
I have recently discovered that I may have been practicing a form of comedy without knowing what it was called.
When people ask how Kate and I are doing financially, I sometimes tell them:
For some reason, this gets a much bigger laugh than a sensible answer.
I think the reason is something I have come to think of as a deadpan reversal.
You begin with a perfectly ordinary sentence. The listener understands where you are going. Then, at the last possible moment, you drive the sentence into a ditch.
The trick is not to announce the joke. You simply continue speaking as though nothing unusual has happened.
There are several useful varieties.
The Qualification
You make a reassuring statement and then quietly attach a condition that destroys it.
The Correction
You begin with something impressive, then correct yourself in the least helpful possible direction.
The Reassurance
You tell someone not to worry, immediately giving them an excellent reason to worry.
The Compliment
This one begins generously and then develops complications.
The Philosophical Observation
You offer what appears to be wisdom until the wisdom files for bankruptcy.
The Modest Boast
You brag and then puncture the brag before anyone else gets the opportunity.
The Romantic Reversal
Romance is especially vulnerable because the audience desperately wants the first half of the sentence to remain true.
The Optimist
Optimism works wonderfully when followed immediately by evidence that it was misplaced.
The Medical Bulletin
Medical language is already frightening enough to provide excellent cover.
The Financial Report
This is one of my favorites because money encourages people to become serious just before you don’t.
The Marriage Testimonial
Begin like an anniversary card and finish like evidence at a hearing.
The Final Reversal
The loveliest deadpan reversals allow the audience to believe the joke is over and then give it one final shove.
I’ve been practicing that expression for eighty-four years.”
What I like about this kind of humor is that it doesn’t require shouting, mugging or a rim shot.
In fact, the more seriously you say it, the better it works.
The audience does most of the labor. You construct a perfectly respectable road, invite them to travel along it and then, ten feet before the bridge, reveal that you never built the bridge.
Which brings me to an experiment.
If deadpan reversal can be reduced to a collection of bad habits, perhaps a machine can do it.
So I built one.
Feed it a cliché, an inspirational thought or any sentence that has been behaving itself for too long.
Then stand back.
The Zinger Machine
Insert cliché. Remove dignity.