Let's talk about originality. When a joke makes you laugh, who exactly gets to claim credit for being a funny comedian?
It will be news to precisely no one that many different people are involved in bringing, as an example, your favorite television comedy to your living room. There are studio executives; lighting technicians; producers; casting agents; there is a fellow at your local network affiliate in charge of making sure that the broadcast begins on time and breaks for commercial at all the right moments; even more locally, someone in your home pushes a button that turns your television on, and another series of buttons to tune the correct channel at the correct time.
And yet, when people gather around their office water coolers and talk about who made them laugh the night before, none of the parties listed above will get a mention. Nobody says, "Oh man, did you watch Conan last night? Those craft service people are fucking hilarious!" or talks about how their buddy Steve is such a great comedian because he knows what time Comedy Central will be airing a rerun of a classic Chappelle Show episode.
No, the credit for comedic brilliance goes to the people from whose creative efforts the comedy originated: the geniuses who wrote it, and the geniuses who performed it. In short, the funny people. This is hardly controversial: for as reliably and punctually as Premium Cable Network Person may push the button (here we're imagining that this is how that works) which begins the telecast of, say, Louis CK's latest standup act, pushing that button is not funny, and requires of Premium Cable Network Person neither comedic skill nor even a sense of humor at all.
This holds true for nearly any creative endeavor: for example, when you eat a particularly delicious meal at a fine restaurant, you send your compliments to the chef—not to the server. When you get your face melted at a music show, you cheer for the musicians—not for the amplifiers. At an art gallery, the star is the guy who painted the canvases—not the guy who mounted them on the wall.
And so it is, alas, with Deadspin comments. For as funny as that scene from Napoleon Dynamite might be, or that screen-capture image of Philip J. Fry making the squinty-eyed suspicious face, the commenter who posts a YouTube video or screen-capture image or .gif without any embellishment or adornment or accompaniment does not deserve any credit for successful comedy, because that commenter did not craft the funny. At best, he rented the funny. More likely, he stupidly pointed at the funny standing across the street, and loudly proclaimed that he once shared an elevator with it.
And that's just not what we do here. Here, we are the creative and courageous souls who make the pizza, not the drones who deliver it. Imagine that the comment section is a stage: be the guy who walks up there and tells some original jokes; do not be the guy who walks up there and holds up his smartphone so that everybody can see that he is watching The Simpsons on it.
Just remember: we want you to go where eagles dare. If you can make an actual, y'know, comment that is funny and original and fresh out of an unembellished video or image, go for it, and godspeed as you do. But take care to ensure that, in some way or another, you are crafting the funny rather than delivering it: that you are making us laugh, rather than telling us all that you saw a funny movie once.
Now, having dispensed with such meaningless tedium as constructively initiating a conversation about comedy and how one may be successful at it, let's move on to noting a few recent comments that were better than whatever you did during the past month or so.
And now, to satisfy our lust for carnage in the midst of Blood Week, we present the grisly public slaughter of some very shitty commenters.
Rest well, you oafish, hammer-handed dunces.
Feel free to post some of your favorite recent comments down below.