In discussions with my co-workers, as well as my mother, the topic of what I should give up for Lent this year led to one reoccurring suggestion — sarcasm.
I was like, “Well I’ll just get on that right away!”
The truth is, I’m so accustomed to insincere lying for comedic sake that I really wouldn’t even know how to communicate with my fellow human creatures without sarcasm. It is my humour of choice.
Hostile, critical and ironic in almost everything I say, I might be occasionally mistaken for what some people call “a jerk.” However, I think I’m hilarious. Rarely will I allow a moment to pass where I won’t spit my particular rhetorical venom at friends, family, co-workers or the great existential void.
I don’t do this to be cruel. Actually, I’m relatively certain the majority of people, with whom I communicate daily, like my sense of humour. Without trying to sound too confident in my own abilities, I’m simply a funny guy.
The very fact humans can appreciate humour definitely speaks to the incredible depth of our intelligence and understanding of the subtleties of human interaction. It’s such an amazing ability that one could no doubt base one’s belief in God on the very notion that humour must have been a gift.
Certainly, if people do sense divine qualities, humour would be among the most important. However, I’m not so much of a “God” person, so I’m more apt to consider humour as a very human trait.
Sometimes, humour occurs when we experience something unexpected. Sometimes, it seems linked to forbidden or generally offensive ideas. Occasionally it seems to pop up as a means of momentarily coping with a difficult situation (i.e., funeral humour) and more often than not it’s simply impossible to understand why something is funny, while something else is not.
Something interesting about humour is that it quite often (and by the way this column is entirely based on my non-expert fluid opinion) depends on the person originating the joke. Isn’t it amazing how some people can say something trying to be funny and there’s nothing but crickets. However, five minutes later the “funny” guy or girl in a group walks into the room, makes the exact same joke and there is an uproar of laughter?
What is that? I don’t know. However, I imagine it has something to do with the fact we are highly social creatures and much of how we experience humour depends on how we feel about the person attempting to initiate a particular moment of comedy.
People really do want to laugh (it is a taste of divinity after all), but perhaps it’s simply easier to laugh when the joke teller is someone with whom others can relate.
I know, for myself, I find it very difficult to laugh at a joke told by someone with whom I have adversarial relations. It’s not that I’m trying to be rude, but laughter seems like such a bonding experience and it’s simply difficult for certain people to bond with other certain people.
Of course, there are those people with whom anyone might get along, but who fail nonetheless at any attempt at humour. There are some people who just can’t tell a joke. I know a few of these sorry sorts, but it always seems they eventually learn their comedic shtick anyway — often by continuing to tell jokes poorly but receiving hearty laughs for their enduring failed attempts.
Everyone seems to develop their own personal way of being funny. I guess since one develops his or her own sense of humour over time (and really there are no rules to such things), each person eventually ends up with a lifelong comic routine tailormade to match his or her particular personality.
I shall leave you now, my loyal readers, with one of the first adult jokes I ever learned. Feel free to stop reading if you’ve heard it . . .
A piece of string walks into a bar and the bartender says, “Sorry, we don’t serve string here.”
So the string goes home, takes a pair of scissors and a comb and ties himself up, cuts his tips unevenly, unravels his edges and generally makes a mess of himself.
The string goes back into the bar the next day and the bartender says, “Are you that same piece of string who tried to get in here yesterday?”
The string replies, “No, I’m a frayed knot.”
With jokes like that, I better be likeable.
Carter Haydu can be reached at 691-1265.
