There are ignored senses in the American Culture: a sense of humor and and sense of minimalism. People are conditioned to laugh on cue at sit-coms and punchlines; people maximize all things. The Modern Absurdist is for these ignored senses, to remind the busy world that there there is deep meaning in a simple authentic laugh. These become our memories. This is what the conversation will be over later, expensive, seven-course dinners.
The Modern Absurdist is against stoic, upright conditioned behavior and against the densely populated barrage of identity through things. This person is a mooncalf, refusing to take seriously the acceptable world. Not to rebuke or destroy it, but simply to question whether or not the way things should be is the way things should be.
Observe your day closely, notice every label in your path throughout this day. Each of these product icons represents either something you bought or are trying to be sold. Consider that just perhaps, in light of the evidence that mega-advertising surrounds us constantly, more than just our name brands and good cars are being sold to us. Consider that, just perhaps, our whole idea of what makes us happy was sold to us by idea men looking to make a profit. That these many labels are thorns in the briar patch, and you have to be Br'er Rabbit to escape unscathed.
Your best memories rarely include any of these labels, these products, you already know this is true.
The Modern Absurdist has an agenda, too. But it's really less of an agenda and more of a prescription for the state of depression and angst present in our society: the medicine for modern apathy is to engage the actual human beings around you. Go out and be an inventor of life again. Remember, like what you did before it all turned into chasing tail and impressing people?
Each of us is rich with imagination, think of your dreams, think of every inside-joke. This is the minimal life, an absence of propaganda and an abundance experiences with people. Be creative with your friends and family, don't be ruled by conversations about labels.
The absurdist's profit is the chance to encounter you. An actual you, with no screens between, no pre-packaged programming. When we meet the secret greeting is a quote from Neruda, "I don't give away thorns, and I don't sell them."
Either that, or "I, too, am a self-abusing wondershow! I see myself in you."