I love things made out of animals. It's just so funny to think of

When David Sedaris mused, “I love things made out of animals. It's just so funny to think of someone saying, ‘I need a letter opener. I guess I'll have to kill a deer,’” he was not simply making a jest about curiosities of the past — he was, in truth, unveiling the strange duality of human invention and absurdity. Beneath the laughter in his words lies a reflection as old as civilization itself: that mankind, in its hunger for progress and luxury, often forgets to question the cost of its own creations. Sedaris, ever the keen observer of human folly, offers humor as a mirror; in our laughter, we glimpse the faint shadow of our own excess.

The origin of this quote can be found in Sedaris’s essays and performances, where he wields wit like a philosopher’s blade — sharp, precise, and mercifully coated in laughter. His humor is not cruelty; it is clarity. When he speaks of killing a deer merely to craft a letter opener, he exposes the ancient impulse that has long driven humanity: the transformation of the sacred into the trivial. It is a jest that pierces deeply, for behind it lies a question — At what point does creation become absurd? How often have we, in pursuit of beauty, comfort, or novelty, forgotten the sanctity of life itself?

The ancients too were guilty of this paradox. In the courts of old kings, thrones were carved from ivory, and goblets were fashioned from the horns of mighty beasts. The Egyptians embalmed cats in gold; the Romans wore furs as symbols of triumph. Each age has found its own way to turn the natural into the ornamental, the living into the lifeless. And yet, even they laughed at themselves, for deep within man lies the awareness of his contradictions. Sedaris’s humor carries the same spirit — the laughter that acknowledges our own ridiculousness while still loving our flawed humanity.

It is this laughter of recognition that gives Sedaris’s words their power. When he says it’s “funny” to imagine someone killing a deer for a letter opener, he is not mocking cruelty alone; he is exposing the way we often lose proportion. The absurd image — of a man driven to violence over a tool for opening mail — becomes a parable of human detachment. It reminds us that progress, without reflection, turns quickly into parody. We invent, we consume, we decorate, and we call it civilization — yet in moments of honesty, we can still laugh at our own madness.

And yet, Sedaris’s jest is not hopeless. Like all great humorists, he laughs not to condemn, but to awaken. His irony calls us back to awareness — to see how our desires can distort our values, how we turn the extraordinary into the expendable. The deer in his story becomes a symbol of all that is sacrificed in the name of convenience, status, or fashion. But by framing the absurdity in laughter, he invites us to confront it without shame, to see our folly and still choose to grow wiser.

There is a lesson here akin to that of Diogenes, the ancient philosopher who mocked the materialism of his fellow Greeks by living in a barrel. When asked why he scorned wealth, he replied, “Because men have forgotten what they truly need.” Sedaris stands in that same lineage of comic sages — those who use jest to unmask truth. Through his humor, he reminds us that the world does not need more killing, consuming, or collecting — it needs more perspective. To laugh at excess is the first step toward moderation; to recognize absurdity is the beginning of wisdom.

So take this teaching, children of the modern age: laugh at your follies, but learn from them. Do not despise humor, for it is the most merciful form of truth. Let Sedaris’s image stay with you — the man who slays a deer for a letter opener — and remember it whenever you find yourself reaching too far for what you do not need. Honor the earth and its creatures, but do so with a heart lightened by laughter, not burdened by guilt. For laughter, when born of awareness, does not mock the world — it redeems it.

Thus, the wise live as Sedaris teaches: with humor and humility intertwined. They see the comedy in their contradictions and let that laughter lead them toward balance. To keep one’s sense of humor is to keep one’s soul awake — for it is the laughter of truth, the smile of one who understands both the beauty and the foolishness of being human.