Andy Borowitz to Leave New Yorker, Pursue Career as Satirist
The New Yorker announced this week that it’s cutting ties with resident humorist Andy Borowitz. Where will we go now to find side-splitting skewering like “Trump is a liar” and “Republicans are dumb”?

Celeste Headlee and Andy Borowitz on a TV show panel in Los Angeles on July 30, 2019. (David Buchan / Variety / Penske Media via Getty Images)
On November 16, the New Yorker published an article by resident humorist Andy Borowitz accompanied by the headline “George Santos to Spend More Time with Imaginary Family.” This, it seems, will tragically be the last entry of the venerable “Borowitz Report,” which has reportedly been dropped by the magazine amid a wave of cutbacks at its parent company.
It’s never easy to say goodbye but, as far as parting words go, the roughly one hundred–word salvo is about as fitting a finale for Borowitz’s legacy as it’s possible to imagine. For more than two decades, the man has reliably churned out crystalline nuggets of what is ostensibly satire in exactly this vein — ever afflicting the powerful with Swiftian interventions like “Trump accuses media of not listening to the voices he hears in his head” (actual Borowitz headline); “Matt Gaetz accuses Kevin McCarthy of behaving like an adult” (actual Borowitz headline); and “Sean Hannity informs January 6th panel that swearing to tell the truth would violate his contract with Fox” (I swear to God . . . ).
A towering monument to liberal smugness without peer, the “Borowitz Report” has by now generated literally thousands of articles built on the same template with only minimal variation. Even at only a hundred words a pop or so, let us pause for a moment and consider just how vast that actually makes the Borowitz cannon. Having founded the blog in 2001 and initially published five posts every week, that would make for some 260 a year or 2,600 in the first decade of its existence alone. Conservatively assuming an average of a hundred words per week and granting for holidays or other interruptions, it can reasonably be surmised that Borowitz had already penned an entire Russian epic’s worth of tediously unfunny dad jokes before his 2012 move to the New Yorker.