Theory Of Humour: Conclusion

Today we conclude our discussion of humour. Some critics have claimed that we laugh when we see pomposity undone. So: a pompous man upbraids his servant, snaps at his dog, insults his children. Going to the kitchen to call his office to fire a sick, mentally challenged underling, he tumbles down some stairs.

Funny? Sure, yes, funny. Funnier still if, as he falls, he continues being cruel to someone off-camera. Clunk, clunk. "You idiot, don't just stand there filming! Make some attempt to interrupt my fall, you piece of filth!"

His servant/children/dog all stand at the top of the stairs, laughing and applauding as he continues to fall. It is a very long staircase. At one point, his right arm falls off. Time passes. He keeps rolling. His left arm falls off, then both legs.

At what point does this scene cease being funny? Well, apparently not yet. His servant/dog/children are still laughing and applauding. And, look - his wife has joined them. She appears to be having a drink. And a cigarette. Apparently his roster of sins is longer than we know. The neighbours soon arrive, along with the mentally challenged underling he was planning to fire, all in party hats. Everyone is drinking, even the dog, while exchanging reminiscences about what a horrible man he was.

The stairs extend downwards into infinity. Soon our man is just a bitter rolling head. The head is weeping. About half a mile from the top, the stairway becomes pure granite, with shards of embedded broken glass. The dog/children/wife/neighbours/underling can't even see him any more; they're just getting reports from regions farther down.

"Still falling?" the wife shouts into a sort of pneumatic tube.

"Yep, he's just passed Station 98!" someone shouts back.

"Is he still in pain?" his wife shouts.

"Appears to be!" shouts Station 98.

"Excellent!" shouts the wife.

The head has stopped weeping. Its face is locked in a terrible grimace. That is one stoic head. The gang at the top of the stairs is dancing a conga line, composing celebratory poems.

What has this man done to deserve so much scorn? I don't know. Seems to me it's the gang at the top of the stairs who need a lesson. This is not funny, the sadistic torturing of one of God's creatures. Since this is my column, I'll call up an earthquake that sends them tumbling down the same infinitely long stairway.

Who's laughing now? The head. Having reached the bottom of the staircase (ie "infinity"), he is sitting in a chair, enjoying a lemonade, watching his former tormentors roll painfully down towards him, losing parts of their bodies. Is he laughing?

He is.