Believe In Anything And I
Daria: You know I stick my head in and read Poor Impulse Control sometimes.
Daria: Not for nothing, but you're blogging angry. How can you say you're so happy when you're so mad?
Tata: I've never been as happy in my whole life without expensive chemical enhancement, yes. On the other hand, there is a whole lot of very seriously bad shit going on in the world, which is bound to put a slight damper on my mood.
Daria: Yes, but you used to be funny.
Tata: I contend that I am in fact funny, current events are not. Hilarity is ensuing around the globe, only with bombs.
Daria: That's not so funny. Step it up, willya?
Because my sister Daria is the only person I've ever traded Friday and Saturday underpants with I will concede this point: I haven't been writing down Teh Funny. I apologize for falling down on the comedy job, which would be funny involving an ottoman if the Turks hadn't just recalled their ambassador. Since my other jobs include playing with my food and reading you the dictionary by flashlight, here's a tender but flaky ghost story fresh outta Merriam-Webster:
Inflected Form(s): plural in·sur·gen·cies
1: the quality or state of being insurgent; specifically : a condition of revolt against a government that is less than an organized revolution and that is not recognized as belligerency
Let's say for a second you're you, but you live where I live. Sorry about the pre-war wiring, but don't plug that in, hmm? Now let's move on. You live almost literally on the banks of the Raritan River.
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Yeah, that thing. Now, suppose some stern foreign authority bombs the shit out of New Brunswick, which happened a few hundred years ago and kind of a lot. The bombing eventually stops and tanks roll either up or down Route 1 and park on George Street. (Interesting coincidence: named for a former despot.) They say they're here to liberate you from your current despot while shooting your neighbors in the streets. The occupying army organizes a new government with the biggest suckups it can find. You have very limited electrity, little clean water and no gas. The garbage is never picked up because it could contain explosives. You risk your life each time you venture out for toilet paper and Snausages. You bury your dead relatives under the front lawn because funerals up the body count.
Maybe you keep your head low for a while. You're not a soldier and maybe you've never handled a weapon. The occupying army can't stay, right? The despot's pushing up daisies and armed gunmen have all the freedom they can eat. What do you do? Do you bet your survival on good behavior? No, in this hilarious setup, you eventually go all Viva Maria! and coffeepot radio, which is why I laugh until I cry whenever I hear a politician talk about defeating the Iraqi insurgency.
As a comedy writer, I can't compete with Dick Cheney and his utter misapprehension of human nature. Now, that's funny.
Labels: History Will Eat Itself