Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle -

"Anyway," he said, checking his watch. "That’s eighteen minutes on pears. Let’s do some material about the collapse of the liberal elite."

"Perfect," the director replied. "Cut to a close-up of a middle-aged man in the third row looking slightly confused. That’s the 'Vehicle' brand." Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle

The credits rolled over a shot of Stewart standing alone in a cold corridor, looking at a vending machine that didn't take his coins. It was the funniest thing on television, provided you were prepared to feel slightly worse about yourself for watching it. If you'd like to , let me know: "Anyway," he said, checking his watch

The red light of the camera glowed like a judgmental eye. Stewart Lee stood center stage, his posture slumped in a way that suggested he was physically burdened by the sheer existence of his audience. "Cut to a close-up of a middle-aged man

Back on stage, Stewart stood up, brushed off his suit, and looked directly into the lens. He dismantled the joke he had just told, explaining why it wasn't funny, why the audience’s laughter was "the wrong kind of laughter," and how the very concept of a television comedy vehicle was a hollow vessel for the death of British culture.

He paused, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable, then unbearable, then—briefly—profound.