Dear Jokes About Al Gore Inventing the Internet,

First, know that what I say comes from a place of love. We’ve had a lot of laughs over the years, but I’m not laughing anymore. I’m worried about you, and I want you to know that I’m here to help.

Other jokes are concerned, too, especially your peers. The nineties called, and they’d love to have you over sometime.

The fact is, it’s depressing for everyone to see you like this. You can’t keep putting on skinny jeans and going to happy hour, where you hit on jokes half your age. Those Ryan Gosling memes are not interested in you in that way. You can’t keep loitering by your high school crush’s house at night, blasting Alanis Morisette and drinking Zima. (I didn’t even think they still made Zima. Where do you get all that Zima?)

I’m sorry. I’m supposed to keep my language non-judgemental. Look, I think I know what’s beneath it all, this desperation that drives you to put on your old prom dress and do shots until you pass out in the Circle K parking lot. It’s scary to realize that you’re going to die one day. Of course, we all know we’re going to die, but there comes a moment when it suddenly feels real for the first time, and panic sets in.

I don’t know what happens to us afterwards. It’s nice to think there’s a Heaven, some mysterious realm where the spirit lives on, where jokes are forever funny. Where everyone still chuckles at the thought of Mondays and how they are generally unpleasant. Where reruns of Amos n’ Andy play on and have somehow become un-racist. Where the idea of clowns being scary is still highly original. “Clowns, scary?” the denizens of that celestial plane exclaim. “But clowns are whimsical figures of fun! You say you find them scary? Why, that sort of incongruity is what I call humorous!”

But that might mean there’s also a Hell, where jokes are tortured by guys who say, “You have to consider the context,” or “It’s a satire of a satire,” over and over, for all eternity. And it’s all on a podcast.

Perhaps the lost souls of jokes haunt the living, the Family Circus “Not Me” ghost roaming darkened corridors of newspaper headquarters, still refusing to claim responsibility for a multitude of childish antics.

Or maybe we simply die. We decompose and return to the earth, and that’s it. You’ve probably been told that this view of death only makes life more precious, but that doesn’t assuage your fears. If it’s any comfort, think about how you will be remembered, of how much you’ve accomplished in your short time here. You distracted an entire nation from the relevant issues for one glorious election cycle. No joke has wielded that kind of influence since Alexander Hamilton called Aaron Burr to ask if his refrigerator was running, and Burr said, “What’s a refrigerator? And how am I hearing your voice? Is this witchcraft? I’ll shoot you!”

(You say that last part never happened? Listen, maybe it did, and maybe it didn’t. What’s the use in quibbling over facts? Did it do Gore any good to point out that he never actually claimed to have invented the Internet, only that he “took the initiative in creating” it, which was more or less true? No, that only made him look like a bigger nerd!)

I hope you will accept the help that’s being offered. There’s a man here, ready to take you to a place where you can get your head together and figure out how to face this new phase of life’s journey. And you won’t be there alone—Jokes About Feigned Outrage Over Pluto No Longer Being a Planet will be joining you soon.



The Higgs Weldon is a humor website with funny stories, articles, cartoons, and one liners. It was started by the Los Angeles stand-up comedy community, but takes submissions from everybody. Please read and enjoy our jokes!


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