Norm Macdonald left us three years ago, but he's back and ready to take on the woke brigade. 😇 Turns out, Heaven was a little too polite for his taste-felt like Canada on a good day. 🍁 Now he's here to roast comfort animals, pronouns, and all the...
Norm Macdonald had been hanging around Heaven for a while, but let's be honest-Heaven was starting to feel like a never-ending episode of Touched by an Angel. Sure, it had all the peace, serenity, and eternal bliss anyone could ask for, but what it didn't have was anything remotely close to fun. The poker games, for one, were a disaster. Everyone played like they were worried about losing their wings if they bluffed. Norm was starting to think that Heaven was just Canada with better weather.
After folding on another hand that even a saint would be embarrassed to bet on, Norm leaned back in his chair and sighed. "You know," he said, pushing his chair back, "this is just like Canada. Everyone's so damn polite, and nothing ever fuckin' happens. I'm out."
St. Peter, who was probably holding yet another royal flush, looked up. "Where are you going, Norm?"
Norm stood up, stretching like a man who'd been stuck in church for too long. "Oh, I'm heading back to Earth. I hear comedy's turned into some kind of group therapy session. Plus," he added with a sly grin, "I hear Hell's got better gambling."
With that, Norm walked out of Heaven like a man who'd just realized that paradise was overrated. He found himself outside a comedy club with a marquee that read "Stand Up...Against Hate Comedy Night!" Norm chuckled.
Inside, the club was packed with a crowd that looked like they were ready to give themselves a medal for being on the "right side of history." On stage, a young comedian was halfway through a set about microaggressions, delivering each line like she was handing out pamphlets at a protest rally.
"You ever notice how microaggressions are like mosquitoes?" she said, her voice dripping with self-righteousness. "They're tiny, but they can ruin your whole day!"
The crowd responded with the kind of laughter that comes from people who just want to show how much they care. Norm rolled his eyes.
The comedian wrapped up her set, and a pale, nervous-looking guy took the stage. He launched into a bit about toxic masculinity, sounding more like he was reading from a textbook than trying to make anyone laugh. Norm couldn't help but grin-this kid was about as funny as a tax audit.
"Hey folks," the kid started, "let's talk about toxic masculinity. It's the root of all evil, right?"
Before the kid could bore the crowd to tears, Norm walked onto the stage. The older folks in the audience recognized him instantly, shouting "Norm!" in unison. Their enthusiasm was palpable; they knew what was coming. Norm just stood there, soaking it in, a grin spreading across his face. This was what he missed-the feeling of being in the room with people who actually got it.
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He took the mic, gave a slight nod to the crowd, and without missing a beat, said, "You know, I've been dead for a while. But I had to come back because I heard comedy's gone to shit. Now it's all about feelings. And let me tell you something: if you're offended by a joke, that's not the joke's problem. That's your problem."
