Many of you are asking yourself, “How in the wide world of pigeon poop did this moron get hired to write a humor column? He has the IQ of moss, only slightly soggier.” My answer is simple: you’re jealous, because you’d love to have a job which allowed you to lounge around the house ALL day long, clad only in your underwear and pink bunny slippers, eating entire bags of potato chips and then licking the insides, and get paid for writing dumb humor columns. But if you’re willing to admit it, and if you’d like to learn how to drone on and on about absolutely nothing and GET paid for it, then today’s your lucky day.
And if you pay strict attention in no time at all you’ll obtain the skills which will allow you, like it does me, the opportunity to make significant contributions to society in the form of 5 out of 3 columns talking about poop, which might not seem vitally important to you at this time, but when someone in your family steps in a pile of poop, like your bratty daughter, you’ll know what to do. Because
bratty daughters hate it when you kiss them right in front of their current gothic boyfriend, who dresses in so much dark clothing he makes Johnny Cash look like the Good Humor Man. And so your bratty kid leaps from the car, slams the door behind her removing several rivets, and begins
violently stomping around the front yard like a kangaroo with a hotfoot, and eventually she steps directly in poodle poop. And while she hopping on one leg, you’re trying
desperately, with the help of the garden hose, to wash the poop off of her five-thousand dollar Stiletto heels WITHOUT damaging them, but she does not appreciate anything you do for her, because YOU did NOT purchase HER the
six-thousand dollar Paris Hilton-like Stiletto heels, since you are nothing more than a skinflint, and she hates you! And who cares if daddy has to work until he’s as old as dirt just to pay for her college education, her marriage, and for her to live the rest of her bratty life in the luxury of which she has become accustomed to!
Note: I am NOT referring to my daughter here. She does not wear Stiletto heels; she wears sneakers, and believe you me, if you think washing poop off of Stiletto heels is hard work, then try washing poop out of sneaker treads.
But anyway, I will still tell you my secrets. However, it is important for you to realize that most professional humor columnists would scoff in your face at the very idea of
giving YOU their secrets, because if they taught YOU, then you might run off and write a funnier column than they do, and then they would have to put on some pants and go out and get a real job, and we professional humor columnists would much rather peel off our own skins with a cheese grater than get a real job. But, I’m different, since I’m
nothing if not a compassionate humanitarian, by which I mean I have absolutely nothing whatsoever to write about this week and I need 800-words posthaste, because my
editor is NOT happy when she has to wait around for one of my humor columns, and she shows her eagerness for me to meet her deadlines by leaving flaming bags of dog poop on my porch and then ringing my doorbell. So therefore I will unselfishly fill this week’s word quota by taking you behind the scenes and into the mind of me, Bill Drury, and reveal to you the initial phase for how I come up with a humor
column. I will only focus on one column idea at this time because I only need 800 words, and I’m currently on number 610 thanks to the LARGE run-on paragraph above. And 800 - 610 = wait, I know this, well, okay, I’m not exactly sure what 800 – 610 = but I don’t need to know, BECAUSE I’m NOT a mathematician; I am a humor columnist and I don’t need to know anything.
Now, funny ideas just don’t grow on newspaper, and it takes someone genetically gifted with an oversized funny bone to come up with weekly funny topics like, for instance, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the phrase “he’s as happy as a clam.” If I were talking with someone who
stated that “so-and-so is as happy as a clam,” the first thing that would come to mind is, “how does this person know that clams are happy unless they had a conversation with a clam.” And if they were talking to clams, then someone needs to come over here right now and monitor this person very closely because they are TALKING to clams!
EXAMPLE
“Hi Mike. What did you do today?”
“I invented a potato chip tree, Tony. What did you do?”
“I had a conversation with a clam, and found out he was very happy.”
Moment of silence
“You, talked to a clam?”
“Yup, and boy was he happy.”
Another moment of silence
“That’s terrific, Tony. Now don’t move a muscle and
someone will be by to scoop you up in a nice BIG soft
butterfly net, and carry you off to a nice comfy padded cell where you can sit and talk to clams all day if you wish.”
Well, I just met my word quota, I think. So, join me again next time and I will pass along more information which will provide you with the ability to write a much funnier humor column than I do, thus allowing you to waste everyone’s time just like I do. Now, where did I put those bunny
slippers?
Tongue in Cheek
March 5, 2008
March 4, 2008: Becoming a professional humor columnist 101
- Tongue in Cheek
-
- Bye
- The Nerve of Sciatica
- Silly Sicilians
- Pushing Up Daisies
- Bill Drury for President (Continued ... Presidential Points 18-26)
- October 30, 2008
- The World's Worst
- October 23, 2008
- Checklist your way out of trouble
- October 16, 2008
- To See or Not to See, That is the Question
- October 9, 2008
- Would You Like Your House Rare, Medium or Well Done?
- October 2, 2008
- Twenty Things You Don't Want to Hear Your Doctor Say
