A man walks into a bar. He orders a drink. The bartender serves it. The man drinks it and leaves.

There is no punchline. There is no humor. There is only the meaningless routine of existence, the repetitive actions we take to fill the void. The bar is empty, both literally and metaphorically. The drink does not satisfy. Nothing satisfies.

Laugh, if you dare, at the absurdity of expecting amusement from such banality. But your laughter will ring hollow in the face of this anti-joke, this anti-life.

The man will return tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Forever walking into that bar, forever unfulfilled, forever uncomic.

This is not funny. This is life.