The tactic writers are using to consistently produce today’s best comedy: not just joke quality, but joke density.

Critics often whine about our media-saturated, short-attention-span culture for making us dumber. Admittedly, it is difficult to watch the meatheads of Jersey Shore ascend to icon status without wanting to stockpile supplies for the looming ab-pocalypse. But not every side effect of the entertainment explosion is purely negative. There are people like Steven Johnson who say we’re actually getting smarter; it’s just a different kind of smart. More importantly, there are the artists whose response to our evolving sensibility is to adapt with equally evolved forms of expression.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in comedy. The masters of the past, even in classics like Fletch or Caddyshack, feel a bit sluggish by today’s standards. Though geniuses in their time, their appeal today is more nostalgic than visceral. While there are moments that still work, they seem to lack a certain energy. Our media-saturation is certainly to blame here; we’re so well-trained in the tropes of entertainment that it’s harder than ever to be funny. Comedy relies on the unexpected, and the more you’ve seen, the more it feels like you’ve seen it all before. What was groundbreaking a generation ago formed the foundation for what’s generic today.

As a result, it takes more to get us off, comedically speaking. Some shows and films have adapted by going the crude, shocking, or non sequitur route, but that’s a lazy way to push boundaries. Some stand-up artists like Demetri Martin have gone more cerebral, but that’s hard to sustain through anything with a plot or character arc. But for audiences passionate about comedy — those well-versed fans who appreciate not just a good joke but the craftsmanship that goes into great humor — one tactic seems to work best, and consistently produce today’s funniest stuff. Those are the writers able to pull off not only joke quality, but joke density.

Today’s favored funny people — at least, favored by serious comedy fans — all specialize in joke density. They cram so many well-written lines into such a tight space that it’s like going from the gateway drug of SNL or The Simpsons to the refined pure-white powder that is a great episode of 30 Rock, Community, or Arrested Development. Or as an example in film, Armando Ianucci’s political satire In The Loop. These new masters craft every scene for maximum effect. Their set-ups don’t rely on a few funny characters facing a series of squares, acting as foils to the ensuing wackiness. The most talented writers create a cast of uniquely hilarious archetypes in constant verbal conflict, and the result is similar to a well-conducted orchestra. As an audience, we derive ephemeral pleasure from each character’s lines, like beautifully played instruments. But there’s also a higher-order delight at the masterful composition of the writer, able to play each element off the others like a maestro leading a swelling movement of comedy. For today’s audience, jaded from decades of formulaic sitcoms or frat-pack gag fests, it’s that higher-order appreciation that gets our pleasure centers tingling again.

The music metaphor is even more appropriate when it comes to animated shows. The latest bundle of tightly-wound comedy gold, FX’s secret agent send-up, Archer, has all the elements for success. The brilliant cast includes Home Movies highlight H Jon Benjamin, Arrested Development alums Jessica Walter (again, an alcoholic matriarch) and Judy Greer (again, a sex-crazed secretary), and Dr. Spaceman himself, Chris Parnell, as the agency’s nerdy comptroller. The writing by Adam Reed and Matt Thompson sheds the patent absurdity of past work on Space Ghost, Sealab 2021 or Frisky Dingo in favor of tighter, more digestible plot lines. Most importantly, because it’s an animated show recorded in sound booths, the humor can literally be mixed like an album. Every track worth of banter can be adjusted just right to bring out the nuances in the performance. This way no barb gets missed and every punchline hits like a well-recorded drum fill.

Compare this to a show like It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. While that show has its outstanding moments, scenes frequently devolve into a room full of jackasses yelling over each other. Once it becomes an unintelligible mess, you’re left literally waiting for them to shut the fuck up and get back to real dialogue. The beauty of an animated show is that the actors are shouting into their own microphones, so some skillful hand can swoop in later to make sure no jackass’s priceless lines get lost in the uproar.

For Archer, the animated mayhem of a bumbling covert agency combined with the blistering pace and density of dialogue results in a show that just hums with energy. Like some of its best contemporaries, even throwaway lines can get a laugh, and part of the enjoyment is just trying to keep up.

The only concern is that if this trend continues picking up steam, barreling toward ever-higher joke density in shows like Archer, we may reach an end point that results in some sort of comedy black hole — a place from which no jokes can escape, and the punchlines are so densely packed they no longer appear on human instruments. It’ll be a sad day when comedy collapses in on itself, but just think of how much fun will be had up until then.

[You can watch most of the first season of Archer on Hulu, with more to come. The season finale airs this Thursday night on FX.]