His first interest is always comedy. It is his primary concern both in his conversation and his life goals. As soon as he thinks of a funny idea he shares it in conversation, and while his standup is more rehearsed, it consists mainly of stories of things that surprised him, that made him laugh. And his laugh is the same onstage and off, beginning with a conspiratorial grin before taking control of his whole body—not loud but physically insistent as it propels him to clap, stomp, pace the room, before finally subsiding in a series of mild yelps.
Other people who have shared the same standup stage do not share his conversational tone. Their eyes bore into their companion, looking for any sign of laughter. The laughter is what they crave—the humor hardly matters, merely a routine designed to elicit the desired response. They punched in a code, and they want to see if it produced the right end result. Not so with him. He finds his own jokes just as funny as his audience does—the humor isn’t a code or a tool used to produce a specific outcome; it itself is the outcome he wanted. He talks to his friends to share the humor with them; he does standup to share it with his audience.
He’s a happy guy, and he tries not to mess with that. He says his favorite film genre is romantic comedy, because he knows how it will end, and it will always be happily. This does not prevent him from occasionally delving into less palatable movies, like when he agrees to see The Hateful Eight with his friends, buying popcorn beforehand (extra large, because it’s the only size that gets free refills), making jokes about how sad he is that the Marquis Theater’s Southwestern restaurant isn’t open today. He does not talk about the movie that he is about to watch.
He gawks at The Hateful Eight. More than once he is unable to contain his amazement, glancing over at his friends to see if they’re seeing the same thing he’s seeing, to see if they’re making the same faces he is. The movie is, at many points, disgusting, but until the blood started erupting he was gleefully eating his extra large popcorn with extra salt and extra butter. Now he looks sick.
His friend to his right absorbs the movie with a stoic mask, while the rest of the audience laughs when violence takes over the film. Characters—innocent and sinister alike—are shot, stabbed, and poisoned. Blood explodes, splatters, flows, and is even vomited in one memorable section. He frequently leaves during these scenes to refill his popcorn and soda. The audience laughs and laughs.
Afterwards, he makes jokes, but not about the movie. He talks about how he couldn’t find the cashier to refill the popcorn, how the vast amount of popcorn he has consumed is nauseating him. He doesn’t talk about the film, and when his friends bring it up, he doesn’t laugh.