As I begin this, it is a little after 6 AM on a Monday morning. My favorite weatherman, Lying Shit, promised me yesterday that I'd enjoy sunny skies with highs today in the 40s. Sometime, in the middle of the night, he changed his mind (not unlike a couple of former boyfriends of mine,) and now I can't hope for better than highs in the 20s. He hurriedly tacked on the half-hearted possibility of maybe making it into the low 30s but, to continue with the allusion to people I've formerly misplaced trust with, he didn't seem sincere. He was definitely shifty about it, like he knew he was lying and he knew I knew he was lying and he didn't want me to carefully cut an entire closet of his suits into tiny little pieces while he was out of town. And I would totally do that, because I take cheating on me and weather promises very seriously.
Does any of that qualify as a, "bad day?" Probably not; but I am at a disadvantage here. I usually -- hell, immediately -- type up all my bad days as they happen, as though I am keeping my own, personal Journal of Dumb Assery (that I let Gather-at-Large read.) I haven't had what qualifies as a "bad" day in a week or so. I've had crappy little incidents, but nothing I can spectacularly exploit for the humor of it and I've milked all of my former fuck-ups for all they were worth. What to do?
The thing about finding the "Funny" in the Really Not Funny, is that you have to be careful how you pull it off, lest you end up looking like an insensitive asshole. Worse, still, some things that are "bad" are just inherently Not Funny (depending on the degree of them,) no matter how hard you try to find some amusement in them. Take, for instance, Fire.
Fire can be funny, but only in certain circumstances. If someone's house burns to the ground and they lose everything they own, well... that is definitely not funny. And trying to make it funny will only serve to get the State extremely interested in how you spend your free time. But, let's say, for instance, that my barbeque grill explodes because I, as a dumbass, decide to open up the gas vents, take a phone call and ten minutes later, press the igniter switches, thereby necessitating the penciling in of an Ethel Merman-esque right eyebrow... that I can work with. If my toaster were to suddenly burst into flames, and I had a mad-cap, Keystone Kops adventure extinguishing it, I could make you laugh about that -- unless the resulting blaze burned my entire kitchen down. Then we're back to the tenet, "Fire is not funny," no matter how much I humiliated myself. As in nature, there are certain laws of comedy you have to respect. Roasting marshmallows on the crackling, glowing corpse of a blind orphan? NOT FUNNY. Setting, say... those FreeCreditReport.Com guys on fire? As far as I'm concerned, that's gold and you should milk that for all it's worth.
But since minor "celebrities" haven't spontaneously combusted at my house this morning, I am still looking for something bad in my day to exploit. Currently, I got nothin', and that makes me sad. I am, generally speaking, one of the unluckiest people you will ever meet and whether it's falling down my own stairs or some jackass fertilizing my front yard, I can usually turn my unfortunate lot in life on its ear and make you laugh at me. I even went so far as to leave my house yesterday, hoping to that a piano would fall on me in the middle of the Hen House or somebody might say something desperately retarded to me. No dice. One of those "Sample Hucksters" that you find at the end of the aisle did foist a "fish taco" on me, and I foolishly believed things were looking up. Sadly, it was surprisingly tasty (although it was served on a Tostito Scoop -- which was weird -- and a strange aftertaste lingered on my breath that the cat found intriguing,) and I was once again robbed of my chance to turn a Meh Molehill into a Ha-Ha Mountain.
I was also hoping to hit pay dirt yesterday when I discovered the neighborhood children having what I will claim was a Scientology Meeting under my deck (even thugh it was nothing of the sort, but I'm reaching here, people. Work with me!) I yelled at them, in my best Spinster-In-Training Tone of Voice, "Hey, you kids! Get outta my yard!" and... they did. Immediately. The little bastards even apologized. There's no funny in that! Like "fire," polite and contrite children are a humor suck.
When my doorbell "donged" (it's missing it's "ding.") ten minutes later and I realized there was a parent at my front door, I got excited again. Surely, there would be an Idiot Exchange between us. But no! Once again, a polite apology was offered, accepted and we parted, cordially. I don't see us hanging out at block parties or getting drunk together so, all in all, it was a whole lotta nothing... again.
I suppose I could invent something to tickle you. I could make something up, press the barriers of Ridiculous and make you laugh, but I don't think I'd be very good at that and I think you would suspect I was lying to you. It's lamentable, really; the one time I need the FOWs to pull a stunt, or some jackass to fuck with me -- I get bupkis. Even my trips to Wal-Mart have been surprisingly low-key, lately. How is that fair and what am I doing wrong, I wonder? Sadly, I do not know, so I can't fix it.
The best "bad" I've had today was waking up at 5:45 AM. Birds aren't even awake at 5:45 AM. You know why?! Because birds have the sense God gave a goose... or, uh, something like that. But there I was, in The Den of Mayhem and Apathy (A/K/A: My Bedroom,) staring forlornly at the ceiling, thinking about how quiet things have been and having to pee. Since my bladder is no George Carlin, there's nothing really to tell. In spite of my advanced years, I don't have any sorts of conditions that would lend themselves to humor; I neither "leak," nor do I "gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now." Everything in that general vicinity is, as far as I know, functioning as it should be. Should my day go to pieces in a funny sort of way, I'll be sure to let you know, but for now, just know that everything is fine.
Damn it.
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