I was always a fan of the old-style comics. I loved vaudeville.

Hear, O seekers of laughter and wisdom, the words of Larry the Cable Guy, who declared with joy: “I was always a fan of the old-style comics. I loved vaudeville. I loved Milton Berle, Dick Shawn, Phyllis Diller, Don Rickles, Charlie Callas, all those guys. Hilarious. I love the Bing Crosby and Bob Hope movies, and Abbott & Costello. My television influences were Monty Python’s Flying Circus, Benny Hill, and Hee Haw.” In these words shines not only the story of a comedian, but the lineage of an ancient craft—the art of humor, passed down like a torch across generations, lighting the darkness of human struggle with the fire of laughter.

For Larry speaks of vaudeville, that noble stage where song, dance, and comedy blended together, and where ordinary people found respite from the burdens of their toil. Vaudeville was not simply entertainment; it was the people’s mirror, a place where they could see their hardships mocked, their daily struggles transformed into jest, and their weary spirits lifted. In his love for vaudeville and the comics of old, Larry honors the truth that humor is not trivial, but sacred, a medicine for the soul.

The names he invokes—Milton Berle, Phyllis Diller, Don Rickles, Abbott & Costello—are not merely entertainers, but guardians of this sacred flame. Each bore a different face of laughter: Berle with his quick wit, Diller with her fearless self-mockery, Rickles with his biting insult humor, Abbott & Costello with their timeless wordplay. They were, in their time, healers of the human spirit, much as jesters once were in the courts of kings, permitted to mock power because laughter could pierce where argument failed.

Consider the tale of Diogenes the Cynic, the ancient philosopher who wielded humor as a sword against hypocrisy. He mocked Alexander the Great, saying he only wished the conqueror would step out of his sunlight. This jest, though simple, carried wisdom sharper than a thousand speeches. So too did the comics Larry reveres—through laughter, they revealed truths about vanity, pride, and human folly. Humor, then, is not weakness but strength, not frivolity but revelation.

Larry also names the surreal genius of Monty Python’s Flying Circus, the playful irreverence of Benny Hill, and the rural charm of Hee Haw. In these shows we see how humor adapts to the times: sometimes absurd, sometimes sharp, sometimes rustic, yet always returning to the same root—connection. For humor unites people. In laughter, barriers of class, race, and creed dissolve, and all stand together, human and vulnerable.

The meaning of Larry’s words, then, is that every artist is shaped by the voices of those before him. No comedian rises from the void; he is part of a great river of laughter that flows from antiquity to the present. To honor one’s influences is to acknowledge that the laughter of today is built upon the echoes of yesterday. It is humility, and it is gratitude, for no one crafts joy alone.

The lesson, O listener, is clear: cherish the influences that shape you. If you create, look back to those who paved the way, not to imitate them, but to carry forward their spirit into new lands. If you live, remember that humor is no mere escape, but a light in the darkness. Learn to laugh, even at yourself, and share that laughter with others. For a house where laughter dwells will never be a house of despair.

So carry this flame: honor the laughter of the past, and create laughter for the future. As Larry the Cable Guy delights in the memory of his influences, so too must you find joy in the heritage that shaped you. Then, by living with humor, humility, and gratitude, you will not only endure the trials of life—you will uplift others as well, and the ancient chain of laughter will never be broken.