Stages of Funny

I’m only funny on paper.

Though I suppose I should say I am much funnier on paper.

It’s true. Unless I’m doing my roadrunner impression for you (which I won’t, unless you’re my Dad) or quoting Aqua Teen Hunger Force (which I won’t, unless you’re not my Dad) I’m really not very funny.

It’s shocking, I know, but it’s the truth. In real life rather than being witty, throwing out zinger after zinger and dazzling you with my one-liner capabilities, I mostly just awkwardly mumble to myself and daydream about Jesse Eisenberg and why he should be in every movie ever.

(I love that man.)

If my “in-person” presence does inspire a few laughs, it’s usually because I’ve just knocked myself out with my door or asked my father if he thinks I’m cool. (Do laughs still count if they are at you and not with you? In this case, yes.)

I suppose I am exaggerating slightly. People I have known for a looooong time (an extra “O” is added for each year of our friendship) are able to enjoy my own personal brand of sarcasmic glory, but the average person isn’t as blessed (unless they follow my blog, in which case I am sorry. So very sorry).

To drive my point home, I will explain further.
(Obviously. My blog is hardly known for mincing words, especially when those words are about me. Boy-oh-boy do I love to write about myself. And about LOLCats … I really do love to write about LOLCats. But NOT as much as I love to write about myself …)

See, my humour comes in two stages:

Stage One: Reserved, quiet Sarah makes the occasional clever observation about her surroundings. This is usually heard as a mumble and is followed by a stammer and a blush. If the witness is lucky, some physical humour in the form of tripping or a snort will follow.

Stage Two: Overly Enthusiastic Sarah scares her audience with a barrage of lame jokes, comic book and pop culture references, more lame jokes, sarcastic comments, EVEN MORE lame jokes and far-too-many run on sentences. This is usually followed by jazz hands or an awkward attempt (and subsequent failure) of the Robot.

There is no in between. The switch from Stage One to Stage Two is not gradual and will come without warning. At first it will be entertaining, but then it will grate on you like that strobe light you thought was a great buy back in grade 7.

Now, to end this post as awkwardly and abruptly as possible, I will finish with the following:
No matter which stage of my humour you are subjected to, you will find yourself agreeing with my original statement.

I am much funnier on paper.

One thought on “Stages of Funny

  1. You defeated your opening premise that you are “only funny on paper” with your closing line that you are “much funnier on paper”… thereby implying that you are also funny elsewhere. I agree… you are very funny in person…as evidenced by the fact that your Dad is usually in stitches moments after you enter the room!
    (I realize that could be taken the wrong way… but it’s meant to be nice!)
    How about trying stand-up comedy after a few Toastmaster sessions?

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