On being weird...

It's been over a month...wow...
My poor lonely blog...it needs some attention.

I'm kinda weird, as You probably know, if you've spent any time reading this blog at all, or if you've even seen me, or heard me talk. That much I know is true.

However, does it make it worse that I work in a place where I am a minority just for speaking the king's English, and my regular vocabulary includes words like "peachy" and "chum" and "toodle-oo" and "salubrious"? My co-workers think so. ** For some reason, when your first language isn't English, and someone says "peachy" (meaning, of course, "cool" or "great" although I know that none of you needed to know that), you have funny ideas of what that might be.

Go ahead and imagine it for yourself... Forget all preconceptions and all knowledge about the colloquilal use of "peachy" and think about what would go through your head...

Aren't idioms hilarious? No? Well...Like I said, I'm a little different.

People give me the strangest looks when I start talking about how funny language is, but I can't stop it. It's just funny, and I can't get over it, so everyone's going to have to deal with it.

I also think the fact that my ribcage is compressible the most random thing in nature...I love it! I can entertain myself that way, just squishing it, and watching it retake its shape, and squishing it...etc, etc...ad inifinitum.

That, and when the juices in my stom....
oh wait...
I better not tell you about that, you might stop reading, if you haven't already :-)

Entertain yourself with the little things...go ahead, do it!

That, and nothing else is the secret to Hilarium ad infinitum...

** This is in no way a snub directed at my coworkers...they are amazing people, and I learn more spanish from them than from anywhere else.

Poetry in Limbo

Yes, I've been reading Dante.
No, that's not what this is about.

About a week ago, I had an interesting experience at work, quite a funny one, actually, and I thought "Why, I should post this on my blog!" Then I said to myself, "I should definitely do more than just post this on my blog...I should poetize about it, and then post it on my blog...hmmm..."

Noble sentiments, no doubt.

One of my favorite poems is Egar Allen Poe's The Raven, and so, subconsciously, the metre for it had been running through my head.
You know that feeling, when everything in your life seems to happen to a metre? When you walk, you feel it in your steps, when you find your brain entertaining itself, it's chanting it's nonsense syllables in the cadence that fits your favorite poem.
Ok, so maybe you don't always have a rythm in your head, and maybe I'm just a little weird (big surprize, no?)
Either way, I had the metre and words of this:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over a many quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.'

running around somewhere between my scalp and my half-emerging wisdom teeth. This caused the poem I was thinking about writing to come out in the exact same rythm:

Once upon a windy October, as the gusts entreat us to be sober,

They kindle sentiments, noble and nobler within the hearts of doleful men

The clouds were softly, swiftly flying, the leaves were slowly, sadly dieing,

The wind, in eddies, sweetly sighing, around the eaves, and back again.

The solemn wind, in swirling currents, came ‘round the eaves and back again.

And a moan escaped me, “never again”

Unfortunately, I liked the beginning of this too much (and it was also much too sombre) to convert into a comic piece for a blog. Now, without the motivation to write it so I can post it on my blog, and the responsiblilty that I gave myself by putting work into this first verse to do the rest in the same caliber, chances are, I will never, ever finish this, and if I do, it won't be posted on this blog.

Your loss. :-P

This isn't the only poem in such straights, though. I started another parody the other day about Fresno, the city just north of here to the "tune" of The Cremation of Sam Magee (by Robert Service), and it is likewise in Limbo:

There are strange things done in the hot, hot sun by the people who live around here;

Out great wide valley has a long death tally, and terror is built upon fear.

The dim streetlights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the corner of Maple and Horner, I was a hero of the Fresno Bee.

Now the Fresno Bee was a paper, you see, and a better there’d never been had,

For the Bee had column, right down at the bottom, that was entitled, “Who went bad”

Eevery week of the year will a story appear, each telling the story of how,

Through thick or thin, by wine or gin, a man’s character went south.

Maybe if I ever finish this one, I'll put it up on here...I guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we? :-)

This tickles my funny bone...

63

Created by OnePlusYou -

ok...I confess, I cheated... my original score was 21, not 63... but it's still funny, right?

The Brotherhood of the Travelling Retainers

About two years ago (almost exactly two years ago, actually), I finally had all the permanent orthodontic appliances removed from my mouth. I'd had braces for nearly two and a half years before that, and I was ready.

(if you've had braces, you'll know what I mean)
(If you haven't had braces, just imagine tying yourself by the teeth to a running ceiling fan with short string. Now try to imagine sleeping that way...for two years...)

Anyhow, when orthodontists remove your braces, they give you a retainer to keep things from immediately going back to where they came from in your mouth. I've had these retainers for two years now, and I'm used to putting them in and getting them out, and talking around them, and (thankfully) I now only have to wear them at night.
I would say I'm used to them by now, and with good reason, right?

But....
One wonders when one wakes up in the morning with no retainers in one's mouth, knowing full well that they were inside when one went to sleep.
One knows incontrovertibly, however, that he has "routine retainers" when one finds his retainers safely tucked away in their case that same morning, stacked neatly on top of one another, just as he always stacks them, and has absolutely no recollection of how in the world they got there.

Some people think sleepwalking is remarkable, but can you take your retainers out and put them away in a bathroom 40 feet from your bed in your sleep?

I just hope this uncanny ability doesn't extend itself to other things...

:-P

Look...at....my....hat....carefully.

Upon recently starting a fast-food job here in the little town where I live, I assumed that people would know, since there are only two or three fast-food restaurants in said town, what store they were in.

Oh well....

A lady walks into the store, and comes up the register.

All is well. I know how to do this.

"What can I get for you this morning?" my mouth asks. (this has become involuntary...)

The lady hands me two coupons.

The lady looks at me expectantly

At this point, the top of my head flips open and spreads my brains liberally on the ceiling like a blender with the top open. Not really. But that's what it felt like. You see, I've been working there two days, and know virtually nothing about how things go, except what I've managed to cram in my head in the 6 hours that I've now worked there.

I catch all the falling brains I can and stuff them back in where they belong, and resolve to just do my best.

"Ah-ha!" I think. "there's a little button on the register that says ' coupon' on it! Eureka!!"

I glance down at the coupons that the lady handed me.

"Wait...." my left brain says to what's left of my frontal cortex, "I don't remember anything on the menu called a 'whopper.' I don't remember that at all...."

I stutter in body language, and the lady picks up on it. Pointing at the coupons, she explains that they are "buy one, get one free" coupons, and what each of them is for, and what she wants to do with them.

For the first time, I look carefully at the coupons.

I give an audible sigh of relief, followed by a suppressed outburst of hysterical laughter, barely kept under control as I say, "Ma'am, if you look carefully right here," and I point to the appropriate spot on the coupon, "These are for Burger King."

The lady looks up at me again.

I add, "I'm sorry, but we don't accept Burger King coupons here."

Slightly embarrassed, the lady then makes her order, without using either of the words "Whopper" or "coupon."

Thankfully.

Thanks for the hilarium ad infinitum, Ms. Customer, but next time, look at my hat. It was there all the time.

:-)

And so what we have learned applies to our lives today... II

Musings upon a first day of work:

1:
While an employer might require you to be clean-shaven, using a new razor (in order to get a nice, close shave) is not always advisable. Use an old one. You may not look like you walked out of a Gillette commercial, but then again, you won't look like you had an incident with a poorly trained executioner accompanied by a blunt axe on the way to work either.

2:
When you first look at your schedule, do away with all your preconceived notions of a calendar. From personal experience, don't expect the third column on a work schedule to be "Tuesday." It might actually be Thursday, you never know.

3:
Always verbally double-check the days that you work with your manager. Don't assume that you follwed #2.

These will hopefullly save you from the fate of walking into your workplace and having your manager say "Umm...you might want to come back the day after tomorrow...."

I'll probably laugh about this...eventually...

And so what we have learned applies to our lives today...

...and now that our song is done, we'll take a look...

weedwacker + ground-level telephone wires = bad situation

exhaust manifold of small gasoline engine + my elbow = painful situation

1 day of working in 90-100 degree weather + proximity to 60 degree river = tempting situation

'nuff said, eh?

Twenty-four years ago...

War was not Peace, Freedom was not Slavery, Ignorance was not Strength, 2+2 did not ever equal 5, God was not power, and Reality was objective.

But if you don't want to have the urge to throw a book against the wall, read That Hideous Strength instead, and don't damage your soul.

We do not find this book funny...at all.

(Disclaimer: George Orwell, no doubt, wrote this book in order that he might unseat the horrendous ideological atrocities to which his character falls prey. However, depressing stories don't generally make me want to read them over and over again... the book is still significant, probably very significant, but just don't make me say I like it.)

After all, Isn't the dream of Narnia so much better than the reality of the sunless land anyhow?

They're like the real world meets boy meets world meets days of our lives...Meets Rube Goldberg?

There is a plant on the porch.
There is a stick supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a bit of plastic supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a clamp holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a two-by-four grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a wooden saw-horse supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a porch holding up the saw-horse that is supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a plant on the porch that is holding up the saw-horse that is supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a stick supporting the plant...

'nuff said.

This is reminding me, incredibly, of the bits and pieces of soap operas that I have seen.
This is a general (though over-simplified) plot summary:

Guy meets girl.
Girl has evil former boyfriend.
Evil former boyfriend sabotages Guy's family business.
Guy's mafia contacts get a hit man on evil former boyfriend.
Girl's uncle suddenly goes inexplicably missing.
Girl locks herself in apartment and doesn't answer phone.
Guy's long-lost cousin turns up, and tells everyone that he's an FBI agent.
Mafia catches up with Evil Former Boyfriend, and it turns out to be the long-lost cousin.
Standoff ensues (lasts for four episodes, with straining emotion on all sides)
Missing uncle turns up (in the middle of standoff) with inexplicable scars, saying he'd been golfing for a week.
REAL bad guy shows up (it can either be the original girl, the mafia contact, the butler, or a previously unnamed character), draws automatic weapons, and ends standoff, with at least one major character (who was previously thought to be bad) dying heroically to save the rest, and repenting and confessing that he loves some random other character, who cries passionately for the rest of the season.
The entire cast gathers in a final scene, where the disappointing facts are unsatisfactorily revealed, and where the original Guy gets engaged to his greatest love.

I prefer the porch...

The soap opera, I must confess, is

non hilarium ad nauseum

PIVD

There is a great person with whom I am slightly acquainted who speaks to inanimate objects. I realize that this is common, but if you are considering putting these actions under the category of "normal," please hold your categorization until the end of this post.

This person does not, in the usual way, speak just to the normal inanimate objects, like most people, who speak to cars while they are on the freeway

(These people do, however, maintain that they speak to the drivers, not the cars. Said drivers, I must add, can hardly ever hear them.)

This person does not even stop with plants, as some herbivorically tendancied people do. Oh no, for this person is a great example of a condition that we have come to call PIVD: Progeny-Induced Verbal Disorder. This unusual moniker comes from the fact that this person blames all their PIVD- related problems on the fact that they have children.

This person, I am afraid to say, will speak to anything. Unlike the ancient patriarch, Moses, who would not even speak to a rock, but would rather strike it with a stick, this person has no qualms about telling the object of their consideration, when it is innocently obeying the call of gravity, to "Come back here!" Or, when confronted with a stubborn (though inanimate) something which will not bend or will not straighten, according to the laws of friction or the natural resiliency of it's own composite materials, has no problem confronting the violating article with a stern face and reprimanding it as if it was a naughty child or pet.

The common side-effects of this condition have rather to do with the people in immediate contact with this person than the person himself:
-A tendency of the patient's family to consider this disorder as lunacy. It is not.
-Inexplicable urges in the patient's friends to manually animate the object to which they talk so that their afflicted friend might actually have a decent conversation with it. While this can be entertaining, it is bad manners to take advantage of the infirm. For shame...
- Close friends might have a sudden desire to question the actions prompted by this disease. This is to be done in NO case. It may result in a reaction that makes poison ivy, stinging nettles, and Venomous Tentactula all look cute and cuddly.

Warning: This disorder is contagious. Not only do it's victims insist (like the person I described) that it came from their children, but if one is around an afflicted subject for too long, they may start to mimic their thought patterns.

Treatment:
There is no sure-fire cure for this disease. The only known way of treating it is prolonged isolation from all objects, inanimate or not. While this does not stop the patient from talking to inanimate objects, it does give their friends and relatives (who are the ones that suffer the worst symptoms) a break. Experiments are being performed, searching for new cures, but only small progress has been made.

To all of those who recognize this disease in yourself, and are now raving at the innocent, inanimate computer screen in front of you, I wish you the best of luck in your treatment...

..Enjoy the padded cell!

ahh, yet another example of hilarium ad infinitum...

Mourning Bartleby

Bartleby is dead....alas...

In this short story by Herman Melville, a eccentric scrivener of Wall Street dies within his own little world. His view on life: "I'd prefer not to..." I would hope that we should take a lesson from Bartleby and prefer, whether we prefer a hamburger over a hot dog, a hamster over a gerbil, or even prefer life over death, to live, we must prefer.

Bartleby was a talented, good-natured man, honest in all his doings, but, as it is with us all, died slowly of apathy.

(An addendum: This story, written wonderfully by Melville, would indeed by funny, even hilarious, if it weren't so accurate and, frankly, so un-funny.)

Hire the mourners,
Don the sackcloth,
Wail, beat your breast,
For Bartleby is dead...
Bartleby is dead...
he is dead...
is dead...
dead...

alas

I'm cold...

...and that's funny.

It's easy to find things these days. The internet is a super-highway of information. I can sit down at my computer and, within 10 or 15 seconds know just about anything I want to about anything, anywhere in the world, or anyone any time in recorded human history, thanks, for the most part, to Google and Wikipedia.

One of the most prevalent topics on the Internet, and indeed all over the world, is that of Climate Change. It's "An Inconvenient Truth" that will eventually kill us and our lobsters, wreaking havoc over the globe.

Some backwards and uniformed (and probably politically incorrect) people, like me, still say "Global Warming." With this comes the idea that Carbon Dioxide is a pollutant (Are you breathing right now? Tut, tut, tut! You should be minimizing your "carbon footprint" by abstaining from breath!), and the idea that eventually, if things don't change, the earth will turn into a lifeless ball of scorched rock dotted with the charred ruins of the factories and automobiles that brought about their own doom.

In winter, I find this hard to believe. Two recent news stories, here and here, seem to agree with me, citing places in the US with temperatures in the minus 50s and inordinate amounts of snow in China. The story in China is really ironic, because of this article, whose headline states that the Norwegians are telling the Chinese that they should do their part to stop climate change. With the prognosis that Oslo might get above freezing once or twice this week, it seems very ironic that Norway is pushing to make sure the world doesn't get any warmer, and even worse, they're pushing a country that is having huge logistical and superstructural problems because of snow.

My hands are cold...enough with the conservationism, ok?

Brrr. I find that funny...

We had an adventure today...

Definition of Adventure:
1) Drinking the contents of a test tube following a chemistry experiment.
2) Bandying words with females.
3) Having 4-day-old pizza out of the fridge.

(seriously, this was an adventure... some of the cheese didn't even melt after being in the microwave for a minute or two, and it was hard to tell the difference between the pepperoni thickly foresting the top and the marinara sauce underneath...they were about the same consistency)

4) Getting out of bed this morning.

(ok, I know this sounds lame, but it's a five-foot drop from the bed to the carpet-covered concrete floor below, and my legs don't always work real well in the morning.)

Imagine:
*alarm clock beeps*
Me: uuugghh
Radio Announcer: ...high of 47 today with mostly cloudy skies and a chance of showers this afternoon... *drones on in background*
Me: Ooof
*yawns*
*sits up*
Me: Owww...
Me: Stupid fan!
*jumps down to floor*
*time shifts to slow motion*
*regrets jumping*
*wonders if this will ruin my breakfast*
*feet contact floor*
*knees give way*
*bones shatter*
*collapses on floor*
Me: Owww...

(Disclaimer: slight hyperbole employed above)

Surely now you see how my life is so entertaining. I only wish, as Hobbes did, that "we could talk about these things without the visual aids."
Go have an adventurous life...

...because someone else might find it funny!

Odd Thought For The Day

What do your lungs smell like?
I know of no one who can answer that question.
So, in unison with the Minister, I snort.
That's what my lungs smell like.

Isn't that funny?

Nuts

(disclaimer: After I wrote this, The Minister reminded me that the word in question may also be used rather vulgarly. This is not the intention. Read this post as innocently as you can. It is kind of funny that I didn't remember that earlier... ah well...more Hilarium ad Infinitum, no?)

The word "nut" is hilarious.

Let us explain.

First of all, the word, "nut" has many different meanings. This makes this word very, very useful in the realm of puns. You can say "I love nuts" and mean that you enjoy almonds and cashews, even though you are in the midst of conversation about "nutty" people, and no one will be the wiser, though they may think you slightly crazy. Conversely, you make the same remark in a conversation about Walnuts and Macadamia nuts and mean something different, and, since your companion conversants are totally in the dark about the sudden change of meaning, after a few more minutes, you will totally surprise them by referencing how people's quirks make them lovable.

A rather more obscure way that nuts are funny is that they are inherently (in a mind steeped in Walt Disney's classic animated animal films) connected with Squirrels. No one can deny that squirrels are funny. The best way of picturing a nut, is in the hands of a chattering squirrel, and, if you will excuse me for being completely frank, a chattering squirrel makes me double over in hilarity.

I, for the most part deplore the recent film, "Ice Age", but, apart from the amazing computer animation and the unique story idea, the only reason that I watch such a movie, is because of the Squirrel. Even though the filmmakers have misplaced the nut, and instead made the object of this antediluvian squirrel's affection an acorn, the symbolism and humor remains, and, if you wish to see the source of this particular part of the hilarity of the word "nut," you must seek it there.

For a third reason, "nut" can also be used in the plural if one, like myself and the Minister, wishes to refrain from rude language, and express disappointment. In this case, one can take from the squirrelian, and just say, "Nuts!"

And we think that sounds funny...

In my youth....

The Minister and I are a huge fans of Lewis Carroll. Anything from "The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits" to "Jabberwocky" or "The Walrus and the Carpenter" (even though it deals with the seduction and murder of countless oysters), we thoroughly enjoy reading.

One of our favorites is "Father William," part of which goes as follows:

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak --
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

These two stanzas were one of two things running through my head this afternoon.
All this is to explain the other, a song whose author I do not know: For in my youth, I (for a strange and fitful reason) was enamored of a particular tape that had songs on it that made, now I realize it, horrendous fun of the Democratic party, and the Clinton Administration in particular. I will not turn this blog into a political soapbox about why these songs were or were not accurate, but let me quote the lines that have been running through my head:

(to be sung to the tune of "This Land is my Land" with a William Clinton-esque accent)

This land was my land,
This land was your land,
But I just sold it
To a guy from Thailand.
He talked real funny,
But he gave me money:
This land's been sold for you by me.

The song goes on a bit longer, and it's rather funny if you don't think about the horrible things that it accuses our former president of (again, I won't diverge to discuss the actual actions of said president).

The fact that I listened to and enjoyed the songs now seems slightly strange to me, because at that time, I had little knowledge of who Clinton was, much less what he did. It appalls me to think that I spent valuable time and "mental RAM" if you will, on a song such as this...

but...

I also find it funny.

It's Either Me or You, John. --or-- Locusts and Honey a la Puppet

According to my Google Glossary search,
a puppet is:

• 
  

a small figure of a person operated from above with strings by a puppeteer

creature: a person who is controlled by others and is used to perform unpleasant tasks for someone else

a doll with a hollow head of a person or animal and a cloth body; intended to fit over the hand and be manipulated with the fingers

• 
  

While The Minister and I have no experience with the first kind, though that sounds much more interesting than the others, we do have significant experience with the third kind. Let us describe a typical encounter with these puppets:
(this is in the setting of my church, where most of my experience comes from)

1. I am inexplicably volunteered to be part of a "Puppet sketch" that will wow adults and entertain and teach children.
2. I decline gracefully.
3. I am told that I am the only one for the job, getting comments like, "You have a great voice!" or "Your arms are so nice and long, you would be great!" or, better yet, "You're a strong young man, you can take it. (this comment sometimes incorporates a hefty slap on the back, or a perusal of my biceps).
4. I politely refuse again, giving the legitimate excuse that I am much too busy on the time when this "puppet sketch" is to be performed.
5. My excuses are politely ignored.
6. I explicate the text of my excuse, outlining the three specific jobs that I already do at the time in question.
7. The excuses are once again ignored.
8. A few days after occurrences 1-7 take place, I receive an email or phone message that tells me a time and a place where practice for this performance is going to begin.
9. Inexplicably, I show up for the practice.
10. I arrive and find that the script is "Really more like guidelines than actual rules" and that the "puppets" with which I am to wow adults and entertain kids are a motley crew, ranging from a wild-haired man slightly reminiscent of John the Baptist (I can almost hear him say, "Locusts a la honey, anyone?"), a chimpanzee, and a man originally dressed as a knight, who went through a rather harsh wardrobe change, and has resigned himself to wearing a modern-day business suit (his Lancelot-esque beard is still very visible on his face).
    
11. I quickly remember, once we start, just how tiring it is to sit in a baptismal with your arm in the air, moving your thumb (but not your fingers...try this, it's hard) in sync with the scri...er...guideline, and trying not to make the poor cloth-man in whose mouth your fingers are putting words look "unnatural."
12. I realize how uncomfortable it is to be doing all that is mentioned above while trying to speak in Walter Cronkite's voice into a small microphone hanging from a towel.
    
13. My arm goes limp.
14. My mind fades into oblivion.
15. I agree to perform on the following Sunday

Now, think about the second definition of "puppet."
Overall, who does the term "puppet" apply to better: John the Baptist, or me?

The Minister finds that funny....

Life Insurance

Why is it that life insurance really deals more with death than life?

This is one of a horde of similar questions, which have been circulated on cyberspace quite enough to make it not worth my while to mention them. Still, this is a relevant question. However, the Minister insists that I reassure my readers that I do not intend to launch a "Truth in Advertizing" lawsuit against any life insurance companies. When discussing this with a wiser person than myself, I was told that far from being an ironic play on words by witty life insurance agents who were contemplating the meaning of life, it was probably just because the marketability of a service called "Death Insurance" would be somewhere directly above zero. The Minister reminds me not to say "zero" outright because, as he puts it, there are those disturbing people in the world who like Edgar Allen Poe a little too much (and for all the wrong reasons) that would glory in the chance to insure themselves against their death with such a morbidly-titled product. Either way, dear Minister, I certainly would not buy it.

Whatever the reason,

We find that funny.

Religiously Traditional

The Minister and I are religiously traditional.

Mainly, this means that we ascribe to the ancient religious views of Christianity. This means that we can recite the Apostle's creed while agreeing with it on every point. Every point, that is, that we understand; but The Minister encourages me not to enter a discussion about the knowable-ness of Eternal beings, for that may fail to fall under the category of the Hilarium to which this blog is dedicated.

However, we also find this to mean that we are not only traditional in our religion, but religious in our tradition. We (mainly I, actually, for given the nature of the Minister, his physical activities are very limited) find that we do not stray from our tradition without great upheaval to shake us from it.

Peanut Butter and Strawberry Jam Sandwiches....
Cheerios (the plain variety, with no milk, eaten with fingers)...
Putting on my headphones when sitting at my computer, but steadfastly forgetting to turn on music...
Reading on the couch (even though I know that a soft surface combined with a large, dry book is a wonderful recipe for a soporific effect)...

Some say that variety is the spice of life. I submit that while spices are all very nice and tasty, they are still rather unedible without a hearty companion diet of tradition. Religious Tradition!

We find that funny.

Y'know what's funny?

Even after long, tireless, and sometimes dubious research, The Minister has not yet found out what makes things funny. Nevertheless, His Ministerliness and I think that funniness comes innately from the odd world that we live in. Whether there is a specific part of the brain that recognizes humor, or whether it is just a magical force of hilarity that pervades the universe, the Minister and I know that it is ingrained in the human psyche.

We draw evidence from the earliest human life...that of a baby. One of the first notable things that a young child does (not counting certain inevitable and instinctive activities which we won't discuss here) is smile.

We find that funny.

What we find funnier is that the reason that the child is showing signs of Hilarium Delirium (i.e. the condition of thinking that something is funny; the Minister came up with that term to diagnose me...) is probably linked to the people they see every day. While it seems that it is harder to recognize as we age, humor is all around us. A baby thinks that it is funny when they see their parents. Their face often looks as if it will split with the pure hilarity of seeing these huge "grown-up" people who are so serious all the time.

Uninhibited as they are by age and maturity, young children are aware to a great extent of what the Minister and I call the Hilarium ad Infinitum.

We find that funny.

I which I will explain...

No. There is too much. Let me sum up.

I am always amazed at how much there is to laugh at in life. I laugh at things like the sound that a raindrop makes when it falls, or the way a pencil or pen migrates constantly, making it hard to find. After a few years of laughing at these things, I forsook the path of expression because of the constant strange looks, and the cold shoulders that said "I really don't know what he's laughing about, but he does it so often, I'll just ignore him to save me the trouble of continually asking him."

So...the Minister of Hilarium materialized.

The Minister is the little person who helps me stay sane through the side-stitching, knee-slapping world that we all live in. I tell the things at which I want to laugh to the Minister, and he laughs at them for me, saving me the discomfort of being constantly giggling in public.

(For the record, the Minister and I actually find the idea of giggling constantly in public funny, but as yet we have not begun to create too much hilarity together. We just take note, and laugh)

The Minister told me today that he is not a wide enough audience for the things I think are funny, the Hilarium ad Infinitum of life, so this blog materialized.
Now you, dear reader, are witness to Hilaritum ad Infinitum, courtesy of The Minister of Hilarium, and yours truly.

Disclaimer: I, Ignoratus, am not totally responsible for the content of this blog. If you consider something just too far out or too weird to be funny, The Minister probably thought that one up.

How to make your life complicated....

...in one easy step.

1. Become acquainted with one or more females.

Some might argue that life is complicated just by the existence of such creatures, but the Minister of Hilarium and I do not know for sure.

I would also like to submit that a complicated life is not a bad thing all the time: "There is a season for everything under heaven..." even for a complicated life. We think, too that though sometimes a complicated life is regrettable, the cause is sometimes worth the effect.

The Minister and I find that funny....

...and from complicated lives comes Hilarium ad Infinitum.