Anything can be funny, but not everything is. My aim on my internet postings here on this blog, and on the Twitter feed that also appears here, is to sift through the shit that comes at me and spin it in to humor using a selective memory, salty language and an extreme hatred of the entire Billy Joel music catalogue. After a recent Twitter post highlighting the most likely enlarged vaginal size of some Arkansas cum-bucket that just had her 18th child, I received a note from a “offended” reader.
According to my fan turned critic, I was guilty of “locker room mentality” in describing “the lord’s greatest gift”. This person also felt that I need to get my ideas from somewhere else other than the “bottom of a whiskey bottle” and should attempt to find new guidance by discovering the Bible. There is additional consultation, but at the risk of looking like a Zagat review, I will pull the plug on the quotation parade.
What stuns me is that it took this long to agitate someone. Jokes, punchlines and comedy are in my mind, confrontations-much in the same way punk music confronts-to inspire action. In effect it’s laugh or walk and I am under the impression that all of my followers on Twitter and my readers and subscribers to this blog find what I have to say pretty fucking funny. Humor, for the most part, should hurt somebody. This bullshit about not laughing at someone, but laughing with someone is only for the axe-wounds who obey the speed limits in construction zones, give-but never take-a-penny and our puritan objector protagonist. Humor is a force, and the momentum and inertia established by something funny has to leave a mark- physical, mental or metaphysical. I want to leave a mark.
Although my naysayer had the tact to contact me about their dissention privately, I feel I owe it to myself and everyone else here at the rodeo to ride this bull in front of all the paying customers:
Dear Sniveler,
I don’t need your help, but if you insist, let me respond to your revisions to my idea of what is humor by saying that ALL good things come from the bottom of a whiskey bottle, most importantly the top of a new bottle. I broadcast under the title Boozecoma, so it is whiskey, scotch, rum, tequila, vodka and cough syrup that we have to thank for my comedic clarity brought about under cloudy conditions. That point that you seem to be missing is you cannot have 18 children without the magic of booze! Using it to grease the wheels of love or to drown out the everlasting din of enough children to complete the 2 full baseball teams, alcohol is a friend here. As far as the birth of a child being a gift, I can say that a gift becomes a doorstop after you get the same one 7 or 8 times in a row. After 18, you need to think about re-gifting or possibly changing some items on the gift registry from “babies” to “condoms” or “vasectomy.” I will not cower to your Bible suggestions and threats. The Bible and “The Eagles Greatest Hits” are the same thing in my mind: They are the top sellers in their medium and they consist of mythological imagery that you would only buy into because you are too afraid to think for yourself. However if you wish to live in a world where religious and puritan finger pointing take the place of facts and logic, I shall be forced to go to the town elders and report you as a witch.
I hope you can float.
McClellan
Boozecoma.com 