Dear Dave Chappelle,
I heard about your Netfix special, about the #MeToo jokes and the transgender jokes, and how you’ve been criticized as tone-deaf. I’ve heard all about it. So I won’t be going into any of that. I think enough has been said. Instead, I’m going to say something a little different.
I regret laughing at anything you said.
You know, at the time, when you had a show on Comedy Central, I thought you were funny. Some of the sketches got a rise out of me. Hell, the Samuel Jackson beer sketch was hands down my favorite. So I kept watching.
Then you ran off. There were a few shows afterwards–I think I may have caught them–but then you pretty much disappeared. Until recently when you came back to host SNL and say that we should give the Grand Nagus a chance.
Yeah, that was a pretty big red flag. I shook my head and washed my hands of you. The reasons why should be obvious. I thought that I had heard the last from you. Then your Netflix special happened.
Maybe I’ve become humorless, though I doubt that, but I can’t find anything you say or do as even remotely funny anymore. Not even that sketch on your show. Instead, your words and actions smack of a hollow plea for attention, a whimpering “Look at me! I’m still here!” while the rest of the world has shrugged its shoulders and moved on to other things. There is a sad desperation about you, about the jokes you are trying to make, about the things you are saying. All you want is for someone to look at you and find you relevant again.
Maybe some people do. I can’t. But then again, in my hindsight I admit, you may not have been relevant in the first place.