I think we all know humor is
objective. What I think is funny, you may find utterly stupid. According to
Wikipedia—and we know they are the experts in all things—humor is based on a number of variables such as age,
geographical location, intelligence and possibly gender. I would amend that to
say absolutely gender, since my
husband enjoys physical humor (slapstick, pratfalls, etc.) while I crack up at
satire.
Here’s an example: I just read a hilarious
book by Dave Barry titled Insane City. The
loony plot involves a destination wedding in Miami, Florida. The groom, Seth,
and his Groom Posse get wasted and Seth somehow ends up with a Cuban girl and
her friend, Duane, who has a eleven foot albino python named Blossom. When they
attempt to get into a taxi, the driver says, “No snakes!” to which Duane
replies, “But she’s a service snake.” This struck me as hilariously funny. In fact,
days later, it still makes me giggle. But when I related it to my husband, he
gave the obligatory chuckle, “Heh, heh, heh.” This alerted me to the fact that,
to him, it was only mildly humorous. What?
How could he not think that was funny? That thought remained unspoken.
Then, I remembered the last
time he laughed his cute little buns off. It was a Cheech and Chong movie. The
two were in Mexico and Cheech ate tacos made with an unidentifiable meat
source. You already know the result. In order to counteract the inevitable
Montezuma’s Revenge, he slurps up an ice cream cone. The part that made hubby
roll on the floor? Cheech, butt cheeks clenched, running for a bathroom and
yelling, “Come on, ice cream!”
Okay, kind of funny, but not service snake funny. Maybe that’s why I
almost cried when Gary Larson quit drawing The
Far Side. I own all his books, every sketch he ever made and still enjoy
them. Yet, I know people who shrug their shoulders and say, “I don’t get it.” I
don’t hang out with those people. Life’s too short.
So, what makes you laugh?