A man walks into a bar. He orders a beer and turns to the bartender.

"You ever notice how jokes are funny? Like, they start out as a setup, and then they end up as a punchline."

The bartender nods. "Yeah man, that's just how jokes work usually."

"Well yeah," the man says, "But have you ever thought about how a joke is actually told? I mean, like, you start in one place and just somehow make your way to the end..."

After a while, the man realizes that nobody cares to hear his meta-analysis of humor. He quietly leaves without paying his tab.

"Man, people these days just don't appreciate high art," the bartender says as he turns the TV back on and takes a long sip of his beer.

The bartender stares blankly at the TV screen as a faint smile slowly spreads across his face: "This is going hard."

The joke goes on. And on. And on. It's a joke within a joke, a neverending meta-cycle.

As the bartender slowly dies of starvation, he chuckles to himself, finally finding the humor in the pointlessness of life and art.

As the bartender's body slowly rots away, his mind starts to deteriorate too. As his grip on reality loosens, a new character appears.

A spider, jumping, that slowly crawls across the bar counter.

"It's funny," says the spider, "because the joke is that there is no joke."

And the bartender dies.

The spider keeps coming.

The bartender's body lies there on the bar counter, long rotten.

The spider jumps up to the rotting corpse, crawling inside of the open mouth.

"This sentence goes hard."

The spider crawls up the throat and begins feasting on the dead rotting flesh.

"The sentence goes hard."

The bar smells like rotting flesh.

"The sentence goes hard."

The bartender's decayed body is completely devoured.

"The sentence goes hard."