How to laugh at the void without sounding like a pretentious Cunt
Let’s get something straight right off the bat: nihilism is for rookies. It’s like drinking your first beer and pretending you’re a connoisseur because it’s “dark and bitter.” Cute, but no one’s impressed. You discovered that life has no meaning? Bravo, genius. The rest of us figured that out years ago and moved on.
Enter absurdism, the philosophy for people who know life is meaningless but decided to stick around for this sitcom written by a deranged copywriter anyway. It’s not about hope or optimism or any of that Hallmark-card nonsense. It’s about embracing the chaos and laughing so hard the universe winces. Absurdism isn’t a philosophy - it’s a survival mechanism with better taste in humour.
Step 1: Let Go of Your Tragic Protagonist Complex
You’re not Hamlet. You’re not brooding in some castle, monologuing about existence while everyone else is busy trying to survive the plague. You’re just another schmuck in the checkout line, wondering if you can afford organic bananas this week.
Absurdists understand this. They know they’re background noise in a symphony no one’s listening to, and they love it. Being irrelevant is freeing. It means you can wear mismatched socks, quit jobs, and write terrible poetry without worrying about some grand cosmic critique. Stop acting like the universe owes you applause - it doesn’t even know you’re performing.
Step 2: Stop Fighting the Absurd—Dance with It
Nihilists love to whine about the absurdity of life, as if they’ve been personally victimized by existence itself. “Oh, the universe is random and cruel, and nothing makes sense!” Yeah, no shit. Welcome to the club.
Absurdists, on the other hand, don’t fight the absurd - they embrace it like a drunk uncle at a wedding. Did you spill coffee on your white shirt five minutes before an interview? That’s slapstick. Did your car break down on the one day it rained in July? That’s divine comedy. Life’s absurdity isn’t a problem to solve; it’s a joke to enjoy. And if you can’t laugh, at least smirk.
Step 3: Master the Art of Detached Enthusiasm
Here’s the trick: care deeply about things that don’t matter. Get unreasonably excited about terrible movies, niche trivia, or the fact that pigeons can recognize themselves in mirrors. Dive headfirst into the absurd minutiae of life like it’s your purpose because spoiler alert - it’s the closest thing you’ll get to one.
Absurdists don’t believe in meaning, but they still believe in passion. Not the grand, sweeping kind that makes you want to write manifestos, but why not? Absurdists believe in passion, big or small. Clean your bathtub like it's the first time (and it probably is) or write the next "Tales of Ordinary Madness". Because that makes your blood boil - not because you're saving the world, you fucking moron.
Step 4: Laugh at Yourself (Because Everyone Else Is)
The world is laughing at you. It’s laughing at the way you trip over your own feet, at the stupid things you say when you’re nervous, at your questionable taste in music, and at the existential crisis you have every time you stare at a blank Word document.
And here’s the kicker: you should laugh too. Nihilists take themselves too seriously, clutching their despair like it’s some kind of intellectual badge of honour. Absurdists? They’re the ones slipping on a banana peel and taking a bow. Laughing at yourself isn’t self-deprecation; it’s self-liberation. It’s saying, “Yeah, I’m ridiculous. What of it?”
Step 5: Turn the Chaos into Art (Even If It Sucks)
If life’s a blank canvas, nihilists stare at it, muttering, “What’s the point?” Absurdists grab a can of spray paint and start doodling dicks. Creativity isn’t about being good—it’s about flipping the bird at the void and saying, “Look, I made something!”
Write a short story where nothing happens. Paint a landscape where the trees are on fire, and the sky is green. Build a birdhouse that birds will actively avoid. The point isn’t to create meaning; it’s to create something. Anything. Art isn’t a solution - it’s a question. And sometimes, that's distraction enough.
Step 6: Be Ridiculously Kind (Out of Spite)
Nihilists think kindness is pointless because it doesn’t change the universe. Absurdists know that’s exactly why it’s worth doing. Helping someone who’s struggling, saying something nice to a stranger, or buying your friend a drink - all of it is absurdly futile. But that’s the beauty of it.
Kindness isn’t about making a difference; it’s about refusing to let the universe turn you into an asshole. It’s a middle finger to entropy, a tiny, rebellious act of beauty in a world that doesn’t care. Be kind - not because it matters, but because it doesn’t.
Step 7: Toast to the Absurd (And Don’t Forget the Whiskey)
Life’s a joke, but you’re the one who gets to deliver the punchline. Absurdists don’t toast to meaning; they toast to chaos. Raise a glass to the randomness of it all, to the fact that you’re alive, ridiculous, and utterly insignificant.
Don’t pray for answers or hope for a grand revelation. Just laugh. Laugh at the traffic jams, the bad dates, the unpaid bills. Laugh because it’s the only weapon you have against the void. And if the universe laughs back, tell it to buy the next round.
You're screwed anyway, so why not enjoy it?
@ Pictures from Federico Fellini’s “8 1/2”
