Is it time to quit our bickering (or "wickering") with Ralphie May?

Our friend Ralphie May was on Comedy Central yesterday afternoon. Considering the stir he caused in our class a few weeks ago, I had to watch. Sadly (or, for some, fortunately), he wasn't nearly as provocative as I anticipated, considering how we were all so excited/offended/responsive over Girth of a Nation. May still managed, however, to play with obesity stereotypes, which leads me to some observations.

Earlier in the semester, we talked a bit about written slapstick appearing in Twain; May was able to achieve that in his fat jokes verbally...without moving more than an eyebrow and the microphone. He described the three types of furniture that those with wider statures dread. One was wicker. He didn't really elaborate on it, though. He didn't have to do anything. The audience already roared with laughter. Yet, like the previous May clips, the camera zoomed in on two larger audience members; the pair made eye contact at one another, laughed heartily, and nodded in agreement. It did evoke an interesting visual for those who've experienced problems with wicker. However, May also made me, isolated on my couch, feel pretty culpable. I turned around and stared at the wicker chair next to my desk -- a chair I've pulled out countless times for visitors of all sizes. Never did I think that chair could cause such discomfort for those who may sit upon it, and I imagined all the potentially humiliating situations that could have been created by that chair. The image of May breaking a wicker chair (or, as the comedian also described, the image of his thighs covered in wicker indentations) became an image of a good friend breaking or suffering in that chair. All of a sudden, the joke wasn't as funny. So here's another instance of May creating laughter for all, but simultaneously making others feel (albeit only slightly) aware of a potential issue that never came up before.

Another seat May mentioned was more obvious: the booth. He elaborated on it a bit more this time, describing the impossibility of moving or cutting the table to accommodate his frame. Yet, again, most of the visual slapstick was filled in by the audience members. Either they've experienced it, and they take this time to laugh about a probably embarrassing experience among insiders, or they can at least imagine it and laugh a bit at the mental image. But, the second scenario almost evokes a call to change. Yeah, it may be sort of funny to imagine May himself in that situation, but, more than anything, it's sad -- and, holistically, a real problem in America. We start to feel bad for people getting stuck in a tiny booth... Why can't waiters, if they can't alter the seat, at least provide people with a more comfortable table?

So, maybe on some level, even this sort of self-deprecating "slapstick-ish" fat joke is much akin to satire: we fill in the gaps (sort of like Iser's implied reader?), find our human culpability/self-reflection, and desire to change?