Well, ladies and gentlepersons, we’re about to embark on a journey. I’m going to try something different, something new. I have recently been inspired by comedian Marc Maron, host of the WTF with Marc Maron podcast, among other things. He has a unique interview style in that he doesn’t prepare many notes or questions to ask his guests to the show, preferring to let the conversation form organically, to just talk with his guests and listeners. So, I’ve decided to apply that concept to my writing. Normally when I write these little intros I have an idea for the body of the article—a concept with a few major bullet points and some specific lines I want to throw in—then I just spit out a paragraph of ramblings that introduces the topic a bit. This time, however, I will continue the freewheeling and write whatever comes out. For your sake and the sake of cleanliness and formality, I will omit redundancies and fluff words, like “um” and “okay,” as often as needed, but otherwise I will try to keep this as organic as possible, with minimal editing.

In the spirit of improv, to get me started I will ask the audience to shout out something you might find at Home Depot.

“Go f*ck yourself!”

Whew. Tough crowd. I guess I’ll just start with something from my list of article ideas. Let’s see. What do we have? Here’s a good one:

Everyone is fake. That may seem a little cynical, but I think it’s true. Everyone is putting on an act. Yeah, there may be times when you can really be yourself, but what are you? Who are you? Do you actually have a sense of who you are, or are you just pretending to be yourself? We learn from others and mimic our peers, our parents, our teachers. I’m trying to be as authentic as possible right now, but I’m also trying to be funny, to entertain (myself, mostly), but the truth is I don’t know who I am. Maybe that’s a problem, but I don’t think I’m alone, and I don’t think I’m in the minority, either.

I had a play-writing class in which the professor asked, “Are we wearing masks? Do we always have a mask on? Do you think you could take yours off in here?” The class responded with looks of indecisiveness. Some seemed to think, like me, that we do, in fact, wear masks. Others gave responses that seemed intelligent, but I think they were trying too hard—a verbal mask if you will. But think about yourself right now. If you’re in class, you probably want to seem smart or aloof; those are usually the two options in a classroom setting: smart or aloof. If you’re in a discussion class, you want everything that comes out of your mouth to sound intelligent. You don’t want to be the dumb one. And there’s the other side, usually the back side, where you want to seem like a cool guy that doesn’t care too much. “I never take life too seriously, man.” Well, either way, neither of those sides fits 100 percent right. We’re all individuals, but we put on these masks to fit a category even if we don’t want to, even if we aren’t conscious of it.

I guess if there was a third mask it would be the funny person, but I think being funny is just a subcategory of either smart or aloof. Either we don’t care, so we make jokes, or we make jokes to seem smart. This is interesting because, while some respect comedy a great deal, it sometimes gets overlooked as an art form.

What’s funny? Besides a Bo Burnham song. I’ve heard that laughing is just the reaction we have to "getting" the joke. We understand why it is supposed to be funny, so we join in the laughter. It makes sense. That’s why highbrow, dry as dirt, British humor is so well-respected, but puns and poop jokes are regarded as some of the lowest forms of humor.

In recent years, we’ve seen a degradation of comedy, it seems. Just like with most things, with mass production, quality suffers. Social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter and SnapChat along with platforms like Youtube, Reddit, Tumblr, or iFunny where anyone who views the content can also add their own, create a mass market for crap. Yes, sometimes very talented creators come out of these venues (Bo Burnham being one), but the vast majority of the “content” on these sites is just flashy colors and yelling. Most of the “jokes” you see are just references to other things or the same joke repeated by different people a thousand different ways. Do me a favor. Go the nearest app or site where funny pictures are posted. Let me know how many Harambe memes you see.

We get it. You miss a gorilla you didn’t know existed four months ago. Hardy har. And it goes in spurts—this week it’s all about Brangelina, for instance—but there’s always something. Then there are big events that remain timely for longer periods. Yeah, we miss Harambe, but when that subsides Trump’s hair will still look like funny things. Hilarious.

I can’t complain too much, though. Sometimes I laugh, and sometimes I put on the mask of an elitist and pretend I’m not chuckling internally. I’ve seen the video of a puppy with a pacifier at least 10 different times and still giggle like a schoolgirl when it springs up on my feed. I’m part of the problem, too. I’m on Twitter weekly, tweeting gold, but I wouldn’t dream of calling that comedy. I’m just an idiot who gets bored often. By the way, follow me @Tyler_Dubya. It’s a riot.

Excuse me while I get a drink of water.

Thanks for waiting. I had a thought recently about myself. I try to be funny, as you can probably tell. Most of the time it fails, but people tell me I can elicit a guffaw or two now and then. It’s come to a point, however, where I feel like I would sacrifice anything to make a joke. By anything, I don’t mean I’d give up my car or my prized coffee mug collection, but interpersonal relationships come second to laughs. Let me explain. ,kjn hv bfxd. Sorry, the cat walked on my keyboard.

I don’t have a cat. Why am I lying to you? I apologize.

Anyway, I guess what I mean is that I’ll say something I think is funny, or that I think at least one person will laugh at, even if it means giving an emotional stiff-arm to whomever I’m engaging. I’ll give an example. Last year—December, I believe it was—I was at a gathering of classmates who joined together to meet in an informal setting for a change. I looked dashing in a Star Wars Christmas sweater I stole from my brother and was eating a delicious slice of pizza when a colleague I hadn’t talked with much approached and struck up a conversation. We talked for a bit, and then she said, “I feel like you and I should be better friends.” I looked at her for a second, then with a grin, I said, “Better than...not?” I got a laugh from a buddy next to me, which was satisfying, but the rest of our interaction was awkward, and we did not become better friends as a result. I guess I have a problem. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, along with staring at anything but a person’s eyes or making sounds instead of words or tapping my heels on the hardwood floor. I don’t know, man. I guess that’s my mask.

Well, I’m going to have some kettle corn. Have a good one. Wow, my sign off is “Have a nice day.” This freewheeling nonsense can really bite you in the ass.