I often worry about the end of humor. What will the last joke look like? Will there be difficulty in recognizing it? Will people find themselves responding, “Heard that one,” “Nope—been done,” until months later, they realize that there’s nothing left? Or will the last joke be so extravagantly, lusciously excellent that humor will simply retire, by universal acclaim?

End-of-humor skeptics may argue that new situations breed new jokes, but one must point to the literary experts. Everything has been done before, and usually in a language you can’t read. It is well known that tube worms, on first acquiring communication skills, immediately said …