Learn To Be Funny With These 742 Easy Tips!

Public speaking is a racket. I am nearly certain that the very instant a certain particular breed of human being overcame their innate and rightful fear of standing up and talking in front of large groups of strangers, the vocations of politician and comedian were born, forever changing the manner in which the vast majority of our species would be led and/or entertained. And for those who had neither the ability to lead nor make people laugh, but still had a knack for orating without fear, the more mundane avenue of informative public speaking began to claw its way into being.

Be it religious caterwauling or the latest symposium on the current influx of the dung beetle into the ecosystem of the Great Plains, public speaking has found a comfortable niche in society, filling a certain void left by a shortage of decent comedians, silver-tongued politicians and quality summer re-runs on the television.

Before profitable public speaking made its way into the mainstream, it cut its profitable teeth on the college circuit, with universities in the glory days of College Public Speaking paying big dollars to aging film icons, such as Groucho Marx, who had gained a late-life resurgence in popularity, to take the stage, share witty anecdotes and field questions from stoned college-aged fans.

Mark Twain famously used a series of public speaking engagements at the turn of the century to not only bail himself out of extreme financial hardship caused by horrible business investments, but to also facilitate a few weeks of relaxing travel on a luxury intercontinental steamship. Savvy. So it began.

But I digress. Now, it has blossomed into a cottage-industry which seemingly has no bounds in terms of subject or audience.

Recently (well, last year - perhaps the year before... Time passes so quickly these days), I had the opportunity to attend an hour and a half presentation on storytelling. It was aimed for salespeople and business folk that would perhaps appreciate a little insight on the art of conversing with a client or colleague in a delightful, colorful manner. It was all fine and dandy until the jacket and tie-wearing huckster threw out the nugget that being funny could be taught. I was roused from the semi-doze to which I had succumbed, mentally fatigued from the internal battle that was being waged in my brain on whether I would have a salad for lunch, or drive over to Wendy's for a Single With Cheese, Fries and a small Frosty (after all, I'm not an animal - a large Frosty would be nothing more than a deep-knee-bend curtsy to my lizard brain). Wait, I thought. What's that you say? Funny can be taught? Well, this was a preposterous notion as far as I was concerned and I had to restrain myself from bursting out with a hearty "the fuck you say!" After all, he was being paid a courtly sum to lecture us on public speaking and I was but a non-paying, presumably appreciative attendee.

But this curveball wound me up inside in a manner that made me feel most uncomfortable. Not only could funny be taught, you could purchase his thin, overpriced, self-published paperback (and I know thin, self-published paperbacks), which would show you in a few easy, repeatable steps how to be a fully-functional, witty, public-speaking smoothy, entrancing audiences around the country - nay, the world - and be highly paid to do so.

I looked around me and observed that no one else in the room was engulfed in a similar outrage to my own - in fact, most seemed relatively engaged and some even nodded their heads in agreement with this outlandish notion. I folded my arms in front of me and smoldered for the rest of the session and left as quickly as I could, turning my nose up at the table of thin, overpriced, self-published paperbacks. I returned to my place in front of my computer monitor with its colorful spreadsheets and documents, but I felt distracted. I turned to my co-worker across the aisle, who was not distracted and had resumed whatever tasks that consumed her day with apparently no lingering disgust at the idea that funny could be learned.

I was not to be distracted alone, so I intruded into her business with the question, "Do you think that being funny can be taught?" She shrugged. "Why not?" "Why not???" I asked. "Well," she said. "I think most things can be taught, right?" She outlined her opinion that one could be taught how to tell a joke. "You could write the joke, teach them where to pause and they could learn how to tell the joke in a funny way..." I highly disagreed.

There are formulas in humor. Gags can be written around the classic triad - something repeated twice, to establish pattern, with a twist thrown in on the third repetition. Hilarity ensues - everyone feels smart at the expense of our comedic foil. There are setups, situations and payoffs. Comedy can indeed be written, in fact some of the best comedy performances are written by someone other than the performer.

But there is a reason those writers aren't performing the acts in most cases-  because the funny people are.  Funny is in the bones. Funny is in the manner with which the performer elevates the written material, transforms it into something relatable and ironic. A facial expression, a tone of voice, a quick trigger that allows the audience into the mind of the performer and transforms a written sentence or an improvised thought into comedic gold. For that one moment, often built on a flimsy idea or flight of whimsy, the thought turns funny.

Personally, I have had the tremendous good fortune to know a handful of people with funny bones. These people have left my stomach sore and my jaws aching from hours of unbridled joy and laughter. Their turn of phrase and ability to take the most inane of conversations and turn them into a colorful, often ribald tale of misfortune, blasphemy or outrageous consequence have given me hours and hours of wonderful memories.

Funny is in the bones and if I had thought of it, I would have followed our intrepid speaker to the parking lot and given him a humorous thrashing for insinuating otherwise. So, my conclusion is this - funny cannot be taught. A person is funny or they are not. There are those that fall somewhere in the middle and they mostly host parties in their homes. But if funny cannot be taught, I'll bet there is a handsome living to be made traveling around the country - nay, the world - talking about it. Hopefully by someone with funny bones.

When I Am King (for sure...)

Well, it is that time again. Time to write in yours truly, Jerald Ford for King of America. With the filthiest, most polarizing Presidential campaign in recent memory currently underway (although, as yet neither of our candidates have accused the other of cannibalism, as John Quincy Adams fervently declared of Andrew Jackson in 1828 - then again, the campaign is still young), I feel it only fair that I throw my hat into the ring. Not as President, however. As King.

As a kind and benevolent King ("Monarchy results from the wish of a society—be it a city population, tribe, or multi-tribal people—to groom an indigenous leader who will properly represent its historical goals and advance its interests." - that's me), I would like to continue the use of the Presidential office to run the day-to-day matters of our country, with all major decisions, of course coming across my elegant, palatial desk for the Royal Thumbs-Up.

While my President keeps the trains running on time, the budget in order and the foreign policy fair and equitable, I will turn my Kingly attention to the really important things, like restoring music and art programs to our public schools, making a secondary education affordable for all the Kingdom, keeping the youth of our great nation aware of the importance of welders, mechanics and carpenters to the economy and paying them in kind. We (being the Royal "We") will immediately enact a Kingdom-wide law swapping the salaries of lawyers and teachers and another for the mandatory installation of cell-phone blockers into all automobiles.

Motorcyclists will no longer be able to pass between lanes of traffic and all automatic weaponry will be turned in to police and government agencies (because, seriously?), once again giving law-enforcement (all branches of which will be subjected to a rigorous, consistent nationwide training program) the upper hand in the pursuit of justice. Black market sales of these weapons will be harshly punished to the point that the weapons will be unaffordable for insane people with limited budgets. It's a start. Don't worry about cost - it will come from the cutting of legislative salaries. Senators and Congressmen will be paid the same as lawyers. And term limits, because fuck that. Marijuana will also be legalized, because seriously?

As the King, I will strictly oversee the election of our President. Campaigns will concentrate solely on the platforms of the candidates. We will hear what their intentions are, how they will be carried out and the expected results of these policies. The polices and platforms will then be explained so that every citizen can understand them. That should take up most of the campaign time. Any mention of any other candidates will be forbidden. Candidate A is not Candidate B's business. Ever. If Candidate A calls Candidate B "a tit", Candidate A is immediately removed from the race and his salary immediately gets cut to that of a lawyer. There can be up to five candidates, because 5 is my favorite number. If Candidate D suggests that Candidate A is a cannibal, Candidate D will be slaughtered, butchered and prepared by his staff (whose salary will immediately be cut to that of a lawyer) and served up at a lawyers meeting. That should put things in order pretty quickly.

I may have to run things on my own for awhile, until I can put my new Royal Policies into place, but expect quick results once I get rolling. It's a write-in vote, so print legibly and remember - have your pet spayed or neutered, just for the fun of it.

The Birth of Arbitrarianism

This is the logo for my new religion. I call it Arbitrarianism and it operates under the assumption that life is arbitrary and death is even arbitrarier. I will design some fancy robes, arbitrarily and find an arbitrary fancy hat. People can donate money to support the cause, arbitrarily, of course and I will receive many arbitrary tax breaks. 2016 will be The Year of the Arbitrary. Mugs and tee-shirts adorned with the logo will be forthcoming.

You see, I truly believe that life is indeed a series (some series longer than others, of course) of arbitrary events strung together. It is these events that give us our memories and our hopes and help us make the seemingly logical choices we make. At the end, or sometimes in the middle (it's up to you - it's arbitrary), we can try to make sense of it all and provide logic and lineal thinking and sum the events up in a handy fashion in a document, or a film, or just in our minds - the options are endless - and remove the arbitrariosity from them to create a timeline that makes utter and irrefutable sense. This makes us feel sane and secure and safe from the Winds of Arbitrarity.

As far as a physical church, I have not made a decision on the means of worship. Worship is a little strong - I prefer "discussion". We can talk about whatever. Whether to do it online, via blog or in a physical building, like a coffee shop, saloon or maybe a comedy club, I have not decided. Maybe I'll flip a coin. If it does turn out that we will be meeting in person in our colorful robes and hats, I guarantee we will not drink cheap wine and eat stale crackers during the process. We will eat Keebler's Fudge Stripe cookies and drink Blue Moon beer, with an orange garnish. And they will not symbolize the body and blood of the savior, they will represent instead, cookies and beer.

We will still celebrate Christmas - we're not animals, after all - but some years we will call it "Gift Day". And Easter will be renamed "Zombie Jesus Day" regardless. Passover seems too complicated - we may just call it "Meh". I have come up with a list of 11 (the number was pulled out of a hat) Arbitrary Commandments, listed below in no particular order, of course:

6: Try not to kill each other.
9: Eat Cake.
4: Don't dismiss the ideas of others.
1: No hitting.
10: Drive fast, but safely.
7: Be kind to animals.
2: Don't rape. Ever. That's what makes Bill Cosby suck.
8: Be nice to kids when possible,
5: Laugh.
3: Make decisions.
11: Some things go to 11. Not all, don't judge.

I am sure I need some sort of organization, but really, what's point? I welcome you all to embrace The Arbitrary and climb aboard. Remember to write-in vote Jerald Ford for King in the upcoming elections. It would be the arbitrary choice to make.

John Lennon - the Skinny

Happy birthday, John Lennon. You would have been 74 years old today and that would have been a delight. At least I hope so. Little Paulie has had a couple of good moments since 1980,the year you died, though admittedly most of his greatest solo moments had come long before 1980, most notably "Band On the Run".  Ringo's last good album was 1973's "Ringo" (most imaginative album title ever), which contained some of the most impressive sales numbers of any of the post-Beatle Fabs and George only hit paydirt with The Traveling Wilburys in the mid-80's many years after his "All Things Must Pass" accolades the year after the Beatles called it quits.


This brings me to John Lennon's solo career. I was quite sad when Lennon died in December, 1980, along with a few billion other fans. We were indignant that our acerbic little Beatle had been taken from us in his prime, post-Beatles, eager to explore the musical harvest that was his to take.


That said, John Lennon's post-Beatle work had thus far proven inconsequential and of little excitement. "Imagine" had been a pretty song, relaying political catchphrases in a melodic manner that lulled us all into a giddy musical effervescence, thinking that perhaps the thoughts of peace might bring about a world of peace. A great 1971 hippie anthem. Nothing ever came of it, however, but John persevered with "Mind Games", shouting the "Mind Guerilla" from the mountaintops. Not a chart topper, but well-meaning, if lazy songwriting. Three chords, til death do us part... I personally enjoyed "#9 Dream" with its "ABOWAKOWA-POSE POSE" refrain but again, I could write a hit song if all that mattered was a melody and some mumbled Apache paraphrasing.


After a brief hiatus, John reemerged with "Walls and Bridges", which was also an exercise in medicocrity, save for "Whatever Gets You Through The Night", the sole chart breaking number, featuring the red-hot Elton John kicking the keys and providing the energy needed to propel this lively dirge to the top of the charts. At this point, we were so hungry for any new Lennon material, we would have sent "Oh, Yoko" to the top ten. (Just kidding!)


Lennon took a much-needed break after Walls and Bridges and spent the next five years raising his son Sean, baking bread and smoking French cigarettes. When he finally emerged from his seclusion in 1979 to record "Walls and Bridges", the world was once again eager and hungry for new Lennon material. He delivered a 50's retread in "(It's Just Like) Starting Over" and the ballad "Woman", a bit of treacle written for the shrew who had stolen been his muse since 1969.  We lapped it up greedily and all too soon thereafter, he was taken from us forever by a crazed douchebag who many wish would be set free on the streets for our own cathartic target practice.


I would like to think that Lennon's work would have matured and been an inspiration to us all and live up to the high praise that the artist, gunned down in prime has garnered. However, using a complicated math theorem and some calculus, paired with some kickass analog stereo gear and a set of vintage BOSS headphones, I have come to the conclusion that John, of all the Beatles, would have had the most disappointing solo career of all.


McCartney went on to produce "Band on the Run" and George became a spiritual icon, a humble rock and roll statesman admired by all, producing some great work as well as Monty Python's "Life of Brian", which gave him everlasting sainthood amongst those who cared. Ringo had his hits early and cashed out and at one point would be noted to being willing to "attend the opening of an envelope" for a free drink and a press clipping. Lennon, however burdened and martyred by the presence of Yoko Ono and four inopportune bullets, had never lived up to the potential of "I Am The Walrus", "Strawberry Fields Forever" or even "In My Life" and I see nothing in his solo work to indicate that he might have done so.


I am not saying that he was shot because of his lack of musical inspiration in his later days, but if I was the attorney for the dildo who shot him... Just sayin'. We'll never know. Happy birthday, John - I wish you'd been around for the ride.