“You know what I hate?” asks the cult comedian, standing on a stage. “Death. Death and rape.”
The audience laughs.
“Also genocide,” says the comedian. Everyone laughs harder.
The comedian doesn’t laugh. We see him go home to his life in a tiny apartment. He has ten cats and eats an entire pizza. He masturbates too many times, but you sense his ambivalence about the whole endeavor.
Later, a lady friend comes over.
“You are a shmuck,” says the lady, who is just objectively so much more attractive than the guy, in a way that you wonder if maybe you’re just watching a fantasy of a masochist. “Let’s go get you laid.”
The comedian has sex, but it doesn’t help.
“Do you think it’s worth bringing children into this disgusting, horrible world of ours?” asks the comedian, either to his sex partner, or his sexy friend, or the myriad of other beautiful woman that grudgingly spend time in a state of undress with him.
The lady rolls her eyes, and spits on him.
“Then again,” says the comedian, wiping the glob of saliva off of his face. “Maybe life is beautiful and it’s just that we are the worst, for not enjoying it.”
“You know what I hate?” says the woman. “You.”
“Fair enough,” says the comedian. They have uncomfortable sex. It’s almost consensual, and Raises a Lot of Issues.
Later, at a recognizable New York location, the comedian talks to a small child, or one of his cats. Though he doesn’t find the meaning of life, the moment is enjoyable and reminds us all that innocence is the only truth worth exploring.
“Do you ever wonder why they call them clouds?” asks the comedian, staring into the sun. “It’s such a funny word.”
The child and/or cat shakes their head, like “Oh brother, here we go again.” But also like, “Hey, I get it. Clouds are funny.”
The comedian calls up his kind-of famous friend. Everyone is like “Oh, that guy!” The comedian talks about his problems.
“At least you don’t have herpes,” says the friend.
“Why does your voice sound funny?” asks the comedian.
“I am performing cunnilingus on your mother,” says the friend.
“Ha ha,” says the comedian. But we know that he doesn’t actually find it funny, because of Issues.
The comedian dresses up for a date that night. His shirt is too small, because he is fat, fat, fat. Things do not go as expected, in a bad way.
“Hey,” the comedian says, sweating over his plate of accidentally too-spicy ethnic food. “Do you ever wonder why they call them clouds? It’s such a funny word.”
“Grow up,” sneers the woman. Even though she is physically attractive, we see she is a bad person, and deserves everything that’s coming to her.
“I write essays on the Internet,” she says haughtily. “I am very uptight and have no sense of humor.” We get that this is Commentary, and do not feel bad about what happens next.
Later, the comedian will come home and take off his too-small shirt, covered in marinara sauce…at least we hope that’s what it is. He looks around his apartment and sighs. He’s alone, as we all are, and the human condition is revealed to be one of pain and loneliness, the only respite being the sweet release of death.
Then he lets out a giant fart, and it’s funny.