I have a Weird Sense of Humor
I love to laugh. Out loud. Even when I'm alone. And particularly at night, when I'm up late thinking humorous thoughts. Especially then, I start to laugh, out loud, at night, while alone, maniacally.
And the neighborhood is trembling.
"There he goes again," they whisper.
"The raving man."
"They should lock him up."
"But he is locked up!"
"Good thing, then. Honey, would you check the deadbolts one more time?"
I feel a deep rumble in the pit of my stomach move up through my funny bone as it finds its true voice. I sing out to the angels and set the dogs to howling, as windows in the vicinity fly shut and house lights are extinguished.
My weird sense of humor is out prowling, looking for its next victim to share its infectious wit and comical jest with the lighthearted amusement of a droll whimsy.
And the neighborhood is trembling.
"There he goes again," they whisper.
"The raving man."
"They should lock him up."
"But he is locked up!"
"Good thing, then. Honey, would you check the deadbolts one more time?"
I feel a deep rumble in the pit of my stomach move up through my funny bone as it finds its true voice. I sing out to the angels and set the dogs to howling, as windows in the vicinity fly shut and house lights are extinguished.
My weird sense of humor is out prowling, looking for its next victim to share its infectious wit and comical jest with the lighthearted amusement of a droll whimsy.
70-79, MNew