This is making me think about the whole nature of humor. Sometimes it's gentle and brings a little giggle or a delightful kind of sigh that is just feel good. Sometimes it cuts and (to me anyway) is totally un-funny. Sometimes it cuts and makes me have to wrap my arms around my ribs to keep the laughter from bruising them. I have no clue what the difference is. And there's nothing like that laughter that keeps bubbling back up after I think I've finally gotten it suppressed.
I have two favorite jokes. Nobody seems to think they're as funny as I do (though the first one is Daniel Pinkwater's Test for Humor Impairment): Q: What does a dyslexic agnostic insomniac do? A: Sits up all night wondering if there really is a doG.
Once a baby boy was born. Everything seemed normal until his penis started to grow and didn't stop until it was 25 inches long. This caused the poor guy enormous pain, and he set out trying to find a way to normalize his situation. He went to the local wise man who told him that he needed to go to a wise woman on a mountain. By this time, our young man was in so much pain that he was thinking about renting a wheelbarrow or anything that would support his penis, and, therefore, lesson the pain. But being dedicated to finding a solution, he took off on his way to the wise woman on her mountain. When he got there, he approached her and explained his situation. She told him that he needed to go back down the mountain to a pond with a large lily pad. A magical frog lived there who would help him, she said. He is to approach her from the west side of the pond and with great respect and say, "Frog, will you marry me?" The frog, he's told, will show great boredom and disgust and say "No." He'll feel a tingling sensation, then the size of his problem will go down by five inches.
Our poor lad is in so much pain at this point that this makes about as much sense as anything. He wraps twine loosely around the outside of his pants for support, and that lessens the pain a bit, but there are tear streaming out of his eyes. All he can think of is that he has to find something to give him some relief. So, he takes off back down the hill to find the west side of the pond. He's wondering if he can rent a wheel barrow - anything to lessen the pressure. Finally he comes to the pond, and by now, the foolishness of his quest has become pretty clear. Still, he did get his instructions from the wise woman, and he will try. He circles the pond to the west, and the lily pad becomes clear through his tears. He stands on the bank biting his tongue to even the pain a bit.
He contemplates his options and realizes he has none. In a shaky voice he asks, "Frog, will you marry me?" The frog is not amused. In the most bored voice he's ever heard, she says, "No." The humiliation of having his proposal turned down by a frog is almost more than he can bear, but he feels the tingling the wise woman told him about, and he can even watch as he gets smaller under his pants. The humiliation leaves instantly, and his voice strengthens with relief and joy. "Frog, will you marry me?" The tingling again, and his penis is ten inches smaller. Life suddenly starts to seem livable, and he doesn't care if somebody is selling tickets to see the fool propose to the frog. "Frog, will you marry me?" He calls out? The frog looks at him with utter contempt and says nothing.
Suddenly our young man is in agony again. He's so close to the possibility of living without this intense pain that he has to try his hardest to get there. "Frog," he demands, "will you marry me?" The frog adjusts herself on the lily pad and smirks. The man nearly snaps. He sits down on the shore and picks up rocks and throws them into the pond at his feet just to get some relief from his excitement and rage. When he's calmed himself a bit, he whines, "Frog will you marry me?" If a frog can show contempt, this one does. She looks at the man and shakes her head. "How many times do I have to tell you?" she says in scorn. "No. No. No."
