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12/29/2004: "Laugh Riot In Cell Block 7"

I am an amusing fellow. Dear Reader, I am a very amusing fellow. I realize, though, that it takes an enormous leap of faith on your part for you to believe this; nevertheless, believe me: it is true. And I have a very elevated sense of humor. I do not undertake the pratfall in my efforts to amuse. Every fall I take is sincerely and spontaneously performed. I don't tell riddles; I eschew puns; I sneer at Spoonerisms; not a word I say is malapropos. I practice the highest of wit. I rub shoulders with Aristophanes, Moliere, and Jack Benny, all of whom were very funny fellows. They aren't so funny any more, being dead, but they used to be hilarious. I can tell funny stories, not really jokes, but funny -- jokes have punch lines, you see, and I can never remember those, or if I do, I remember them first, and then backload the story in to demystify the listener. One of them goes, "It warn't his handwriting!", which is self-evidently amusing, containing, as it does, dialect and an exclamation point. That story is a little off-color, I'm ashamed to admit, so I won't retell it here. I have only the highest respect for the sensibilities of my readers: I seek to amuse, as I say, not to offend. It is difficult to maintain the high standards of humor I have set for myself, and still get the clods and lowlifes I associate with to see the point. Quite often I have to encourage them by starting the laughter, myself, at the appropriate time. If that doesn't work, a little physical contact, say a dig in the ribs or a slap on the knee, may lubricate the sluggish mind. Or I may say, "Get it?", and repeat the relevant passages. I have livened up many a funeral reception, I assure you. Want to hear one? No? Maybe later, then.