Laughing Till It Hurts

The is no doubt that sarcasm and satire are effective political tools.  Using veiled humor has been around in social and political commentary for centuries.  In fact, Jonathan Swift's brilliant A Modest Proposal is still taught in high schools around the world - except in the English-speaking world where white writers are banned.

There is one feature of humor that must be avoided if the joke is to be effective.  It is called, "beating a dead horse."  Other than having to explain a joke, the worst thing that can happen is to tell it too many times.

The Street Meat Media, formerly known as mainstream, have waded neck deep into this forbidden territory.  What started as humorous has become tedious, boring and even regressive.

It is a given that virtually all humor involves someone else's pain.  By removing the pain from a context where one empathizes with the victim, we are encouraged - nay, can hardly stop ourselves - from laughing at the misfortunes of others.  This is why the very best comedians do not attack others, rather they hold themselves up for ridicule.  Those who attack will eventually step over the line and cause revulsion.

This is exactly what has happened with the media's attacks on Donald Trump.  At first, they drew thunderous applause and raucous laughter.  Later, it became self-conscious groans and embarrassed snickers.  Now, it has evolved into vicious attacks and the audience is growing less tolerant of it.

At first, the attacks were humorous.  Alec Baldwin's buffoonery on Saturday Night Live as Trump are so good that one imagines him watching hours of video to get the speech and mannerisms just right.  However, the jokes have gone on so long and at such a feverish pitch that the audience is starting to empathize with the target and are feeling sorry, if not downright angry.

Unused to acknowledging boundaries, much less respecting them, the media has begun driving people to support Trump, rather than holding him up for ridicule.  In effect, the media have blunted their own knives in the pursuit of blood.  Once the malintent behind the attacks is exposed, they can no longer get away with such tactics.

Basically, the media's unhalting lashes have caused folks to take a second look.  In so doing, they have seen that the tools of the attacks - Russia, immigration, etc. - may have some validity and are not as silly as they were made out to be.

In addition, Trump's easily mocked mannerisms and characteristic speech patterns are becoming more familiar to the audience, and once internalized, can only be attacked in a gentle and teasing way, not in the callous and heartless manner typical of the satire up to this point.

What's more, the media have crossed the lines of propriety.  In their desperation to mock Trump into submission, the media have literally and provably fabricated information, or at the very least have parrotted unverified statements as fact.  In so doing, the media have completely undermined their own credibility, while simultaneously building up Trump's.

Trump, on the other hand, has obviously read Sun Tsu's The Art of War.  He has patiently waited for the media to play out too far, and has now cut off their supply lines.  Whether you like Trump or not, objectively one must appreciate the masterful game he has played on his tormentors.  In fact, he has carefully left bread crumbs, which the media obediently followed, right into his trap.

It is clear that from this point on, the media - and indeed the entire left wing - must change tactics, or lose the audience.  Should they chose to continue along the path they have chosen, they will alienate the audience and ironically drive them directly into the Trump Supporter category.  Americans love underdogs, and there is no better recent example than Trump.

From the looks of things, the media don't get it.  They are so myopic and laser-focused on beating the dead horse that they haven't noticed the audience is getting restless and even hostile.  As Trump turns the tables, the audience is even beginning to cheer the once-ridiculed buffoon.

Humor, by necessity, involves someone else's pain, but it also involves exaggeration - and not a little playfulness.  Not only would the Street Meat Media benefit from a little remedial study in the art of satire, but they would greatly benefit from backing off a little.

As Sir Edmond Kean famously pronounced on his death bed, "Dying is easy.  Comedy is hard."

Get Hosed! - The Movie

THE MUSIC SWELLS WITH A FULLY ORCHESTRATED MIDDLE EAST FLAVOR, A LA MARICE JARRE'S LAWRENCE OF ARABIA THEME.

THE SCENE: IT'S TWILIGHT IN THE DESERT, SOMEWHERE NEAR 'BFE.' A MILITARY APV IS RACING THRU THE SAND KICKING UP DUST AGAINST A BLOOD-RED SUNSET. THE CAMERA TRACKS AT A TANGENT SO THAT WE DRAW CLOSER AND CLOSER UNTIL WE CAN SEE THRU A SMALL PORTAL. THE VIEW IS AN OVER-THE-SHOULDER SHOT OF OUR HERO, 'HOSED.' THE SCENE TRANSITIONS TO INTERIOR APV IN A FLY-ON-THE-WALL SHOT.

TWO FIGURES SIT ACROSS FROM EACH OTHER. ONE IS AN AGING, BALDING MIDDLE EASTERN MAN IN AN ITALIAN SUIT LOOKING SOMEWHAT UNCOMFORTABLE. THE OTHER IS A NON-DESCRIPT MAN IN HIS EARLY 30s WEARING A BLACK SUIT AND OAKLEY SUNGLASSES. HE HAS AN EARPIECE IN HIS RIGHT EAR.

THEY JOSTLE AROUND A BIT AS THE VEHICLE SPEEDS ALONG.

HOSED: So what I'm gonna do now?

AGENT: Don't worry, sir. We have it all planned out. We're on our way to meet a transport, which will take you to South America.

HOSED: South America! What I'm gonna do there? They already have enough dictator. There's no place for me.

AGENT: We have retirement communities there, sir. Started them after WWII with the Nazis. You'll be quite comfortable.

HOSED: Nazis?! You mean Ich moos shtart shpeaking like dis jetzt?

AGENT: No, sir. It's not like that. There are many former nationalities there, including some of your fellow countrymen.

HOSED: Don't tell me you have ElBadguy there. I can't be in the same place with heem. You think I'm bad, he's worse from me.

AGENT: No, sir. We have other plans for ElBadguy. Now, here's some pocket money (HE SLIDES A LARGE BRIEFCASE ACROSS THE FLOOR), and the envelope has your new identity papers and cover story. We need you to memorize the story in every detail. Understood?

HOSED: How much money for my pocket you have here?

AGENT: There's a million in scrip and another million in gold bearer bonds. Should be enough to keep you going until we can make a show of freezing your assets, and then releasing them again.

HOSED: (READING THE PAPERS) What?! You want I should grow a beard? That's what you do to Saddam before you hang heem. Tell the driver stop, I will take my chance in the desert.

AGENT: Calm down, sir. You'll meet Saddam when you get to your destination. We hung one of his look-alikes. I assure you, he is doing quite well.

HOSED: Bismillah! You guys make good shows. I worry cause he is a friend with Boosh, and I think you don't remember your friend when you clean up your mess. I am friend with all your president since Gimmie. We all have good time together at Camp Dah-feed with that crazy Jew, I forget his name now.

AGENT: Begin, sir.
.
HOSED: That's right, now I remember. We make many good jokes around his name. "Shall we Beh-geen?" (HE LAUGHS)

AGENT: Sir, if I may, we need to talk about the plan. You are being taken to a special compound...

HOSED: What?! You give me special redition now? I see what you guys do to those poor farmers from Iraq. When you finish, they tell you their mother is Ethiopian if you ask them. No thanks!

AGENT: No, sir, it's not like that. You will live in the compound for a couple of years. I assure you, you will be quite comfortable. In the meantime, we will spin your image so that by the time you leave there, the world will see you as an elder statesman and hail your return.

HOSED: Oh, that's what we call the Clean-ton Special.

AGENT: Exactly, sir.

HOSED: How is Billy? I miss heem. We have many good times together in my har-eem.

AGENT: You'll see him where you're going, sir. We can't get him to leave the place. Seems he has a liking for brown girls.

HOSED: (LAUGHS) You tell me this?! The man is like camel in heat! We must put salt peter in the ice cream when he come.

AGENT: (LOOKS OFF) Yes, sir, we know.

HOSED: My family will be safe, yes?

AGENT: Don't worry, sir. Your sons are safe in London. We gave them cover jobs as taxi drivers. No one will notice them. Your wives have been given to the mob, as you requested, and your youngest daughters went straight to the Vatican, which was your agreement for safe passage.

HOSED: Good. My daughters are already 5 and 8. I worry if too old for the Vatican, but they tell me just right. So, I'm happy. (PAUSE) Wah! I almost forget George! How can I forget! He will kill me if I forget! You have follow my instructions, yes?

AGENT: Mr. Sore-ass received his...gratuity, sir. He is quite happy and sends his regards. He will come to check on you in South America after you get settled.

THE APV GRINDS TO A HALT AND THE REAR HATCH POPS OPEN. WE CUT TO EXTERIOR SHOT AND AS THE DUST CLEARS, WE SEE A GLEAMING G-4 PRIVATE JET WARMING UP ON A DESOLATE AIRSTRIP IN THE MIDDLE OF BFE. ARMED DARKWATER GUARDS STAND IN A CIRCLE AROUND THE AREA AND A 'SUIT' COMES OUT OF THE PLANE TO GREET 'HOSED.'

SUIT: Hosed! My old friend, how are you? Didn't get a scratch did you?

HOSED: Bammy! You come to meet me personally? The is big surprise!

BAMMY: Well, I couldn't let you think all that bad press about our relationship was true. You and I go back a long ways.

HOSED: Yes, yes, habibi. I remember when you come for training with the Company. You were so young then. I remember this like it's yesterday.

BAMMY: It WAS yesterday. (THEY BOTH LAUGH) OK, Hosed, I've arranged everything. You'll have a very nice villa in the mountains. You buddy Saddie is there. He lives just a few doors away. You'll have to share the harem, of course, especially when Bill comes down for vacation.

HOSED: Yes, yes, nothing new there, I think. What will be my new job?

BAMMY: Don't worry about that. Sore-ass and ElBadguy have things well in hand. You'll lay low for a time, while we spin your image. The Company will put someone even worse than you in The Seat, so when the time comes, you'll come out to return in triumph to broker the new leadership. We've been doing it for years.

HOSED: Yes, I see. You guys are very good at it, I think.

THEY ENTER THE PLANE TOGETHER. CUT TO INTERIOR - PLUSH WITH FOUR LEATHER RECLINING CHAIRS AND A SCANTILY-CLAD STEWARDESS OF INDETERMINATE NATIONALITY.

HOSED: (INSPECTS STEWARDESS) Bammy, Bammy. You know I like blonde, yes, but you bring me this one for such a long trip? She look like one of my wives!

BAMMY: Sorry, Hosed, but we're stocking your private reserve at the villa, so we were a little short on your vintage. I trust you can make do for 12 hours?

HOSED: I will find the way, I think. (THEY LAUGH)

BAMMY: Ok, Hosed. Sorry to be so short, but I have to jump on Air Farce One and get over to the planning session for the Iran invasion with our old fiend, Nuttin'-yahoo.

HOSED: Ah, Nuttin'-yahoo. Give him my salam, yes? I will miss him so much. He is close habib, you know.

BAMMY: I will, Hosed. Now get out of here before the Google Earth bird flies over. Last thing we need is more conspiracy theories. (THEY LAUGH) We'll be in touch. And don't worry, your Swiss account is safe. We shut it down and did a full accounting. You should be getting an email with the balance sheet any time now. The gold will be moved to your sovereign account at the World Bank in a couple of days.

HOSED: You're good man, Bammy. I never forget you, you know. You are like my own son, only darker. (THEY LAUGH AND KISS ON BOTH CHEEKS) You come to visit me, yes?

BAMMY: Of course! My retirement villa is just across the village from you. Don't worry!

HOSED: Ok, my friend, good enough. And don't forget our little joke, yes?

BAMMY: (LOOKS CONFUSED FOR A MOMENT) Oh! You mean, "Hu's on first?" (THEY LAUGH)

HOSED: That's it!

CUT TO EXTERIOR AS A LONE, SUITED FIGURE EXITS THE PLANE, SILOHUETTED AGAINST THE SETING SUN, WHICH STREAMS BENEATH THE BELLY OF THE PLANE, CASTING LONG SHADOWS TOWARDS THE CAMERA. THE ENGINES' PITCH CLIMBS AS IT TAXIS AWAY FROM THE FIGURE, HIS COAT FLAPPING IN THE WIND. THE FIGURE MOTIONS TO AGENT, WHO COMES TO HIS SIDE. WE CUT TO A TIGHT TWO-SHOT SO THAT FIGURE'S FACE FILLS THE RIGHT FRAME AND AGENT'S EAR FILLS THE LEFT FRAME.

FIGURE: Don't screw this up. The plane goes down right after refueling at the Canaries. Who's flying?

AGENT: Garcia's got it out of NORAD. We retasked two birds to have redundant coverage. Don't want any debris on land.

FIGURE: Good. I really hate that bastard. Get ElBadguy on the phone and let's get out of here. I'll be eating sand for days.

CUT TO A WIDE SHOT OF THE PLANE LIFTING OFF INTO THE SUN, SHIMMERING HEAT WAVES TRAILING BEHIND IT.

THE MUSIC SWELLS, SAME THEME AS THE OPEN, BUT WITH AN OMINOUS FEEL.

FADE TO BLACK.
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