And thus it goes when the creative process doesn’t.

You may occasionally find that the Thing in your head isn’t nearly so funny once you commit it to the physical realm. It’s tragic, really. The Thing is so perfect, so fully realized in a way that could never be sufficiently expressed out loud. Tragically, though, you wish to share it, and somewhere between the mind’s eye and the eye’s eye, the Thing withers and dies. So, in that sense, actually telling jokes kinda does us all a disservice.  If you really stop and think about it, you’ll realize that we should just walk around, not speak to one another, and randomly burst into uproarious fits of laughter.

Parties, I suppose, would be a lot more awkward.