This morning, I witnessed a rather remarkable event. A young, impatient student, presumably a First-Year, crossed Grand between Macalester and Snelling without yielding right of way, forcing oncoming cars to stop. A police officer witnessed this blatant disregard for the law and attempted to ticket the student for jaywalking.

The student spotted the officer and began to run; the officer gave chase. As it turned out, the policeman was in much better shape than the student and caught him after a seven or eight second sprint. He wrestled the young man to the ground quite violently and then continued to rough the boy up as he worked on the handcuffs and forced the young man into the idling patrol car.

Observing this, I began to think of economics. "Does the government pay this officer enough to make it worth his time to chase jaywalkers?" I wondered. "Do the taxpayers really consider this a worthwhile expense of their hard-earned money?" Suddenly, I was struck by the visceral aspects of this image.

I've always found the scene of a cheetah chasing a Thompson's Gazelle to be one of the most beautiful in nature. The cheetah––one of the most marvelously constructed and trained hunters in the world––must actually struggle to catch the nimble, agile gazelle. Eventually, of course, the cheetah wins, sinking its teeth into the jugular of the prey and ending its life. Naturally, I'm taken aback by the gore inherent in this seen, but, sometimes, in spite of all of this brutality, I can't help but find myself seeing a look of mercy on the cheetah's face.

What struck me as odd about this chase on Grand Ave. was that it seemed ironic in light of the optimistic political philosophy to which I subscribe. As David Hume argues, "…we shall find, that as Force is always on the side of the governed, the governors have nothing to support them but opinion." In the scene I witnessed, though, "Force" seemed as if it was clearly with the governor. Though I lamented for the student, realizing the potential buried deep within him that simply wasn't finding expression, I chuckled at the thought of a gazelle attacking a cheetah and winning.

Finally, I came to a startling realization. All of the questions I was pondering then and there––10:00 a.m. on Grand Avenue midway between Macalester and Snelling––are exactly the same as the questions Bad Comedy has been struggling to address throughout the semester.

I felicitated myself with this thought, as I finally understood that, even if nobody attends The Most Pretentious Show Ever, I've grown from the experience of helping to produce this magnificent spectacle, and I've gained a little, important piece of knowledge about the world.