I Dunno

I was in the kitchen at work today, getting a glass of water, when one of my coworkers wandered up. We nodded to each other and he paused.

“I read your blog yesterday,” he said. “It’s so weird. You’re like a real person and you’re standing there and I’m thinking ‘What the hell is wrong with his head?’”

I considered punching him, but frankly, I need all the readers I can get.

“Just out of curiosity,” he continued. “Where do you get your ideas?”

Ah, the ‘ideas’ question. It’s one of the top 5 questions I get asked. The others include:

‘What’s that smell?’

‘What are you doing on/in my lawn/roof/swimming pool/bathroom?’

‘Are those real?’

‘Why are you touching that credenza and where are your pants?’

Every writer gets asked the ‘ideas’ question and every writer has the same answer: ‘I dunno.’ The question is kind of surprising, as we assume everyone hears the voic- has ideas.

Actually, I’m lying. All writers lie when they get this question. If we started telling people where we got our ideas, everyone would be doing it and then where would we be? Well, we’d still be here, obviously, there’d just be a hell of a lot more writers.

Still, for you, my loyal readers, I’m going to reveal where I get my ideas. Wait for it! And go!

In the early 1900s, the US government decided to investigate the causes and nature of humor. Thus, they assembled a crack team of scientists, comedians, and several very intelligent dogs to study the problem. The team was isolated in a small hotel in the Catskills, where they were provided with the cutting edge of research technology. Granted, this was the 1900s, so all they had were some microscopes, a faded bandanna, several fancy spoons, and a large quantity of beer.

After nearly 3 years of continuous hangovers, the team finally emerged bearing a beaker containing a single, glowing particle. The particle, called a ‘humoron,’ was purely concentrated humor. It was so powerful, merely getting within ten feet of it caused people to break out in puns. Actually touching the beaker caused observational comedy so keen, anyone within hearing distance would actually bleed from their ears. No one dared touch the actual particle itself.

The government, of course, kept the humoron under lock and key for over forty years, until an accident involving two chimpanzees, a pound of lard, a monocle, a box of cookies, and a boy scout uniform broke the container where the humoron was kept. The humoron fell out and shattered, scattering its component particles across the entirely of the world. Occasionally, some lands on something, be it a dog, a rock, a scratched CD, or even, a person. And that thing, be it animal, vegetable, or mineral, is then endowed with the gift of humor. This is not particularly useful for the vegetables, minerals, or most of the animals, but the humans, dolphins, and meerkats seem to enjoy it.

Wait. Was it the humoron or the gnomes? Now I can’t remember . . .

Actually, in retrospect, ‘I dunno’ seems like a good enough answer.

Cheers,
-Jason

All Things Venomous Part 1

I am glad I live in the US. This is not for the usual reasons, but simply because there is a marked lack of venomous things that will kill you. You see, I occasionally watch the Animal and Discovery Channels and have learned that the rest of the world is full of creatures that are amazingly, incredibly dangerous.

Vietnam, for example, has something like 31 species of snakes. 29 of which are poisonous. Do not quote me on this (actually, go ahead, I will never know), as I was busy checking under my sofa for cobras when this was mentioned. I did not find any cobras, though I did find a dust bunny. I beat it to death with a mace, just to be safe.

Yes, I own a mace.

Now, some of you may think that I do not like snakes. Let me say that I do not hate snakes. I do not particularly like them either. I have a live-and-please-do-not-bite-me attitude as far as they are concerned.

I have known a number of people that had pet snakes and I do not get that. Snakes do not have feelings and cannot love you. I do not care if you kiss it on the snout and call it Pookey-Bear. To the snake, you are simply a meal that is currently too large to eat. Think about it. What if you were the pet of a giant, 20-foot hamburger? You would not spend your days scampering around its feet. You would instead simply want to eat it. If you are a vegan or vegetarian, insert the appropriate 20-foot foodstuff to complete the metaphor.

Tune in tomorrow for Part 2 to learn about Africa and the various things there that will kill you.