Exclamation! Observational Satire Catered Towards Niche Audience Is Delivered In Succinct, Witty Headline
HUMOROUS LOCATION – RANDOMIZED TIME
In a one-sentence-long introduction that kind of just restates the title but with more words, the premise of our observational satire catered towards a niche audience is succinctly and wittily established.
Haha! Insert awesome quip here.
“I’m going to coyly set up a joke now that the writer has probably been thinking about for a minimum of two to four weeks” says our piece’s subject. “And here comes the punchline, which I’m now realizing is also just sort of reiterating what the writer said in the title. Wow! Well at least that’s over.”
To soften that blow, the writer is about to drop in an ironic question that doesn’t really serve any comedic, stylistic, or functional purpose. Hey, who saw that coming?
The stakes of the premise will now be elevated in a way that can only be described as a “haphazard attack” on the audience. Also, the writer is perpetually unable to escape the prison that is their mind, so we should maybe consider eas–
“I just really have a lot on my plate right now,” continues the despondent “subject”, who currently holds a near-dead strawberry vape upside down in an effort to make the remaining “juice” flow back into its “blowhole.”
“I’m like a water bucket. I let things accumulate until they inevitably spill out into my art. That’s what satirical comedy writing is all about, at least for me.”
To make matters worse, sources now conveniently confirm something that is humorously yet tangentially related to the premise, which seems to be slowly shifting into a confusing, unidentifiable territory.
“We are all really worried,” says the subject’s roommate, who will only be mentioned once and then be immediately forgotten about. “[She] keeps rocking back and forth, mumbling about putting on a one-[wo]man-show about her failed sexual conquests at Union Hall. When I asked [her] why she was smoking a cigarette in the bathroom, [she] said that [she] was ‘plagued by Sylvia Plath’s fig metaphor’ and ‘did not know who was responsible’ for eating an entire wheel of brie that was sitting in our fridge.”
Well, this section would normally have one last tongue-in-cheek remark, but the writer unfortunately struggles with temporary mouth paralysis. Ironic!
“I was just sooo certain that this antiquated comedic form was my calling,” the subject confesses. “I clearly have a very thorough, self-evident understanding of satirical structure and conventions. But now I’m just, like… slowly realizing I don’t have any ‘hard skills’ or ‘employable qualities’, so maybe I’ll just fucking kill myself.”
The subject was found incapacitated this morning, the text cursor still blinking on a half-written email to [REDACTED HUMOR SITE] apologizing for their “hostile submission” and “inability to separate their identity from their writing, experience from inspiration, life from autofiction – a dilemma that has plagued authors for centuries.”
No further comments were made. Succinct and witty button.
