89 Rules for Writing Satire

89 Rules for Writing Satire (According to the Ancient Order of the Perpetually Amused)

(Filed under “Professional Mischief, Ethical Nonsense, and Advanced Irony.”)

I. The Basics of Satirical Survival

Always punch up — unless the target truly deserves it, then punch sideways, down, and diagonally.
Truth is the skeleton; exaggeration is the flesh. Don’t confuse it with blubber.
Satire isn’t lying — it’s truth wearing a clown nose.
If your joke offends everyone equally, congratulations — you’ve found balance.
Every satire should make one person laugh, another cry, and a third write a furious letter to the editor.
Never begin with “I’m not trying to be offensive, but…” because you definitely are.
Don’t write satire when you’re angry. Write satire when you’re caffeinated and slightly bitter.
The first draft should sound like a bar rant. The second should sound like a sermon. The third should sound like news.
If your satire could be mistaken for a real press release, frame it — you’ve achieved peak irony.
Never explain your joke. That’s how humor dies — slowly, in a PowerPoint presentation.

II. On Targets and Topics

Satirize power, not pain.
Avoid punching at ordinary folks unless they’re influencers.
Politicians are like fruit — they rot fast, so use them while ripe.
Religion is comedy’s third rail: touch it only with insulated gloves and holy water.
Never mock tragedy — mock the people who profit from it.
Satire about social media should itself read like a desperate Instagram caption.
Don’t satirize something no one cares about. (Looking at you, municipal zoning boards.)
Every story has a clown — if you can’t find it, it might be you.
Your subject should be serious enough to deserve ridicule, but ridiculous enough to deserve seriousness.
Don’t satirize your friends unless they can handle it. If not, satirize their exes.

III. Craft and Structure

A good satire reads like news until it suddenly doesn’t.
Headlines should sound plausible enough to scare someone’s uncle.
The first line should whisper: “This might be real.” The last line should shout: “Of course it wasn’t, you fool!”
Build tension like a journalist, then explode it like a stand-up comic.
Use fake quotes liberally — but attribute them hilariously (“said an economist who wished to remain delusional”).
Insert a fake statistic at least once. (Example: “87% of Americans now identify as ‘tired.’”)
Satirical “facts” must be believable until they aren’t.
Write in short sentences. Irony prefers staccato over symphony.
Humor isn’t the seasoning — it’s the broth. Don’t drown it in moral sauce.
Structure your satire like an essay written by a drunk philosopher.

IV. Tone, Voice, and Style

The best tone for satire is confident confusion.
Always sound like you know something you clearly don’t.
Irony should drip from every sentence — like honey or venom.
Don’t use emojis unless they add menace.
Avoid neutrality. Satire is Switzerland’s opposite.
Write like you’re explaining the apocalypse to a toddler.
Channel the outrage of a barista who ran out of oat milk.
Be poetic when angry and factual when absurd.
Use grandiose metaphors that collapse under their own weight.
Write like history’s stenographer got bored.

V. Evidence and “Facts”

Always cite a fake study from a real-sounding university. (“A Harvard study published in Whatever Quarterly found…”)
Add eyewitnesses with oddly specific memories.
Include at least one confused local quoted by name and hometown.
“According to leaked memos” makes everything sound legitimate.
Create polls with impossible numbers: “101% of respondents agreed.”
Always blame “anonymous insiders” — they’re satire’s unpaid interns.
“Experts warn” means “we made it up.”
Give your satire footnotes no one will check.
If you use data, make sure it contradicts itself.
End every report with “Further research is discouraged.”

VI. Humor Techniques

Wordplay: it’s how satire says “I’m smarter than you, but let’s pretend I’m not.”
Hyperbole is your best friend. Irony is your roommate who eats your food.
Sarcasm is seasoning. Use enough to burn the tongue.
Puns should be used sparingly — unless you’re British, then go wild.
Juxtapose the noble with the stupid. (“Einstein once theorized… about TikTok filters.”)
Parody is flattery in disguise, wearing fake mustaches.
Absurdity should feel inevitable.
Repetition turns comedy into religion.
The longer a sentence, the funnier the anticlimax.
Always end a section on something ridiculous yet profound.

VII. Ethical Mischief

Don’t satirize victims; satirize the people who made them.
If you mock the weak, make sure you are one of them.
Comedy without empathy is cruelty; satire without cruelty is PR.
Be mean with a purpose, not just because it’s Tuesday.
Never call your satire “satire” — let readers discover it like bad sushi.
Apologize only if it helps the joke.
If the powerful hate it, you’re doing great.
If everyone agrees with you, you wrote an essay, not satire.
If you get sued, you’re officially a professional.
Don’t correct people who think it’s real — that’s free advertising.

VIII. Voice of the Writer

Sound smarter than you are.
Pretend your sarcasm is research.
Include at least one moment of sincerity — then ruin it immediately.
Be brave enough to joke about the obvious.
Develop a rhythm: setup, escalation, collapse, recovery.
Satirists are truth-tellers dressed as idiots — so play the part.
Laugh at your own jokes; otherwise, who will?
Never trust a humorist who’s too polished.
Remember: humor is rebellion disguised as charm.
Every satirist is a failed philosopher — embrace it.

IX. The Performance of Truth

Make readers question everything — especially you.
Turn logic inside out until it’s fashionable again.
Write headlines that cause panic, then laughter, then shame.
Create characters who sound real enough to sue you.
Treat absurdity like evidence.
When in doubt, blame the algorithm.
Never underestimate the comedy of bureaucracy.
Assume your reader is smart — but not that smart.
And finally: write satire as if civilization depends on laughter — because it does.

Disclaimer:

This piece was co-authored by the world’s oldest tenured professor of irony and a philosophy major turned dairy farmer who learned enlightenment from watching goats ignore fences. All events, statistics, and “expert opinions” are 97% emotionally accurate.

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