Joke-Repeating Steve: Robert, I really hate this News Journalism class.

Me: Yeah, I heard it’s tough.

Joke-Repeating Steve: I think one important thing I’ll get from it is the ability to approach people and ask them questions they don’t want me to. That’s a good skill.

Me: Yeah, how else are you going to get married?

Audience: (laughs)

Joke-Repeating Steve: Hahaha! Ahaha! _Ask them questions they don’t want to hear, that’s a good skill how else are you going to get married…_ that’s a good one, man!

It _was_ a good one, man. You might have heard everyone laughing over your own disruptive, over-flattering guffaw. I’m sorry, that was rude of me. We’re not here to talk about your hideous laughter. We’re here to talk about your grisly killing of my perfectly executed joke.

Place yourself in my shoes for a moment. A moment ago I was on a pedestal of comic gold. I was an entertainment phenom. No diaphragm in this room could resist chuckling. Now I am nothing.

There is a special moment in the lifespan of a joke, you know. The joke lurches upward out of my mouth and into the hungry ears of waiting disciples, where it is allowed to plant seeds. The joke then reassembles and condenses above all heads in the room, settling complacently. It is in these moments that the joke precipitates into the bones of my people, quietly and unconsciously christening me the unrivaled king of that conversation.

This process is important to me, Steve. I’ve thought a lot about it. That cloud of joke over our heads is a delicate cloud, and it does not like to be disturbed. Making an awkward scene by repeating the entirety of the joke causes that cloud to rain entirely on me. And it’s a cold rain, Steve, I promise you.

Now that we’re on the subject, maybe we can talk about that other time you were super lame about jokes. Yeah, that seems like a good idea. Remember this?

Ryan: I just can’t believe she did that to me, you guys.
Me: I can’t believe it’s not butter!
Audience: (doesn’t hear)
Joke-Stealing Steve: I can’t believe it’s not butter!
Audience: (laughs hysterically)
Ryan: Come on, guys, this is serious.

Ryan’s right. It is serious. I can’t believe you’d do that to me. You don’t step on a man’s joke like that. These aren’t the Dark Ages anymore. We have rules. You seem to have some backwards, Neanderthal etiquette for jokes, and I refuse to stand for it anymore.

It is one thing to tear a man from his pedestal. It’s another to deprive him of the privilege of earning it in the first place by stealing it for yourself. How did it feel, Steve, to be praised by a roomful of happy eyes? To be as acknowledged as the comic genius I am? Good, probably. I guess I wouldn’t know. But I know now not a single person in the room is going to be as funny as they would be if you weren’t there to water down every whisper of humor that was bravely let forth in your midst.

Your coldest betrayal is your smugness. I can see it on your face as you parade your success with a dumb smile that crashes violently into your eyes. You think you deserve this success. You think it was your absolute most brilliant intuition that allowed you to hear a thing I said and then say it again. Maybe it was.

Now let’s get back to that hideous laugh.