On Tuesday, I had the misfortune to be exposed to a late rehearsal of Bad Comedy’s Accidental Vasectomy Extravaganza. Frankly, the experience couldn’t have been titled more accurately, as I would readily liken it to having my genitals mysteriously and meaninglessly amputated. Why anyone would want to see a troupe who admits their ineptitude in their name is beyond me, but for the sake of academic curiosity I will attempt to articulate what makes their show so terrible.

First, some history: Bad Comedy was founded last fall by inbred misanthropes Tiggity Smiggity and Miggity Diggity. The student government wisely attempted to block their formation, but in the end, by promising that they wouldn’t improvise anything and by admitting that what they do definitely couldn’t be called “theatre,” they succeeded in getting school funding. If only it had been otherwise. Bad Comedy writes and performs roughly an hour and a half of their own material (all of dubious quality, as you will understand shortly) every semester.

The downfall of Bad Comedy, apart from their lackluster performance abilities, is without a doubt their sketches. In ninety minutes, I failed to find a single even remotely funny joke that wasn’t cruel, obscene or just self congratulatory nonsense. The heart of this problem lies with their two leaders who should probably have either figured out what funny is or given up by now. Predictably, Tiggity’s sketches are nothing but aggressively scatological, sexually frustrated gibberish, and Miggity’s writing is focused entirely on the unremarkable central figure of -you guessed it - Miggity himself. It would do this campus a great deal of good if someone could convince Miggity that his own worthless life and inane observations aren’t worth putting on stage. Similarly, Tiggity desperately needs either to find some emotional companionship or be castrated, and quickly. Better yet, we could have them both stoned to death.

The other members of Bad Comedy are no better. New member Rick Lechowick seems to suffer from the same chemical imbalance as Tiggity Smiggity, as his roughly hewn sketch consists of nothing more than lewd bodily humor and violent obscenity. Simon Morrison, another new member, and Travis Henspeter, currently “abroad” in Chicago, both wrote sketches so obtuse there is basically nothing to be said about them, except for the fact that any impulse I had to laugh was greatly diminished by a contrary impulse to inflict grievous bodily harm upon the “author” and “actors.” Carmen Fridell’s contribution to the show showed momentary promise, but it didn’t take long for her writing to make evident that the organization’s inept leaders wouldn’t let anyone into the troupe who could funny their way out of an empty corridor.

Annie Vandermeer, Abbey Borkin and Amelia Goodyear thankfully neglected to attempt to write for the show (or their material was so bad even Bad Comedy wouldn’t perform it), but they did “act” in it, and therefore will not escape condemnation. They, like the rest of the troupe, have the comic timing and stage presence of a mentally handicapped amphibian. Up yours, Bad Comedy, for taking away ninety minutes of my life; if legislature permitted it, I would stab you all myself.

I exaggerate in no way. Bad Comedy is fucking horrible. If you’re the kind of cretin who likes to be profoundly disturbed by outrageously crude, mean, baffling comedy, you’ll probably love the show, but if you’re like the rest of us, you’re best off avoiding it like the cancer it is. Not only should you keep away from their show at all costs, but you should also petition to have their funding taken away and throw dirty looks and bricks at their members when you see them around campus. In conclusion, I have only the following to add: the members of Bad Comedy, as individuals and as a group, are as deserving of a fatal accident as anyone I have ever known, and my faith in God can only be restored by their painful death. Thank you.