The CEO of the Sofa (O'Rourke, P. J.)

by P. J. O'Rourke

  Like all true comedy, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is a cautionary tale. Live in a universe that stops at the end of one’s nose, and this is the life one will lead. Lead a life where one believes in nothing, and this is the universe one will live in.

  “Maybe,” said my wife. “But when I read Fear and Loathing, it just sort of tickled me.”

  You know, I said, there’s a theory about tickling. The theory is that a tickle is halfway between a blow and a caress. The victim doesn’t know whether to kiss you or run and lock himself in the garage. I think this explains most laughter. Laughter is an automatic response to unexpected contradictions and absurdities, a means of expressing sudden upset and confusion. And it’s more attractive than the only other means of expressing sudden upset and confusion that I can think of. Compare laughing to vomiting out loud, vomiting up your sleeve, getting the last vomit, vomit and the world vomits with you….

  “All right, all right,” said my wife, “but even if the Samoan attorney does vomit a lot, I don’t think you can call Fear and Loathing a comedy.”

  Why not?

  “Because real comedies end in a marriage,” she said, cuddling up next to me on the sofa. “Or is it vice versa?”