All-Natural Enhancement

admin — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 20:58:32 +0000

So over in the Cracked forums, someone posted a link to this Reader’s Digest article, entitled “19 Ways To Enhance Your Sense of Humor.” It’s all well-meaning advice, and you could certainly do worse than following some of it, but for every piece of sound advisement there’s something like this:

“10. Spend 15 minutes a day having a giggling session. Here’s how you do it: You and another person (partner, kid, friend, etc.) lie on the floor with your head on her stomach, and her head on another person’s stomach and so on (the more people the better). The first person says, “Ha.” The next person says, “Ha-ha.” The third person says, “Ha-ha-ha.” And so on. We guarantee you’ll be laughing in no time.”

Michael and I, our senses of humour in desperate need of enhancement, decided to give some of their suggestions a try. First, Michael fired up Photoshop and gave this suggestion a go:

“6. Sort through family photographs and write funny captions or one-liners to go with your favorites. When you need a pick-me-up, pull out the album.”

Next up, I did my best to envision the sort of person who might exemplify this tip:

“13. When you run into friends or coworkers, ask them to tell you one funny thing that has happened to them in the past couple of weeks. Become known as a person who wants to hear humorous true stories as opposed to an individual who prefers to hear gossip, suggests Robertson.”

Scene: A typical American office. BOB and JOHN are at the water cooler, telling each other about their weekends.

BOB: …and I just heard back from the funeral home.

JOHN: Oh yeah? What’d they say?

BOB: Apparently a baby’s coffin actually costs more to make because it has to be done custom. The whole service is looking to run me more than eight thousand dollars.

JOHN: Geez, buddy. That’s pretty rou- oh, shit. (He is looking over BOB’s shoulder.) Here comes Fred.

BOB (Pinching the bridge of his nose): Oh, shit.

FRED approaches the pair. He walks with a determined gait, his arms swinging to and fro in a hideous mockery of what the observer must assume to be hilarious body language. He is wearing a Dilbert tie (to which are stapled at least a dozen Garfield strips clipped from various newspapers,) and his face is twisted into a sickening rictus, devoid of any true life or joy. It is the grin of a skull.

He stops in front of the two men, and turns precisely ninety degrees to face them. BOB and JOHN are desperately avoiding eye contact, JOHN even attempting to lodge his head behind the water cooler’s basin.

FRED (Unperturbed by the pair’s obvious attempts at shunning him): Good morning, fellows! Although, since it’s a Monday, I suppose I should call it a “bad morning!”

He beams at BOB and JOHN, who have still not acknowledged him. FRED continues to stare, unblinking, his eyes shifting from one man to the other with clockwork regularity. They hold this position for several minutes. BOB and JOHN begin to show overt signs of discomfort at their contortions, whereas FRED has not moved a muscle, his gaze continuing to swing from man to man like a terrifying pendulum. Finally, JOHN (at the very limits of his endurance,) emits a small, involuntary cough.

FRED (Abruptly): Ha Ha Ha!

His laugh is an empty, dead thing. Every barked syllable is like the sound of a sparrow flying headlong into a window, a jarring impact followed by a nauseating squeak. HUNGH-eek. HUNGH-eek. HUNGH-eek. BOB and JOHN, unable to withstand both their aching muscles and the assault of FRED’s laughter, finally abandon the happy pretense that FRED does not exist.

JOHN (Straightening up): Fuck. Fred, please. Can we not do this? Just for today?

FRED’s laughter finally ceases, to the visible relief of both other men.

FRED (His manic grin twisting so as to reveal the slightest amount of perplexity): I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, John! Come on, tell me a funny thing that happened to you over the weekend! You know that I am a person who enjoys hearing funny stories of what happened to people over the weekend, much more than I enjoy hearing gossip!

JOHN: Fred, please, I’m begging you-

FRED: Go on, don’t be shy! How about you, Bob? (Without warning, FRED’s hand shoots out and delivers a hammer-like blow to BOB’s spinal column. BOB gasps and staggers. FRED’s arm returns to his side without even the slightest twitch to indicate that it has moved.)

BOB (His patience finally snapping): My son died, Fred. My eight-month-old son fucking choked to death on Saturday. He tried to climb out of his crib, got tangled in his blanket, and accidentally hung himself while my wife and I were asleep.

He pauses to see if any of this has phased FRED in the slightest. It has not.

FRED: That certainly is both annoying and frustrating, Bob! But you know what they say when your son dies!

BOB: I don’t-

FRED (Cutting him off): “A dead son in the hand is better than two in the wife!” (The quotation marks are clearly audible.)

There is a cold, yawning silence.

JOHN: Jesus, Fred. Did you actually have that prepared?

FRED (Pride evident): You’ll find that I have a joke prepared for any occasion, John! It’s all part of my experimentation with jokes!

JOHN: Yeah, well that’s really-

He is interrupted as BOB starts grunting in pain, his veins standing out as he slides to the floor, clutching his left arm. JOHN stares at BOB confusedly for several seconds before he comes to a realization.

JOHN: Holy shit, Fred. You actually gave Bob a heart attack with your fucking miscarriage joke.

FRED (Obviously brimming with pleasure): Thank you! It’s quite a “side splitter”, isn’t it? (JOHN continues to gape in shock. FRED continues.) Don’t worry, John! Another thing I’m always prepared for is if my humour is too hilarious, and as such, I have learned CPR!

JOHN (Relieved): Oh, thank God. Hurry, get to work!

FRED kneels by BOB’s convulsing form with macabre theatricality. Appearing to take great care, he unbuttons BOB’s shirt and places a hand upon BOB’s solar plexus. He presses down.

BOB (In obvious agony): GNNNAAAAAAAAAGH! (He spasms anew, even as FRED continues to apply pressure.) HURRRAGH! AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGRAAAGH!

JOHN, sensing something is amiss with BOB’s condition, finally seizes FRED by the shoulders and flings him bodily from his friend. FRED lands with his palms upturned, exposing a small metal disc.

JOHN (Unable to believe his eyes): Fred, is that a fucking joy buzzer?

FRED: Never leave home without it! I bet that came as quite a “shock” to him, didn’t it?

JOHN’s fists clench, and he is about to strike FRED until BOB emits a tortured groan. JOHN looks from FRED to BOB, and comes to a decision.

JOHN: I’m going to go call the paramedics, Fred. (He points at BOB.) If you so much as touch him, Fred, I will fucking kill you, understand? (He strides away before FRED has a chance to answer.)

(FRED looks down at BOB, who writhes in agony, reaching out blearily to FRED for aid. Untroubled, FRED instead produces a small Polaroid camera and snaps a photograph of the helpless man. BOB watches with dimming vision as FRED shakes the picture, takes out a ballpoint pen, thinks for a moment, and scribbles something on the back. FRED then places the captioned picture in BOB’s wavering grasp and struts away without hesitation, laughing his dead laugh. BOB, unable to do anything else, turns the picture around and holds it up to his failing gaze. The last thing he reads before being enveloped by darkness is:

“Have a heart! Attack!”

FIN

The Last Gaffe » humour

All-Natural Enhancement

“6. Sort through family photographs and write funny captions or one-liners to go with your favorites. When you need a pick-me-up, pull out the album.”

“13. When you run into friends or coworkers, ask them to tell you one funny thing that has happened to them in the past couple of weeks. Become known as a person who wants to hear humorous true stories as opposed to an individual who prefers to hear gossip, suggests Robertson.”