It’s about 10:30 on Sunday night. I’m supposed to be hitting my daily joke list but I’m not, I’m writing to you. The good news is that although I started with 20, now I’m writing 35 jokes a day on the most obscure topics imaginable. My favorite has got to be “There is a stick lying on the sidewalk.” I did 35 on that, and I think four were genuinely funny. There were 35 on “Rain.” You get the idea.
There was a time when a drunk guy could make people laugh by putting a lampshade on his head. I never got that one. If I told you the topic that has me stymied at the moment, you wouldn’t believe me.
Wax on, wax off. Do anything often enough and you build up a rhythm. That’s the whole point of the exercise. I can knock out the cadence of a joke without thinking about it now. Big whup. Funny is still the gold ring, and no matter how much we’ve been conditioned by Life’s laugh track, funny is still a random spark that only occasionally brings Frankenstein to life. When it does, it’s more often Boris Karloff than Peter Boyle.
Okay, back to it. Time to channel my inner Shecky and kill.
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