My Sense Of Humor

Let’s just say it’s different from a lot of people’s. Sometimes I go too far. Some people don’t think I’m that funny. But thank goodness my friends all share a similar sense of humor and I only offend them half of the time. Think of how far you’d go with a crude joke, then stop as you start feeling guilty. Now imagine going five times further. Here I am! *waving*

Sometimes it’s more weird than crude. My theme parties so far since I’ve had my house have been:

1.     Housewarming Party: all food had to be in the shape of balls. I made melon balls and mac & cheese balls. Someone brought a cheese ball with a cracker weenie. You get the picture. Good times.

2.     Unfortunate Looking Food: I got the idea by seeing the meatloaf baby. You haven’t seen the meatloaf baby? Go google image. I promise you won’t be disappointed. One of my friends actually brought a meatloaf baby. One brought a chocolate cake with real chicken feet sticking out of it and called it, “Chicken Graveyard Happy Springtime” and had translated it in to Chinese. Some of my friends go that extra mile. I made guacamole colored to look like poo.

3.     Ghetto Gourmet: where you were supposed to take something that was not so great like a rice krispie treat, and elevate it to gourmet status. OR you could take something yummy and make it ghetto. I made jalapeno poppers with smoked gouda and chorizo. One friend brought browned butter rosemary rice krispie treats. Another brought hot dog empanadas. There was also a casserole with that squirty pancake batter, french fries, chicken nuggets, and American cheese slices. I did not try that one, but everyone who did said it was a huge hit.

So while you think you’re clever with your tired ass ugly holiday sweater parties, and luau parties, I’ll be having friends over making crude jokes about going to the bathroom and burying hookers.

I have a girlfriend who used to cooperate with me in making people stop mid-asinine conversation. Whenever people were talking loudly about things that were totally uninteresting, we would start a conversation in earshot about fisting. It would go something like this:

Her: Yeah, but the last time I got fisted he tried to do it without lube. I mean, c’mon!

Me: You still need lube? If you have him do it like this, it shouldn’t be a problem. *making hand in to position to show how to insert, then make in to fist after insertion.*

The conversation would go on like this until the asinine conversation next to us had stopped, ‘cause they were staring at us in disbelief. SWEET VICTORY!

I had a conversation two days ago about doing a video series about the world’s politest rapist. We were arguing over whether to make him British. I said no, he should just have an old Hollywood accent, and be wearing a vest. My friend then said that he should only rape men ‘cause it wouldn’t be polite to rape the fairer sex. I then said, “That wouldn’t be as funny. Lady rape is way funnier. Yes, I just said that sentence.” After I uttered it I spent a millisecond wondering if I had even gone too far even for me. Then I quickly realized no.

Sometimes my sense of humor isn’t outlandish, it’s just weird. I had a friend tell me about having a dream where she was abducted by one of her clients who wanted to make a skin suit out of her, but she got away on my bike. My bike is a Schwinn Pea Picker named Soupy. (Yes, I name my bikes. Don’t you?)

I responded, “Did Soupy save you?” She said yes. I responded, “I always knew he was a hero.” Then we talked about how we both want to get Tom Selleck tattoos that say, “I hella party” underneath. Because I go to bed before 10 most nights, and I love Tom Selleck.

Happy picture of the day: my fruit bowl. Because it's pretty, and it holds things that help keep me healthy.