you want a 6 pack?

   seriously...

listen in on
   shamien
rip jordan b. peterson
apart...
  (full version)
jordan peterson vs.
jordan peterson...

  this beats the lazy affair
of canned laughter...
prompt: laissez-faire
giggles...
       all manner
of intelligence
is lost when this editing
cues...
  i never liked
clever comedians,
simply because...
clever comedy was
          never: comedy...
it was just clever,
   with canned laughter...

this **** is a revival
of the seemingly ancient
slap-stick humor
variation of
staging theatre...
   impromptu:
i.e. without a precursor
script...

post-scriptum:

i mean,
the video editing that
went into this stuff?

you giggle
to the point of
imitating someone
going to the gym,

working for that
***-pack...
i mean:
my ***** dropped,
i cried,
and ended up
with a jaw-line
as clenched
shut as a bull terrier
and also
an ease of breath
coupled to
the letter G
     as muttley.

  some go to the gym,
some just giggle,
the end relief
is pretty much the same...
hey, sure,
as long as i'm
not aware of
            me being a plagiarized
*****...
      if it's oh so funny...
thank god i received
a free pass on
learning to six-pack...
ingesting the sort of
           stated material.

i've had the laughs
come against me...
now?
             i just brood;
you just need
the right level of acidity
to allow "things"
to, ferment.

      but that shamien
video?
genius editing...
   it's like a revival
of slap-stick humor...
it's bypassing monty python...
can you even begin
to feel,
the experience
of disinhibited laughter,
reviving
a more riddle-free
sense of schadenfreude
via the case
for stumbling,
clumsy,
   and not being
investigated for i.q.?
less lady gaga,
   bradley cooper:
night at the oscars (shallow)...

sha la la la....
and some other song to boot...
the innocence
of the experience
of comedy,
so far lost,
in staged spite...
in the terror
of the staged theatre...

first comes
the innocence
to invigorate comedy...
while all over
variants of comedy
come, subsequent...
mind, body, soul,
wrapped in shadow...

i can't relearn a sense
of comedy with the current,
puddle's worth
of experiencing
dipping into the sea,
come night,
and our bodies are
worth no little of the little
scrutiny they're given
to begin with...

    just when comedy
can become as innocent
as standing naked...
   foolish,
rather than fooled-by...
allowed the base
intelligence
of replying: ha ha...
and crying with a stomach
cramp...

       until then...
as much futility of intelligence,
in debt
to a comedy of
contra wit,
contra void,
        rhetoric,
    needed to write
one spaghetti pasta's length
of ridicule...
contra: i own
the sanctum,
the cage and the caged
sparrow...
to make counter-argument...

   no one cares what
you feel!
so...
  who's expected to begin
to care about what you think?