‘You Cannot be Serious!’

After almost 21 years of writing this weekly humor column, I’m surprised that I still receive email notes from readers who don’t understand the whole point of my essays. These notes often complain that I “made light of a serious topic,” or I was “too sarcastic and disrespectful” toward an important person, or my comments were “embarrassingly immature.” 

Now, regarding that last complaint, I really can’t disagree. I often tell people that I am living proof that youth is fleeting but immaturity can last forever. Years ago, I assumed that once I became a gray haired grandpa I would no longer find flatulence jokes funny nor dangle pencils from my nostrils while posing for family photographs. But, to many of my loved ones’ chagrin, I still find both of those things hilarious. Even at funerals.

This weekly column is simply a reflection of the fact that my sense of humor was formed during the 6th grade and never noticeably matured over the subsequent half-century. My essays were never intended to be a deep exploration of current societal issues. 

Look at it this way: if the entire newspaper is the food pyramid — with all the important components of a nutritious diet — then my column is nothing more than a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. That is, it’s a Peanut Butter Cup IF you think it’s entertaining. If you think it’s foolish, then at best my column is that stale, hard candy your grandmother offered you in 1966, which she received as a Christmas gift just before the start of World War II. (Those were the only times in my life I turned down candy — candy being another thing I mistakenly thought I would outgrow by the time I became a senior citizen.)

Whether you find this column clever or stupid, whether it’s a tasty Peanut Butter Cup or an awful piece of fossilized sugar, it is still nothing more than candy. It is not, and never will be protein, fruits, vegetables, grains, or legumes. (Hmm, I’m not sure I know what legumes are.) These essays will never be somber and urgent analyses of important news topics. That’s not what they hired me to do back in the spring of 2001. 

Furthermore, if an editor assigned me to cover a school board meeting and write a serious report about it for the next day’s edition, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’d probably get kicked out of the meeting halfway through for dangling pencils from my nostrils. (Which I suppose is better than another recently popular way of being removed from school board meetings: getting dragged out by cops after punching a board member.)

Anyway, what is the point of this essay today? Well, I’m glad you asked. The whole point of this essay is that I am obligated to provide at least 600 words each and every week, and I discovered around 2004 that sending in 600 random words from the dictionary is not what the editors had in mind. (You can always tell when I’m struggling to reach that word quota when I ask a rhetorical question and then type, “Well, I’m glad you asked.”)

I do appreciate feedback from readers, and to be honest, the majority of comments are positive. Although some make me pause and mutter, “Wow, and I thought I was immature.” But for the folks who did not notice that the name of this column, “A Matter of Laugh or Death,” is supposed to send the message: “This is not serious!” I just want to say that, um, this is not serious.

And now that I’ve reached 600 words, it’s time to celebrate with a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Or two. Or twelve.