The Death of Satire: Please Send Thoughts, Prayers, and Unsubscribes

By Christopher Moore

It is my solemn duty to inform you that satire has died.
Please lower your phones to half-brightness in respect.

Satire—our once sharp, witty, untouchable social critic—was pronounced dead after a prolonged battle with terminal sensitivity. It fought valiantly but ultimately succumbed to its injuries when someone on Twitter misread a joke and typed the fatal words:
“This isn’t funny.”

Satire was 2,500 years old, but due to inflation, it identified as 32.

The Crime Scene

Police say the attack was swift. First came the professional outrage archeologists—people who dig up decade-old jokes like they’re searching for ancient hate crimes in the fossil record. Then the keyboard vigilantes arrived, armed with hashtags and screenshots. It was over in minutes.

Witnesses say the last thing satire heard was:

“As a semi-left-handed vegan with a gluten-sensitive emotional support cat, I don’t feel seen by this joke.”



Satire never stood a chance.

Gone Are the Days…

There was a time when satire would walk into a bar, slap you across the face with a joke, and walk out leaving you unsure if you’d just laughed or been insulted. It was glorious.

Today?
Satire walks into a bar. The bar immediately issues a public apology, the bar owner resigns, and the bar is bulldozed to make way for a Safe Space Smoothie Shack.

Back then, people could laugh at themselves. Now, people can barely laugh at other people. And laughing at yourself? Careful. That’s internalized oppression, and Karen from HR is already scheduling a seminar about it.

Satire’s Killers: A Lineup

Literalists: People who read “I’m dying” and immediately call 911.

Fact-Checkers: “Actually, satire is false information.”

Offendaholics: Addicted to the dopamine rush of being the most offended in the room.

The Internet: Where context goes to die.


Satire used to punch up. Now people scream, “DON’T PUNCH AT ALL!” They want humor that’s soft, inclusive, and pre-approved by the Feelings Commission.
The only thing you’re allowed to joke about anymore is avocados—but only if they gave consent.

Satire’s Final Words

According to those present, satire used its last breath to whisper:

“It was just… a joke.”

But no one heard it because everyone was too busy typing angry comments under a post they didn’t finish reading.

We should have seen this coming when The Onion’s headlines started coming true.
Nowadays, real life is so ridiculous that parody websites are losing market share to CNN. Reality has officially out-satired satire. I mean, Florida passed a bill banning the imaginary socialist takeover of kindergarten nap time, and The Onion’s writers collectively sighed, “What’s the point?”

Even worse, satire can’t even exaggerate anymore. You can write, “The government is now requiring emotional support therapy ducks in every classroom,” and 48 hours later, there’s a bill in committee.

So what do we do now?
Do we sit quietly, sipping our ethically sourced, sustainably harvested, non-offensive chamomile tea?
Do we give up and start posting only beige content? (“I like turtles. Please validate me.”)
No. Absolutely not.

We keep making jokes.
We keep swinging.
And if satire is dead? Fine. We’ll bring it back. Frankenstein style. With bolts in its neck and zero regard for the villagers with pitchforks.

Because let’s face it—if the joke bothers you that much, it probably means it hit a little too close to home.

Funeral Services

A memorial service will be held online, but nobody will attend because they’ll all be too busy writing open letters about how “satire’s tone was problematic anyway.”

Rest easy, old friend.
You were too funny for this world.

– The Gun Loving Hippie … Who Fixes Stuff

Rants, repairs, and realness