|Laughing Yoga; the only thing dumberer than this blog. Oops sorry, it appears nothing's dumberer than this blog.|
I SO want to be a comedian. I want to do something creative and funny with my life. Something funnier than going to school to be a computer animator and ending up as a plumber, or wanting to be a writer while simultaneously being the worst punctuator in history, both of which, aren't really funny they're more pathetic, or dare I say... ironic, or I would say that if I were Alanis Morissette circa 1990-something, which I'm not, so you can stop with the rumors, we don't look anything alike, ok maybe just a little but I'm taller and have much nicer legs, and besides why do you care if a then thirty year old plumber decides to moonlight as a Canadian pop-star and take the world by storm with raw emotional power, a naughty mouth, and rebellious yet melodious riffs? But I digress.
|Not a plumber. Probably.|
My point is. I would love to be a comedian, but I'm just not quick enough. All the famous comedians can boast of their Improv backgrounds, where they are presented with situations and they respond with comedic genius without missing a beat. My brain doesn't work that way. I think of the perfect humorous response to any situation, approximately half and hour or ten miles after it occurred, where I invariably exclaim "that's what I should've said" and collapse in waves of self laughter. (A thought ocurs; aforementioned could be the reason for my astounding large amount of traffic accidents; need to look into that.)
Thinking of the funny thing to say when I am no longer in the humorous situation isn't funny to anybody else but me. And I'm not rich enough to pay myself to make myself laugh, so until I am rich enough, I need to find another way.
All my attempts at time travel have been unsuccessful, otherwise I could just zap into the past and hear the joke and then zoom forward to the present after a short jaunt into the distant future where I keep my joke writing study, and after a finely crafted joke is delivered I could be the new crown prince of laughter. But alas.
|...and then I'll say. Grandma's on the roof! Hahahaha.|
If I was telepathic, I would know what joke or situation would be presented, and I would have time to come up with a witty retort. But unfortunately I'm as telepathic as fresh roadkill; I don't even know where this current essay is headed and I'm writing this drivel.
I suppose I could kill the audience and cast after I heard the set-up to the scene, and then when I had a polished masterpiece I could revive them all and they would be astounded by my brilliance. But my life imbuing skills are a little nonexistent. Last time I took a CPR class, I managed to "kill" every Resusci-Anne doll at the Red Cross building. They made me promise to not, under any circumstance, ever, EVER, attempt to help save someones life. Ever. Guess that's out.
So I've come up with the latest innovation in Improv. The audience or the other actors tell me what's going to happen. And then I'll go and write up some funny stuff, and then I'll hire a better looking me to play me, and then we'll practice and storyboard and refine and then after several short lunar cycles, as long as everything goes exactly to plan and nobody deviates from the script, I will take the world by storm with my mad improv skills!
|"So funny. Almost like somebody wrote his lines. And yet somehow spontaneous as well."|