The trouble with humor…

Humor can be a shaky thing. When writing it, you’ve got to be at peace with the fact that you’re going to piss people off. When speaking it, you should be prepared to duck.

Condemnation is an acquired taste for which I’ve developed a keen palate over the years. For instance, if I close my eyes and detect the robust pairing of abhorrence and nausea, it’s probably safe to say I called your kid an asshole. However, if I also pick up a hint of self loathing with subtle melancholy undertones, I may have struck a chord about that tiny little penis of yours. This is how I ensure I’m doing it right.

What’s funny to one person will undoubtedly offend the shit out of the next. I think what people forget about humor is that it’s not supposed to be taken literally, because duh, that’s called CNN. If you’re taking it literally, then you’re doing it wrong.

I once wrote a blog about how inefficient the human reproductive system is. To summarize, I proposed that if we laid eggs, then the people who actually want kids can have a happy, stress free and cheap incubation period. On the other hand, if you don’t want kids then you crack the egg and just have breakfast instead. There was a lot more to it, but that’s the basic gist. It’s a real problem solver on multiple levels, don’t you think?

I got lots of awesome, hateful comments but my favorite was this one, sent from Linda G:

“what kind of fucking persin r u! u should be baned from the internet & should never be let around kids.  if you have kids I going to find out where u live n get cps 2 take them, then see how u joke then bitch. and U R NOT funny”

Well, this is ‘Merica, Linda. This isn’t Commie China. I get to be on the internet and you can’t spell, in which case YOU shouldn’t be around kids. Dum dum. I win. Next.

Besides, take a fucking joke. The fact is, I would never sit down with the Pope and tell him my thoughts on how we should snack on hard boiled human embryos. Because damn, I don’t want to screw myself out of the blessing at the end. I would eat my crumpets and have my tea and not say anything stupid. Because that’s what my husband is for.

You see, I just write these thoughts in my head. I don’t actually (usually) say them. Now my husband, he’s a whole different story. He’ll just go around saying any old thing that comes to mind, no matter how inappropriate. I’m the Yin to his DANG he just said that shit OUT LOUD. Where the hell are the car keys…

Once, he was screwing with his friend James and said something about having sexual relations with James’ mother the night before, because this is the kind of things aircraft mechanics talk about apparently. The guy says, “Dude, uncool, my mom’s sick and she has Parkinson’s”.

Anyone else would have said, “Ah man, sorry about that” and stopped there. Nope. Not MY MAN. Instead, he replied, “So that’s what all that shakin’ was about. I thought she was just excited to see me but hey, I’ll take it.”

I frequently and lovingly remind him that he can’t say everything he thinks because I’d like him to live through our marriage. On the other hand, I can write any damn thing I think and I’m safe as a dry hump on Tuesday morning. What’s the worst that can happen? Somebody sends me nasty-gram via email? If I can’t get punched in the face, I feel pretty good about that.

In the end, what’s the point in getting all worked up? It’s a well known law of the world that the people you’re pissed at don’t even know it usually, and if they do they don’t care. I always try to remember this when I shop at WalMart. Sam Walton DOES NOT care what I think about the fact that there is only one line open for 20,000 customers. If I don’t like it, I should go some place else. The same goes for Chinese buffets, smoky bars, and humor sites.