A few years ago, the greatest marketing email ever written popped into my inbox from BARK, a New York-based company. Its BarkBox and BarkShop brands sell dog toys and treats to the dog-obsessed.

The subject line read, “Chew your vitamins, pup.”

And the copy read, “We all have needs. That's why we have just the right supplement treats.”

None of that is particularly funny. The funny part comes in the “customer profiles” the email highlights. Each describes a creature matched with very human qualities. BarkBox then matches those profiles and personalities with a dietary supplement.

There's neurotic Maris, who seriously needs to chill. Can you feel the alarm in those anxious little button eyes?

BarkBox says she might benefit from treats that contain 9 mg of a supplement called Colostrum Calming Complex.

Meet Paula: Organized, practical, more prepared than a Boy Scout.

Paula is that mom whose purse always has a snack in it and whose car always houses a travel first-aid kit.

Paula is your go-to in any emergency—which she knows is going to happen, because life is a train wreck.

Or Cindy: Perky. Wouldn't miss a workout. Promptly in bed by 11 because it's important to get a solid 8 every night.

You know probiotics keep this girl as regular as the commuter rail.

Finally, there's Carl, the grandpa (grandpup?) of the group.

Let his photo speak directly to your heart.

Ah, Carl … CARL!

The lentil soup.

The pen.

The little fibs to his wife.

God I love Carl. (And not just because I have a soft spot for senior dogs—at the time this email arrived I had a 13-year-old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel named Abby.)

I picture this pudgy little pug wearing a cardigan as he sips his soup on the hottest day in July.

I imagine him doddering around the house, evading his wife's inquiries. I hear how he keeps the TV turned up too loud.

* * *

But you don't sell dog products. You don't have Supermodel Carl as your talent. So how can you write funny?

Let's set aside the clever customer segmentation BARK is doing here, and instead break down some writing advice the email offers.

1. Humor is based in truth. These customer profiles resonate because they're real. We all know a Maris. Or a Paula. Or a Carl. (CARL!)

   The writeups might be over-the-top, but they aren't cartoon fabrications: They feel palpable and true. They resonate because they're relatable.

2. Humor is truth, exaggerated to an absurd degree. BARK imagined dogs as people. With human ailments and anxieties. Living human lives. (Driving minivans. Sipping lentil soup.)

   Then they brought the idea of “what if our pets were humans?” to its absurd, illogical conclusion.

3. Humor signals belonging. BARK sells to dog people. Not cat people. Not horse people. Not bird people or llama owners or people who own pot-bellied pigs.

   Dog people. Just dogs.

   You might be thinking: This email isn't funny.

   If you are thinking that, you're probably not a dog person.

   Dog people recognize in the email copy the lovable weirdos that are our own pets. In a broader sense, BARK is telling its customers that it understands just how full of personality and odd their little creatures truly are.

   And it is also signaling something deeper: We understand pets, and we get you, too.

   BARK knows that its customers consider their dogs to be like their kids.

   They are members of the family. Their humans talk to them, make up voices for them, do whatever it takes to give their dogs happier and longer lives. The dogs are pampered, coddled, treasured, loved.

And finally:

4. Minivan is funnier than car. We talked about this in Show, Don't Tell (Chapter 20). Choose your words carefully, because humor comes to life in the specific details.

   My friend and comedy writer Tim Washer told me this recently, when I texted him to ask what I knew to be true intuitively: Why is specific funnier than nonspecific?

   “We need a certain level of reality, even in what we know to be hyperbole,” Tim texted back.

   Without the details, we as the audience “feel like we're listening to a bunch of made-up stuff, and that won't even begin to pull us into the reality that the writer has created,” he said.

   Ah! So that's why minivan is funnier than car.

   Lentil soup is funnier than soup.

   Cardigan is funnier than sweater. But “Brooks Brothers cardigan” or “a cardigan from Sears and Roebuck” also carries clues about the character who is wearing the cardigan.

   And Tide stick is just funny, period.

   It's the details that paint the most vivid picture in your reader's heads.

* * *

I started this chapter telling you that this email arrived several years ago. YEARS. And I still think of it at least once a week. I saved it in a folder on my computer—because yes, it makes me laugh. But also because it holds such great insights for us all.

You might be wondering … did the greatest email ever written ultimately inspire more than just admiration from me for its marketing acumen?

Did Supermodel Carl actually trigger a sale?

You bet he did.

I bought the hip and joint supplement for Abby. She took it for another three years, before she passed away nine days short of her 17th birthday.

Nearly 17 years is a remarkable age for a spaniel.

I like to think Carl had something to do with that.