I’ve been trying to deconstruct my sense of humor — mostly because
I think
it’s getting stale.
There are four basic ways I go about humor which conveniently fall
into an
alliterated pattern: Ribs, reference, reinvention and rhetoric. Let me
expound.
Ribs are not the edible type but the insulting type. I insult a lot
of
people. What started as a vicious defense mechanism has flowed into
being
my manner of behavior
with close friends. I figure that with people who know me well, I can
get
away with being
more malicious.
Perfect example: The other day I bump into Brook and his girlfriend and
ask
if he wants to play pool. He says he can’t but I could play with his
girlfriend. I say, “I don’t want
to take advantage of your girlfriend on a pool table.” An encyclopedia
couldn’t contain the quips I’ve delivered. You just have to be around
to
catch them.
Reference involves using and or manipulating pop culture buzz. My
last blog
started with such a reference. It said “Sick have been my days of
late.”
This was a loose
reference to a line from “The Two Towers” where Theoden says, “Dark
have
been my dreams of
late.” Do people actually remember these lines and understand when I
use
them? Only the
crazies. But a lot is lost without the vocal inflection. Quoting “The
Simpsons” is also a
must and my answering machine plays a new Simpsons quote every week
(updated on Sundays).
Don’t you wish you had my phone number?
Reinvention is taking existing cliches, comparisons and whathaveyou
and
changing them up. One of my favorites is the popular “What the F#%k”
being
changed to “What
the S*!t.” It carries enough resonance that people stay with you, but
it’s
off enough to
raise an eyebrow or two. Reinvention also involves using archaic words
and
terms in modern
context. The other day, I heard someone mention they needed to “get
some
scratch together,”
refering to raising the cash-money. This was beautiful and it is now my
goal to say
“scratch” in this context all the time. Former projects have been “the
brass tacks,” “from good
people” and “why you gotta steal my flayva.”
Rhetoric is the catch-all last category that worked because it
started with
an “R.” I use a lot of word patterns — mostly with names — such as
“Joe
(fill in the blank)”
or “(Blank)y Mc(Blankerson).” Hypothetical example: We are out to lunch
and
you spill your
drink. You are now “Spilly McSpillerson.” I find it good to use the
same
word for both
blanks, but real experts can change them up with great success.
These devices have been cultivated through many years of being me
and
interacting with my crazy friends. No one person can claim ownership of
them because they are
responsive by nature and were created through flux. This is a
disclaimer I
issue out of
respect for my friends who constantly inspire me to make the bigger,
smarter comment. Without
the fierce competition, none of us would have ever grown beyond
knock-knock
jokes.
The problem as I see it is that certain aspects of these patterns
have been
leaked to the public and are being used by people who don’t understand
them. The result
is over-played, generic comments that make me cringe. My current cross
involves
monkeys. They’re not funny anymore. Someone says “monkey” or uses it as
a
description
or in some other way, and I am not laughing. Now I am resorting to more
hitting-myself-in-the-forehead type reactions. It’s really hard to
think of
these things sitting in front of a
computer, but you get the idea. I’m sure you all know a hack when you
see one.
Now, this is one Joe Indulgent who has said his peace.