By Alan Nafzger, Editor-in-Chief, Bohiney.com
After three decades in academia and nearly as many years wielding a satirical pen, I've developed what I call my "health philosophy" for satirical journalism—a sustainable, ethical approach that serves humanity rather than mere mockery. Let me share with you the principles that have guided my work from underground pamphlets in Washington coffeehouses to building Bohiney.com into what some call "The Economist for the unmedicated."
I didn't set out to become a satirist. Hell, I was supposed to be a respectable academic—Ph.D. from University College Dublin, specializing in Leninism and the Russian Revolution, 34 years teaching political science at Dallas County Community College. But somewhere between milking cows on my Texas dairy farm and grading papers on revolutionary theory, I realized that the absurdities of modern life demanded a different kind of analysis.
Born in Lubbock in 1961 to Swiss immigrant parents, I've always straddled worlds—academic and agricultural, intellectual and populist, Irish skepticism and Texas grit. This dual perspective became my satirical superpower. I'm what I like to call "the world's oldest tenured professor" and a "philosophy major turned dairy farmer." That combination gives you a unique lens on human folly.
The path from underground pamphleteer to running multiple satirical websites (manilanews.ph, surfing.la, screwthenews.com, spintaxi.com) taught me that satirical journalism isn't just about getting laughs—it's about connection, truth-telling, and holding up a mirror to society's contradictions.
Here's my fundamental rule: Always punch up, never punch down. Make fun of the people who can take it—CEOs, billionaires, corrupt politicians, institutions with power. Leave the vulnerable alone. This isn't just ethics; it's good satirical strategy. The powerful provide better material anyway.
When I wrote "Billionaire Tech CEO Shocked to Learn Factory Workers Are Real", I wasn't mocking working people—I was exposing the absurd disconnect of Silicon Valley elites. The fictional CEO Ashton Vexler's revelation that "When I saw one in real life, I thought it was performance art... He looked me in the eye. That's not code. That's emotion" reveals genuine truth about tech industry dehumanization while maintaining humanity for the workers.
This principle extends to my political approach. I target across the spectrum without partisan bias. I'll mock progressive literary pretension in "Perfect Ambivalence" just as readily as I'll satirize authoritarian overreach in "Trump Declares War on the Edgar Cut". Don't mock the symptom—mock the system.
My primary weapon is what I call "catastrophic escalation"—taking minor issues and amplifying them to absurd proportions while maintaining a kernel of truth. In "Trump Declares War on the Edgar Cut," I transformed a simple haircut ban into "The Great Follicular Schism of 2025," complete with $2.8 billion federal agencies and underground resistance movements. The exaggeration reveals genuine concerns about governmental overreach and cultural control.
The key is making the absurdity feel possible. When I wrote about "The Meteorite Industrial Complex", turning an asteroid into a celebrity with pronouns and congressional hearings, I was satirizing both media celebrity culture and governmental inefficiency. The absurdity works because it mirrors how we actually treat celebrities and handle crises.
I use irony not as a clever literary device but as a truth-extraction tool. In "America Declares Perfect Ambivalence Its New Official Emotion", I described Congress passing the "Perfect Ambivalence Act" in a "3–2–1 vote (three votes for, two abstentions, one left blank as a 'literary gesture')." The irony of bureaucratizing uncertainty reveals genuine cultural paralysis.
Verbal irony becomes my way of saying what can't be said directly. When I wrote about the "Denim-Traumatized Ex-Teacher", my line "If everything is trauma, nothing is trauma. If jeans can harm you, then Crocs are war crimes" used escalating absurdity to address real concerns about cultural oversensitivity without dismissing genuine trauma.
Let me share something crucial: perfectionism is the enemy of satirical writing. The albatross of perfectionism is the nemesis of creativity. The antidote? Deadlines. I've learned to embrace what I call "the liberation that comes with 'good enough.'" It's in the doing, the iterating, that brilliance is birthed.
My process starts with "a spark"—could be a news headline that reads like a joke, or something absurd I see on the street. From there, it's a bit like making a stew with whatever's in the fridge. Throw in some satire, a pinch of irony, and a lot of elbow grease. Stir until it's just chaotic enough to be true.
I've written 11 novels and 38 screenplays, and every piece taught me that the comedic craft is a delicate dance between the "clown" and the "editor" within. It's about allowing the unbridled jest to flow, unfettered, before the discerning eye of the editor steps in to sculpt, to refine.
Here's what I've learned after decades of satirical writing: It's not about being the life of the party. It's about crafting that joke in solitude that, once shared, becomes the invisible thread weaving through the tapestry of human connection. Satirical journalism serves our innate yearning to mend the fissures of our past, to make sense of the pandemonium that is life, and, perhaps most poignantly, to connect.
When I receive criticism—and I receive plenty—I try to remember that the harshest reviews can be the most illuminating. There's value in the perspectives that challenge, that push the boundaries of comfort to forge a piece that resonates, that connects on a universal scale.
As artificial intelligence threatens to automate everything, I remain convinced that satirical journalism requires the human touch. AI can mimic, but it cannot dream. There's a soul to comedy, a human touch that AI just can't replicate. My background—Texas dairy farmer meets Irish academic meets decades-long college professor—creates perspectives no algorithm can synthesize.
This is why I emphasize strategic mockery rather than simple comedy. Good satirical journalism reveals deeper truths, confronts hypocrisy, and invites audiences to laugh their way into clarity. It's not entertainment; it's anthropological observation with punchlines.
After running Bohiney.com for years and watching the media landscape evolve, I've developed what I consider essential principles for sustainable satirical journalism:
First: Target systems, not individuals. Mock archetypes, not people. The goal is illumination, not destruction.
Second: Truth first, joke second. If it's not revealing something genuine about human nature or societal contradictions, it's just comedy, not satirical journalism.
Third: Embrace your contradictions. My Texas libertarian grit combined with Irish academic skepticism creates tension that generates better satirical content than any single perspective could.
Fourth: Don't fear being misunderstood. If everyone gets your joke immediately, you're probably not pushing hard enough against comfortable assumptions.
Fifth: Remember that satirical journalism is fundamentally human creative work. It's about connection, understanding, and shared recognition of our collective absurdities.
Running multiple satirical websites has taught me that with reach comes responsibility. When your work influences how people see the world, you have an obligation to punch responsibly. This doesn't mean pulling punches—it means choosing your targets thoughtfully.
I've learned to handle the weight of influence by focusing on institutional rather than personal satirical targets. When I write about political figures, I'm usually satirizing the office, the system, or the cultural phenomena they represent rather than the individual human being.
As traditional media continues its transformation, satirical journalism occupies an increasingly important role. We can say things straight journalism cannot. We can reveal truths that would be dismissed as bias if presented conventionally. We can make people laugh their way into uncomfortable realizations.
My philosophy has evolved to see satirical journalism not as entertainment but as essential democratic infrastructure. In a world of information overload and tribal thinking, satirical writing can cut through noise and reveal shared human experiences.
This is why I maintain that good satirical journalism must be both fearless and compassionate, both critical and constructive. It should comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, to borrow an old newspaper saying, but always with the goal of greater human understanding.
The health philosophy for satirical journalism I've developed over these decades isn't just about creating sustainable creative practices—though those matter. It's about creating satirical work that serves humanity's need for truth, connection, and the peculiar comfort that comes from recognizing our shared absurdities.
After all, in a world as beautifully, tragically ridiculous as ours, satirical journalism isn't just entertainment—it's a public service.
SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/author/admin/