Fulwood Watch: We Read America's Worst Columnist So You Don't Have To!
In this episode, Sam Fulwood III explains what makes humor funny.
Headline: Poor Cleveland can't take a joke?
December 19, 2006
Sam saw a story about satirical Cleveland holiday cards and decides to follow up. Finding that Clevelanders are feeling insulted, he decides to engender good will by talking down to them.
1/10. Recently, a magic "scoop fairy" delivered this idea to Sam's front door. Sam scratched his chin, and thought to himself: "Miss a day, miss a lot, indeed!" Then he sat down to write.
1/10. The laziness of this column sets an all-time record, though Sam promises to best it next year. "After I return from a column-writing break for the holidays, I'll print the best of [the jokes you send me] next year," he writes. Translation: After I get back from my vacation, I'll go back to my vigorous duties cutting and pasting your emails.
Sam Gets Poetic:
"Clevelanders remember being the butt of jokes and lack a sense of self-aware humor." Amazingly, you can substitute the name "Sam Fulwood III" in place of the word "Clevelanders" and the sentence becomes even more true.
The Master Has Spoken:
"It's satire. It pricks our conscience and makes us cringe. But it's funny, too." And with that, Sam encapsulates the whole of English literature into three really retarded sentences.
What Sam Reveals About Sam: He's still smarting over the backlash from his Tops column. "Speaking the truth hurts," Sam writes, "and Clevelanders are ready to throw down when their tissue-thin feelings are punctured." Waaaannnnhh! You're the poorest city in the world! Waaaaaannnnhhhhh!
Have you heard of this little newspaper called The Plain Dealer?
In case you haven't, let me tell you about one of its recent front page stories. American Greetings put out a humorous postcard mocking Cleveland's poverty. Hahaha. Just thinking about poor people bags me the fuck up. Anyway, I think that American Greetings, which is a local company, has the right to make its hometown look foolish on the national stage. You damn Clevelanders. That's exactly what you deserve! You never accepted me when I arrived as a Big City Reporter from D.C. holding that big plate of donuts and ... but I digress. The point is, you Clevelanders are too stupid to laugh at yourself. But I can help: If you agree to send me emails, I will print them for the next 52 weeks of the year while sipping Tanqueray on the deck of a speed boat parked in the Mid-Atlantic. I'll pencil you in for March...