If there was ever a post I was going to try and justify, yesterdays would have to be it. Because nothing makes a joke funny like laying out in detail exactly why it’s funny. Right? Am I trying to be funny by doing something definitively unfunny? Yes. Yes I am. Notes in red.
We’ve all seen comedians take real aspects of their personality and stretch them out until they become grotesque caricatures of people. Guys like Woody Allen, Larry David et all have been doing it for years. [Spent quite a lot of time trying to choose two comedians, ended up with two identical people. Tried to google “et all” to see if it was actually a phrase.] That scene is old. [Note ironic use of the word “scene”.] I’m going to take it to the next level. [Also, “next level”.] The aftermath. [Added this at the very end after writing everything when I realised that it was not entirely clear what I was talking about. At all.]
I’m looking to tap into that rich comedy vein [I think “rich comedy vein” was my excuse for writing this whole thing.] of crippling paranoia that afflicts [Afflicts? Is that ok? Affects?] me whenever I float a joke that exaggerates some part of my normal behaviour. For the first two hours it seems like a great idea (this is for Internet stuff. If it’s real-life conversation adjust that to eight seconds). Then the unstoppable thought flutters at the back of my brain. “What if they think I’m serious?” quickly followed by “Was I serious?” Then I backtrack, which is always a good idea, right? Nothing keeps conversation fluid like saying “No, but really. I don’t actually have a problem with night terrors.” [I really wanted to make a joke about having a small penis here but I just wouldn’t let myself.]
This isn’t so much a problem with strangers. Or the seven people in the world who actually know me. [I’m already cringing slightly each time I read this sentence. “Know me?” Jesus Christ, get over yourself.] It’s more an issue with those acquaintances dallying in the wings of the stage production that is my life. [Rewrote this five or six times to stop it sounding boring. Now it merely doesn’t make sense.] Mainly the hot ones.
I want to write about how I’m afraid to make jokes about picnicing [picnicing isn’t a word, apparently. Executive decision.] under a cherry blossom tree in the spring because what if I want to ask someone to do that some day? [I like picnics and cherry blossoms. Now I will be afraid to ever mention them in real life. This is called self-referential comedy.] I want to explain about how I’m sorry for making fun of Cecilia Ahern in the past because I’d still totally do her. [See what I did here? It’s like I’m apologising to Cecilia Ahern but then I just totally ignore her work and focus on the fact that she’s not hideous looking! Zing!] Anonymity was the key. Anonymity. [A nod to those people from real life who told me over the Christmas period that they read this. Secretly. Never commenting. Just sucking away at my marrow.]
——
I’ve gotten to that point where I’m thinking of “accidentally” calling a girl to re-establish contact. [This thought just flashed in my head the other night and the absurdity of my impulses seemed worth writing down.] You know where you say “Oh, sorry, I meant to call so-and-so. It’s difficult to dial while horseback riding. Anyway, how are you?” I think I’ll wait until I’m drunk. To make sure I sound as natural as possible. [Based on my never-ending fear of calling people I shouldn’t on my mobile after a few drinks.]
— finn Feb 21, 08:34 PM #