Wit, and the recognition of same


Sometimes, my dry delivery of my jokes can cause them to go unnoticed, or worse, misinterpreted.

I may have spoken of some of these before. If I did, well, tough.

See? That was supposed to be funny.

Stace and Brian, the people who spend more time with me than anyone beside the people in my head, always have to check to see if I’m kidding. Now, consider. If THEY can’t figure it out is it any wonder that other people can’t? Certainly explains the (over)reaction when they asked me after I woke up from my coma what state I live in and I responded Confusion. That haunted me for months after I went to rehab.  Rehab, where they kept telling me to be patient.  I said I WAS a patient, that was the PROBLEM.

Granted, sometimes I come out with lines that no one in the current group I’m in has any hope of understanding.  There are times I make Trek or D&D or some other reference around people that have no idea what any of those things are.  That’s okay.  But then, there are times that aren’t so esoteric.

Once, when I was taking a month of karate to get Brian a star pin, (eventually I should post a picture of that thing) there was a woman in the class wearing a Math Olympics shirt, with a list of all the Mathletes on the back.  During the time before class when everyone was stretching, I remarked that I’d wanted to get on the math team in school, but opinion was divided as to whether I’d be a good addition to the group.  She started talking about how she enjoyed her time with her group.  The joke circled around for about thirty seconds, then dive bombed into the mat.

Then there was the time, when I was still working at the track, there was a horse named Little Red Corvette.  The host chose him(her?  I think it was a him, but who cares?) in the morning show.  I made a crack about the horse being much too fast.  The host, not being a Prince fan, didn’t catch it.  I didn’t make the Trojan joke after.

There are a couple times that the connection between one of my jokes and recognition is the most gossamer of threads.  Once I wore my Dad’s Notre Dame jacket to work.  Someone asked if I went there, and if I knew some food place near there.  I said it didn’t ring a bell.  You know, bell?  Quasimodo?  Notre Dame?  Yeah. Not one of my easier attempts.

 

 

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~ by Sean on May 14, 2014.

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