternate gags.
ARE WE KLEAR??
I will Heimlich the funny out of you. And if I don’t, I will krush you and krap on your dreams, which is also funny.
Your hate for me will be inkonseevably hardkore.
Remember, “The only way out is through.”
That’s from a poem by Robert Frost and if I ever katch you reading that poem on kompany time, you are so fucking shit-kanned, you klueless poetry reading kluckfucker.
You know the expression, Die Laughing? Show me what that looks like.
Sign the komedy pledge, kram into your tiny kar and karry your unfunny asses back to work.
You know what they say — hire a klown, expect a Serkus.
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Kommendations to Amy Sea!!
The T. Kent Jones omnibus never closes. Free Parking!
Click the skull. Join the party.
