Okay, okay, okaaaay! I’m not funny! So what, maybe you are, but go ahead. Make my face wrinkled with laughter with your banal jokes and offside humour. Who cares, jokes are supposed to be fun, right? Wrong! Jokes are supposed to maim and torture those who are at the butt of the joke and can cause serious psychological behavior at later stages of their development (look at the patterns: when jokes are inflicted on young ones and who later turn into machete-wielding body-part hackers wearing goalie masks, a la Jason). When someone laughs at you, you feel ridiculed and inept and feel like crawling away. But not me, man. I have a way that spurns and quadruples the joke and returns it to back to its prankster and reduces the wannabe-hurt-me-if-you-can into a quivering and whimpering redcheeked and greatly humbled buffoon. Yes I can be funny, but not at the expense of poor people who cannot afford to buy the latest Mad magazine. I like to target my easy prey on those who dare to wield the power granted to them by the unknowing voting masses. Yes, I am an apolitical joker.
Now, how about that? Remember in the past when life was easier and jokes and laughter often erupted when a lone goose was shot at endlessly by an excited and cross eyed hunter and the lucky fowl lived to procreate again. Or when goose blind jokes such as marking up one’s face with ashes from a still burning fire turned seasoned hunters into helpless quaking masses of human flesh? Or how about the now famous telephone pranks when one asked at a busy restaurant for Mr. Mike Hawk (how Bart Simpson would have loved to hear that one national television).
Well, that art of humour does have to be tactful and tasteful to be able to reach the dimmest minds, even subconsciously coming back to one’s memory many weeks later when the punch line hits you, you’re often considered to be a candidate for living in the small town of Malartic or South Porcupine. This actually happened to a good friend of mine, who I once told a sordid joke to, only to see him look back at me quizzically. I thought that I had lost my touch, until, one night six weeks later, he started laughing and laughing hysterically.
His wife thought he had finally gone bonkers when all he could choke out was my name and some senseless words like “and I gave her my shorts.” She called me to tell me that I shouldn’t tell him any more jokes because it just freaked her out. What can you say when your husband, out of the blue and in bed, starts laughing and saying the great one’s name and repeating the punch line over and over again? Call Malartic, that’s what. Apparently, he was out of control for about an hour or so and when he recovered, he had to tell the joke to his worried lady and that spurned another hour of tears streaming down his face and stomach cramps that lasted for days.
I rest my case. I happen to be a funny guy. (If you want to hear the joke, I’ll accept an all expense paid trip to your home town just to tell you. Make sure that the ambulance is nearby in case you get a stroke. Also, double check to see that you have a good insurance policy that covers joke attacks.)
Yes, I have graduated into reaching out to the dear readers of the Nation magazine and have succumbed to encouraging people to stand up for their rights while singing to some ditty like “All I want for Christmas is my AIP” or “Do you think I’m busy?” Sometimes I do get flack from offended readers but most often I can garner a chuckle or two (and on occasion, a guffaw) from even the sternest politician, who have learned over the last four years, that yep, this guy can be a funny man. I even have people who tell me that they can read between the lines and decipher my underlying messages. Good for them, at least someone is reading something good, even if there are no words hidden between the lines and my subliminal messages only encourage one to do better with their sorry lives. Maybe, one day, I will graduate to being a healer, where only my words will cure all symptoms of depression (and give the makers of Prozac a run for their money), but hey, who am I kidding?