Whatever this letter ends up being, it will start with the following sentence…
I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you now, I see a man, like me who wants to live in a world where meta textual self aware comedy can be nested into self-referential sentences that begin with ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you now’…
I contact you in the hope that I too will enter the ‘Meta Comedy Genius Hall of Fame’ that I have invented for myself, that exists in my mind, at the end of time.
You may be thinking, in your mind, “who is this guy, coming over here, with their meta intertextual self-congratulatory circle jerk…” – an ‘Escher handy’, if you like.
Yes, later, upon reflection, that’s what we’d say to us.
“Such tributary humour may have inherent artist worth, but is probably too cerebral to make it into the mainstream”, they cry!
But seeing as I need to monetize this piece of content you are reading right now, I find myself here with the intention that in the future this letter will be read in a book, and printed upon the cover will be the title “This is Fucking Genius”.
But if that has already happened and this book is now in print it will also have on the cover a quote that says, ‘This is fucking genius – Stewart Lee.”
Now, if it doesn’t have that quote on the cover, or this is still being read by you Stewart Lee, then this is either now not ‘then’, or the book failed to get a publisher decent enough to monetize the content within its pages and instead I was forced to turn it into a comment on a blog post on ‘The Observer’ website in a desperate attempt to feed my own narcissism, reinforced through the up votes of fellow readers.
In the second part of this letter, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to you now, just that my wife says there is no point in pursuing a course of action for which there is no logical or financial gain as it won’t enable long term mortgage repayments.
Maybe the dignity ship has already sailed, but my desire is to leave the confusing, deep and blue ocean of teaching online reputation management to screwdriver salesmen. And if it is not too late, defuse my frustration by becoming a writer, pulling back the wizard’s curtain and sharing with people the secrets of comedy, changing consciousness.
Will you help? It would be handy, man.
Much like the sympathy I feel for the devilish rejection of Mick Jagger by M.C in 1969, I fear you will see the book I have yet to write, unless it is already written, as having very limited appeal except for Dr Who fans who have found themselves to be the protagonists of an exaggerated position taken for comedic Droste effect having been reluctantly dragged by their friends to a Derren Brown show the night before.
Thank you for pleasing me to introduce myself.