Sometime in the early 1960s, in a finished basement in Great Neck or a carpeted den in Shaker Heights, a host slid a black vinyl disc out of a cardboard sleeve, set it on a turntable, lowered the needle and waited. Neighbors, cousins, the couple from down the block all leaned in. Within seconds, the room was laughing. Not just smiling. Not chuckling at a screen. Laughing together at a shared cultural text. That text was a comedy album. Often, it…
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