The Death of Humor

My sense of humor has departed. In its place sits a shrivelled, scabrous clown that cackles in senile fashion at knock-knock jokes, and waits breathlessly to learn why the chicken crossed the road this time, never seeming to understand that the motives of chickens are simple and unchanging. In an effort to kill my nemesis, I offer these few short stories. They are sophomoric enough that hopefully he will read them and laugh himself into an apoplectic fit, thereby paving the way for the return of the brilliant epigrammatic wit that has been such a signal feature of this blog. I'm just sorry that all of you find yourselves in the line of fire as I do battle with my personal demons.

Honeymoon's End

She was growing so large, he didn't know what to do. Then it came to him. For their anniversary, he bought her a shirt with the words "I BEAT ANOREXIA" blazoned across the front, hoping she would take the hint. In response, she flung a heavy glass bowl of mixed nuts, striking him on the forehead. The blow damaged his brain, causing him to go blind. "Oh well," he thought philosophically, "At least I don't have to look at her any more." Theirs was not a happy marriage.

Internal Struggle

He had finally mustered the courage to ask her to marry him. On the way to her house, he stopped at a Mexican restaurant to eat. The special of the day was something called "The Burrito of Great Intensity". This seemed to fit his mood, since he was feeling intensely emotional at the prospect of becoming betrothed. He ate it, and went on his way rejoicing, noting that the burrito, while good, did not seem to have anything particularly intense about it. He was on his knees, pouring out his heart to his lady fair, when he suddenly realized that a better name might have been "The Burrito of Great Delayed Intensity". She joined a convent, and he now lives in Alaska under an assumed name and false moustache.

The Greed of the Magi

our apologies to O. Henry

They were as poor as church-mice, but Christmas was here, and they wanted to make it special. On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, she pawned his gold watch in order to buy herself a set of fancy combs for her hair. That night, as she slept, he shaved her head and sold the hair to a wig maker. He bought himself a new watch chain with the proceeds. Christmas Day was interesting, to say the least.

What To Expect When You're Expecting

They had been married for two months when she discovered she was pregnant. Since this was unplanned, she was initially nervous about how her husband would react to the news. Then she thought, "Wait. This is crazy. He loves me with all of his heart, and this is the fruit of that love. I'm sure he'll behave in a very loving and supportive way." Twenty minutes later she was standing, suitcase in hand, on the curb in front of her parents' house. "See you in nine months," he said (in a very loving and supportive way) as he drove off.

It's no use. The clown just sneers at this stuff, and now I've got Gloria Steinem and a horde of angry feminists torching their corsets in my front yard. Humor has been forever banished from my life. Good-bye, Psmith, Huck, and Rancid; Hello, Archie, Betty, and Veronica. The clown has prevailed. This is the end.

A Cause Bigger Than Ourselves

This holiday season, let us remember what is REALLY important. Instead of getting caught up in greed and materialism, let us rally to a cause bigger than ourselves. Let us lift up those bowed down by the weight of a problem too heavy to bear. Let us help our brothers and sisters bear the immense burden that crushes them more and more each day. Let us do our best to prevent these unfortunates from being swallowed up by despair.

22-CATCH encourages our loyal readership (thanks Mom!) to visit http://www.naafa.org/ to get information on a great organization fulfilling all of these laudable goals, and what you can do to support it. Perhaps you are one of those people who say "I've already given to the Salvation Army, Red Cross, and March of Dimes - what more do you want?" Our only response is to ask you to please take the time to view a brief slide show illustrating the problem we are trying to address. Doubtless, it will move you as profoundly as it did us, and you will sit before your computer with tears in your eyes, shaken with emotion, groping for your checkbook.

This year, we have a chance to truly make a difference. Let us give until it hurts. Because "a waist is a terrible thing to mind."

Romance vs. Reality

An Inquiry into the True Nature of Romantic Love and Marriage, or What is Commonly Referred to by We Bitter, Repressed Cynics as "All That Mushy Schlock".

Clarity is important. In the day and age in which we live reality is too often obscured by wistful mooning after things as we would like them to be, rather than viewing them dispassionately in the light of pure reason. Nowhere is this unfortunate tendency more apparent than in our views on romance and marriage. We hope by means of this treatise to tear off the rose-tinted spectacles of unrealistic expectation, and trample them beneath the hobnailed boots of pitiless inquiry.

When dealing with a complicated issue, confusion may arise due to imprecise definition of certain key elements. Therefore, as an aid to understanding, let us begin with a brief glossary of terms and ideas commonly associated with our subject. We will give both male and female definitions, using them in a sentence whenever necessary to obtain context.

Discretion

Male: A decent respect for propriety, an avoidance of the indelicate, embarrassing, or inappropriate in speech or conduct. [Fortunately, John's innate sense of DISCRETION kept him from answering the "Honey, do I look fat to you?" question. That, and his love of life.]

Female: FILE NOT FOUND. PLEASE RECHECK SPELLING AND TRY AGAIN. [As he sat in the restaurant listening to his wife tell his boss an anecdote of childbirth that would make a hardened obstetrician blush, Bill resolved that he would teach his wife DISCRETION with an axe when they got home.]

Personality, Great

Male: See LOATHSOME.

Female: A certain indefinable quality possessed by all humans of less-than-stellar physical attractiveness, as in "You should marry my friend Janet Reno. She has a GREAT PERSONALITY."

Rose

Female: A shrub or vine of the genus Rosa, flowers of which are thought to have a salutary effect on the female psyche. Studies show the minimum effective dose to be 12 blossoms, with increased benefit for each flower in addition to the m.e.d.

Male: Past tense of RISE.

Tears

Male: An unfortunate tendency of the eyes to water, usually in times of great physical or mental anguish, i.e., major surgery without anesthesia, or a visit from one's in-laws.

Female: The appropriate response to everything in life, good or bad.

Valentine, St.

Male: Patron saint of flower shops and greeting card manufacturers, responsible for the suffering and confusion of generations of men; thankfully martyred c. A.D. 256. [that blighter VALENTINE.] See FERTILITY RITES, PAGAN.

Female: The most important figure in human history.

Time is of the essence, and space is at a premium. Therefore, rather than exploring the subject of romantic love in its entirety as we had originally intended, we will instead focus on one aspect of relationship deemed most important by experts everywhere: communication.

We do not intend this to be a tedious, academic discussion about linguistics or sentence structure. We will avoid pedantry as much as possible (except when using words like "pedantry"). Instead, we will present true-to-life examples of male/female dialogue, allowing the reader to draw his own conclusion as to whether true communication between the sexes is possible, or indeed even advisable.

Communication, Male

MAN: Honey, I'm home!

WOMAN: How was your day, dear?

MAN: Great! And yours?

WOMAN: Perfect!

MAN: Glad to hear it! Well, gotta run, tee time's in half an hour.

WOMAN: Have a nice time, dear.

Communication, Female

MAN: Honey, I'm home!

WOMAN: How was your day, dear?

MAN: Great! And yours?

WOMAN:Well...itstartedoutallrightIwentshoppingandIsawGladysatthestoreyouknowIcan't
standthatwomantherewasasaleIboughtadressactuallyIboughtseveraldidImentiontherewas
asalethenIwentouttoeatactuallyIdidn'tbecausethecarwouldn'tstartyouknowIdon'tliketocomplain
butwereallyneedanewcarblahcellphoneblahchinesecheckersblahblahmovingtoBoiseblahblah
blahkidsblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah...what do you think, dear?

MAN: Yes dear. You know, since tea time's not for half an hour yet, there's probably still time for us to have a good cry together....

* * * * *

In conclusion, we leave you with a few verses of scripture that seem to sum things up nicely:

Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with [your wives] according to knowledge.... (I Peter 3:7a).

...With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible. (Matthew 19:26b).

...My grace is sufficient for thee.... (II Corinthians 12:9).

Epiphany # 3

There but for the grace of God go I.

Seriously.

Yes, but what's the blog about? Isn't there some theme, or motive, or point to it all?

This blog is a motiveless crime. There is no theme or point. It cannot be properly said to be about anything. It is not a metaphor for my life, as certain unkind Freudians have speculated.

The only criterion used in determining content is that there are no criteria. On this blog one is just as likely to find a critical appreciation of Ayn Rand's Objectivism as one is to find a dissertation on the uses of navel lint. Or a recipe for possum ragout. Or a homily on humility. Or +ar8ykyl;[k3=\7u0ok\/. Or nothing.

In the words of Mark Twain:

"Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted;
persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to
find a plot in it will be shot."

Why? Why are you inflicting this drivel upon the world?

It's cheaper than therapy, and less painful than trepanning.

Your blog's name is so stupid it gives me heartburn. How did you come up with it anyway?

"There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle."That's some catch, that Catch-22," [Yossarian] observed."It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka agreed."

-Joseph Heller, Catch-22