Keeping Your Friends Is Hard. 'SNL' Knows Why.

"As he basked in the company of his friends, he proposed a sweet, well-intentioned idea. "Guys," he said. "Am I crazy? We should do this, like, every Sunday!" Instead of agreeing, however, his friends reacted with a mix of confusion and discomfort, leading him to gesticulate desperately: "This! Us! Sunday Supper, every week!" As he repeated "Sunday Supper," the anodyne phrase eventually became funny through sheer force of desperation."

"Eventually, after disappearing to his room, he returned carrying his clothes in a bindle and wearing a drifter's jacket. "I am running away and never coming back," he announced, his voice dripping with earnest sadness. "Because I'm embarrassed I got too excited about Sunday Supper, and no one else wanted to do Sunday Supper." After a bizarre monologue about befriending and then murdering a fellow drifter, he mournfully sauntered off into the night, having accepted his fate as a social outcast."

"Unfortunately for Dismukes's character, the inconvenient demands of grown-up life make such commitments hard to stick with. One friend (Sarah Sherman) raised the difficulties of securing a babysitter ("Those teens drive a hard bargain"); another (Ashley Padilla) noted that she and her husband usually had dinner with her parents on Sunday. In response, Dismukes's character quietly cycled from disappointment to wounded understanding to a complete unraveling, as his wife (Melissa McCarthy, the episode's host) looked on disapprovingly."

Andrew Dismukes plays a suburban husband who hosts a successful dinner party and eagerly proposes a weekly 'Sunday Supper.' His friends respond with confusion and logistical excuses — babysitter issues and another couple's routine dinners with parents — which deflate his enthusiasm. He cycles from disappointment to wounded understanding and ultimately unravels as his wife looks on disapprovingly. He returns later dressed as a drifter, announces he is running away because he is embarrassed about getting excited for Sunday Supper, and delivers a bizarre monologue before sauntering off as a social outcast. The humor rests on physical desperation and a portrayal of arrested development.

Read at The Atlantic