After a couple thousand or so blogposts, I have to ask the question: have I officially emptied the well? Have I said everything I need to say? Have all the words been used up? Do I need to start communicating exclusively in interpretive dance? (Don’t tempt me—I will do it and it won’t be pretty).
Truth be told, the world continues to provide plenty of material. The problem is, none of it is particularly funny these days.
We’ve got Cadet Bone Spurs speedrunning the destruction of democracy. The Constitution? Holding on by a thread. Institutional norms? Shredded, torched, and fed to whatever lives in the basement at Mar-a-Lago.
Meanwhile, my attempts at humor feel like bringing a water pistol to a four-alarm fire.
So, here I am, once again writing about how I have nothing to write about. I’ve done it before (here), and I’ll do it again. (See? I’m already repeating myself.)
While I wait for either inspiration or full-blown existential despair to light a fire under me, allow me to direct you to some wordsmiths who do have something to say: Rich Siegel over at RoundSeventeen and Jeff Eaker at Kingdom of Failure. Both are far more talented, far funnier, and quite possibly better-looking than me.
Okay, I’m joking about that last one. And maybe one of the other two. After all, no one’s under oath here.
Is there really nothing left to say? Or, more importantly, how many more times can I get away with writing a blogpost about having nothing to write about.
Stay tuned. Hopefully it won’t be for nothing.
