Serpaz: Admire shrine to comedy masters.
You approach your shrine as you always do: with a glint in your eye, duly ignoring its upper-left corner in a very pointed way.
Ah, Jerry Seinfeld, the man that kickstarted your joke spewing aspirations! You have a whole set dedicated to him and his signature schtick.
Good old Jerry has brought you back to your feet on more than one occasion with his hornless charm. He was reduplicated without them, the poor guy, and yet he still finds a way to spin it into a good-natured goof! Now THAT'S an ideal man of jokestery if you've ever seen one. Were you to pick a reigning champion of japes and tomfoolery above all others, it would be him for sure. And hey, if he can stutter his way through bad zingers and still have everyone think he's great, why can't you?
The only problem... is him.
Yeah, that one's weird alright. Weirder than ever. Maybe even ALLER than before. Both notions are equally terrifying to you.
His earlier work is the only thing worth caring about. Any respect you had for the man dissipated after he lost his marbles and decided to spearhead a cult. Also, his new stuff SO grisly! His latest album featured those chortling devotees from his ACCORDION-PACKING POLKA PARTY MURDER CIRCUS screaming and squealing on cue for each and every song. Suffice it to say, "unsettling" is far too tame a word to describe the experience. You couldn't even make out most of the lyrics! And whenever you could, you knew fear.
To think you nearly joined the ranks of the ALPOCALYPSE, once upon a time. The hazy memories make you wince.
Last you heard, he'd been building an army with HULK HOGAN or something? You're not sure about that last part, though. The news channel is very selective with what it says. Mostly, it's worried about making everything seem a-okay even when it isn't.
You might have to warn the others again soon. It's only going to get worse, you can tell.