My wife, little miss PC (at the time), was saying that kids on crutches (specifically the crutches that most folks equate with long term disablity) was pathetic.
Maybe you had to have been there.
Ok, I’m kind of glad for this thread, because it allows me to ask the following question without feeling (quite as much) like a horrible, horrible hateful person.
Talking at dinner a couple of weeks ago, I was ranting about bad spelling I’d encountered at work, and I said that while I’m not exactly a Grammar Nazi, at least I’m not a Grammar Jew!
I felt so horrible the second I said it! But really, what IS the opposite of Grammar Nazi? You know, the people who don’t bother to check spelling, who never learned even the most basic rules of grammar, and yet somehow they manage to have jobs that require them putting up signs or writing up official documents and publications? Clearly not even a Jewish stereotype, but if you’re gonna be a Nazi, the targets need a name too! Grammar Persecutees? Grammar Minorities? Grammar Concentration Camp Detainees?
Man, I feel awful having said it.
But we did laugh.
Now I feel worse.
Well, if you’re going to hell, I’ll be right there with you. I’m constantly cracking racial jokes (there’s nothing funny about white stereotypes, or else I’m pretty sure I’d joke about that, too), rape jokes, penis and vagina jokes, big rack jokes, general stereotype jokes (ask me about my Emo Kid Jokes!), religious jokes, gay jokes, and the best ones, the death jokes. The death ones didn’t come until I got the job I have now - I write obituaries so I have a kind of morbid sense of humor.
The other day I was getting this new funeral director set up to send obituaries to us, and he made some comment that he was a working stiff just like a lot of the people who walk in trying to find a good price on a funeral. I laughed out loud. Luckily, he, as a funeral director, has just as morbid a sense of humor, and once he realized what he’d said, he laughed too. His wife, who was in the room, was a little less than amused.
I just don’t see the point in NOT making jokes about stuff like that. Some of it is really horrible, but if I can see the humor in it, I’m one leg up. Taking that kind of stuff too seriously will put you in your grave early.
'sides, if Jerry Falwell is going to be in Heaven, I’d rather be in Hell.
~Tasha
Humor is how we cope with the hard stuff. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say nothing is inappropriate material for humor. You can scowl at me now.
According to One Cent Stamp, I’m headed to hell for my contribution this thread: Nun Sentenced to 30 Years for Genocide. - The BBQ Pit - Straight Dope Message Board
Everything horrible can be made humorous. If you can’t laugh at something then it’s beaten you. I think everyone knows this on an unconscious level, but many are disturbed by it. They are already in Hell IMHO.
I was at a close friends house last night helping to prepare for a party she’s having this weekend. My friend is Hispanic and lives with her sister and her (also Hispanic) boyfriend. I’m quite literally the whitest person in our group, right down to the fishbelly complexion and an almost complete lack of rhythm. I’m also VERY self-concious about laughing at the (in my opinion) racist jokes that fly back and forth in their household.
I usually do okay, but last night as I’m shredding chicken and washing grapes, my friends sister says, “I don’t know, I think we should use the colorful plates for the party.”
My friend’s boyfriend shot back, “Why, so EVERYONE can know we’re Mexican?!”
I lost it. I felt horrible, but I couldn’t stop laughing. I don’t think this earns me the right to drive the bus to Hell, but I’ll definitely be taking up space somewhere in the back of it.
The only way you’ll be able to get on the bus is if you look at them at least once and say, “Hey, just because I’m a gringo doesn’t mean I’m completely stupid!”
I’m guessing you haven’t seen this thread.
A girl I worked with at a local feral cat rescue organization was black (I’m white) and we always had some sort of racial stuff flying around while we worked. If a cat scratched her, I’d accuse the cat of being racist. If she told me we were running low on supplies, I’d tell her she was just saying that because I was white. If I asked her to help be do something, she tell me I was asking her to help because she was black. I can’t think of anything really good at the moment, but some of the comebacks were really funny. Oh yes - I accused a cat of being racist for hissing at her, and she told me he couldn’t be racist at her because he was a black cat. If he had hissed at me, that would be racist!
As you may recall, my son Dweezil has autism.
When he was 3 or 4, he finally “got” the idea of going out trick-or-treating. I got a Barney costume for him. When Halloween night came around, though he freaked at the idea of putting the costume on. So I mentally said “screw it, he’ll go as Rainman” and took him around in his regular clothes. Fortunately, nobody asked. I don’t think I’d have explained…
A couple of years ago, we wanted to set up an email account for him. We asked what his name should be and he had some suggestions - all related to railroads. After he left the room, it came to me: his email name had to be… TRAINMAN. (No, we didn’t actually use that, it’s something different entirely… but to this day it brings us great glee).
On Friday, a few of us from work attended the funeral of one of our workmates who had died after a long and particularly filthy battle with cancer.
After the ceremony we were gathered 'round having refreshments and mingling with her family and stuff, doing some reminiscing, shedding a few tears and raising a few tentative smiles.
Unfortunately, I managed to reduce the crowd to howls of laughter when I noted that this is the very first time that I have been in Dianne’s presence when I have been able to get a bloody word in edgewise. She didn’t die of cancer, she died from asphyxiation because she never stopped talking long enough to take a breath.
I redeem myself with the knowledge that her family vehemently agreed she could talk the leg off a chair, and that Dianne herself would have been pissing herself from above at such a characterisation.
Vale Dianne…we will miss you ya’ mad old bitch.
Please . . . I’m a cop! A twisted sense of humor is practically a job requirement.
The difficult part is remembering to control it around others. I’ve often had to remind younger officers to look serious when we’re on the scene of a death or something else tragic. Laughing your ass off as the coroner arrives just doesn’t look good.
I’ll be chained to the wall right next to you in the Inferno Room at the Hellton. I laughed at George Carlin’s take on rape (“I think rape is hysterical. Picture Donald Duck raping Elmer Fudd and tell me that’s not fucking funny.”) I’ve always had a sick sense of humor. I used to get in trouble for it as a kid, now I get either horrified reactions or high fives depending on the audience.
This poster from Something Positive is one of my favorites partly because it’s a bit more twisted than his usual stuff.
I had a good friend in high school who was the son of Chinese immigrants, and as we lived in Whitetown, USA he was one of the less than half dozen non-white students in our entire school. We took great pleasure in throwing incredibly racist jokes and comments back and forth, not because the jokes themselves were funny, but because it was hilarious to see people sit there uncomfortably and not know how to respond.
For instance whenever I entered into a classroom where he was sitting I would stop in the doorway, glare at him, and declare to the closest person loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Look, Its James. I don’t trust people who are Chinese.” That and things of that nature were pretty much the stock and store of our everyday conversations.
The best one was when we were sitting in a stats class working on some class work of some sort. In the middle of one of those weird moments when all of the conversation in the room stops simultaneously and no one wants to break the silence one of our other friends turned to James and said very loudly, “James! Stop squinting at me!” and without missing a beat James turns and replies “I’m sorry Andy, I can’t help it. My eyes are always like this!” I am pretty sure the rest of the class sat in stunned silence, but I can’t be certain as I was almost on the floor.
I had to ressurect this thread, as I have an applicable story that I’m sure all you terrible people will enjoy:
Today at work (mall security) I noted 2 children ages approximately 5 playing with one of those small rubber bouncy balls. Their mother was nowhere in sight. I asked them to kindly stop bouncing it inside the mall, as it is against our rules and if some old lady tripped on it I would have to do the paperwork (which I assure you, isn’t a good thing. The paperwork in this place sends terror into the largest of rainforests).
Anyway, they continued bouncing the ball. In mid-bounce, I quickly reached out and caught it. Enjoying the stunned look on their little faces, I informed them that they could not have the ball back because they had broken the rules. Their mother, having not seen what had transpired, came by and led them away.
As their little innocent faces turned back to me one last time, they were treated to the vision of me playing with their lost toy, acting as if I was having the time of my life. They immediately burst into tears, and their mother yelled at them for “crying for no reason”.
I feel good inside.
One of those little angels is going to become a serial killer, or worse, and it all be your fault. I hope you sleep well at night.
I cracked a few jokes during my mother’s funeral. Some of the people laughed, but most of them had way too much self-control and sort of looked around to see if anyone was laughing. They seemed to be looking for permission to lighten up.
I agree with the exception of the first week or so post 9/11.
It was as if people forgot how to laugh. I don’t know if you saw Letterman or Jon Stewart on their first post 9/11 shows. They were far more serious that we’ll ever see them again. And surprisingly eloquent too. They both basically said that we’ll never be the same, but if we don’t start the process of healing, which includes laughter, then the bastards have already won.
Still - I haven’t heard much, if any, comedy about the 9/11 attacks.
You obviously didn’t click the link at Post #29.