My friend from high school, Tony, and I perchance happened to attend the same English class in college.
On time, our class was divided into small groups for discussion. One girl with us was reading a romance novel, the cover depicted a big muscled man that was Fabio. So In any case, that discovery led us to try and make the perfect impersonation of his annoying I cannot believe it’s not butter line from the commercials. We started giggling. The class was long, we were tired…hence laughing at anything stupid.
At that point, the teacher was explaining something from a book. He asked a group in a corner what some character replied to the accusations of some other. Tony, you can predict, said Fabio’s line under his breath. We completely lost it. I’m sure we turned all shades of red…trying to not be heard.
That was the only time in my life that a teacher gave me the look of death.
On Friday, I went with my father and little brother to go pick up my sister at LAX. While we were waiting for the plane to arrive, my brother and I decided to take a seat. After a few minutes I was looking around and I noticed this one guy who looked like a cheap 60’s porn star. I mean he was frumpy, had that weird haircut, had a huge mustache. I leaned over and told my brother, and we both started laughing. Then, pornguy sits right next to me. I kinda felt sorry for him, having both of us laughing without him knowing why.
I went to a catholic convention in August with my grandparents and little brother. He’s about 2 years younger than me and we think a lot alike. Before the service started, the head priest guy asked everyone to reach out their arms and pray for those who would be speaking. As if one cue, everyones right arms shot out. I started giggling, then my brother leans over and whispers, “Heil Hitler.” We both just lost it. While trying to control our laughter, we both look around, hoping that our grandmother couldn’t hear us.
Hmm. So did this topic make anyone else think of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry places the Pez dispenser on Elaine’s knee during the piano recital, and Elaine can’t stop cracking up?
My inappropriate laughter moment was not witnessed by many, only one - my friend has a neighbour upstairs in her apartment building who might be fond of her. He would always come down and knock on her door or go in her apartment without knocking, or he’d invite her up and she wouldn’t go. She found him really annoying, but she thought there was something mentally different about him so she didn’t want to be mean and just tell him to poke off. She told me he was incredibly weird and creepy-looking and that he had a huge, long flowing mullet.
One day I went to her house, and when I knocked, she let me in and there he was on her couch. She gave me a look as if to say “LOOK IT’S THE CREEPY GUY!” I took one look at that long, flowing mullet and instantly felt the pressure of impending laughter building up. He decided to leave then and walked right past me. I had to turn away. I couldn’t look at him once more.
As soon as he left I had to cackle. I’m so simple. Mullet = humour.
Me, Cheryl Thompson and Sharon Talarico were sitting in the Assistant Pricipal’s office for some minor junior high school offence of which I can’t remember. Mr. Rosholt was giving us his best stern face. He looks at Cheryl and says, “You really pulled a boner this time.”
I sat, stoic as hell, poker-faced, not displaying even a hint of the hilarity that was churning inside me.
That is, until Sharon couldn’t suppress it anymore herself, and let out a small chuckle.
I lost it completely. I belted forth gales of laughter. Mr. Rosholt came around his desk, yelling at me to shut up. I couldn’t. I didn’t even stop laughing when he tore my sweater while shaking me around.
By now Sharon and Cheryl were laughing like maniacs as well.
Best as I can recall, we just got sent back to class with no further punishment. But from then on, when we’d see each other in the hall, we’d give each other the “yank boner” gesture.
Last night I attended the five o’clock Mass and got there at about 4:59, so seating was at a premium. I was seated behind a group of four or five recent converts to the faith who were all really, really intent on the service. And they were going to MAKE you see that THEY KNEW WHAT TO DO.
Generally, the Sign of the Cross is a quick one-two-three-four motion. The woman in front of me would press her forehead, her navel, her right shoulder, her left shoulder, and her right shoulder again. I thought she was going to knock somebody out if she kept swinging her arm around like that. And it wasn’t with everyone else–she would randomly cross herself every few minutes. That, combined with the ludicrous way she enunciated all the prayers had me trying so hard not to laugh I thought I’d give myself an aneurysm.
On the way out, my mother and I were doing some pretty excellent imitations. It was better than TV!
The inappropriateness of the laughter was much lower than some of the other stories. But, the embarrassment factor was still high.
In college, I went to see a musical put on by some of the students, including a good buddy of mine. Shortly before the lights came on, said buddy walks out on stage and one of my companions in the audience says “Hey, that’s our buddy over there!”. Her comment struck me funny. I got the giggles. I did not stop giggling until after the show was over(as reported to me by people who heard me.) I tittered when nothing was going on, I laughed when funny things happened, I giggled the whole time. We were sitting near the front of the chapel (where the show was held)
After the show, buddy came out and said to my companions, “So, did the rest of you enjoy the show? I know Eureka did, I heard her laugh the whole time.” The cast had talked about who I was at intermission(buddy was not the only one who knew me and recognized me.) I was told two or three times over the course of the next week about people who talked about “the girl who never stopped laughing during the musical”.
Another churchy tale[what is it with churches and repressed laughter?] I was to be godfather to one of my closest friend’s first child. Seated in church, flanking the parents, were me and the godmother. It was an interminable service, I’d assumed it was just gonna’ be a quicky in-and-out. Many hymns were sung, much with the waves of incense rolling at me over the tops of the pews[I used to pass out from the smell when I was young and an altarboy] The intro to the next hymn sounded, and it was exactly the first six notes of the old folk song, “On Top of Old Smokey.” Of course I blanched, and mightily struggled to suppress a smile, and then a bellylaugh. I leaned forward and looked to my left, and got the attention of the godmother. You could almost do the countdown, “10-9-8,etc”, and the floodgates opened. We laughed 'til we cried, fortunately the minister was a good friend, and didn’t call down the wrath of God on us. The godmother blamed me for it all. She of course recognized the tune and smiled quietly to herself, but when I made eye contact with her, it was more than she could contain. In the church hall later on, we tried to explain what had happened, and no one would believe us. We thought everyone could’ve recognized the tune that got us in trouble. Never did find out the hymn’s name.
The Principal, at the weekly assembly in high school (paraphrased): “I have a serious issue I’d like to bring up. Last week, ah, human feces were found smeared on the walls of the toilet block behind the main building. [some giggling among the students, but not from me, because of course I was far too mature for that]. Now, I know this might seem funny at first [more laughing] - no, please, this is quite serious - but we would like to find out which student is responsible for this, as they may well have mental problems that need to be addressed. Can you imagine what must be going through someone’s mind when they do something like this?”
In reply to which my friend leans over and says “mmmm…squishy!” I chuckled heartily. Still, that wasn’t really embarrasing for me, since most of the other 300+ students in attendance were also laughing at that point.
Another time, I was in the city with a friend, and I saw a weird-looking guy sitting against a wall, rocking back and forth, and monotonously banging on the ground with drumsticks. THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK THWACK! No attempt at rhythm or anything. For some reason, I found this extremely bad attempt at busking to be massively funny, and I laughed and laughed and laughed. My friend got angry with me, and I managed to gasp “but he’s so AWFUL!”, and she informed me that he had no legs (which I hadn’t noticed). It was too late by then, though, and I just kept laughing, probably the hardest that I’ve ever laughed, but now I was simultaniously feeling really bad for laughing, which, in my irrational and oxygen-deprived state, seemed to make the whole situation even funnier. I do feel quite bad about it now, and I still don’t know exactly why I found it THAT funny.
Two of my sisters–call them A and B–were sitting together in church services. Next to Sister A sat a woman with excruciating halitosis. Apparently, this woman was really tired, too, because she kept yawning, which of course meant that my DS was getting repeated shots of dragon breath. She mentions to sister B via notepad (it’s common during our church services for people to take notes on the sermon) that she is dying. Then, during one long breathy yawn, Sister A leans down to get something from her purse, which allowed Sister B to get a dose of the vile wind. She never changed expression, simply wrote a note to Sister A that said, “Church bench.” Sister A gave her a puzzled look, and sister B wrote, “Pew.” Sister A spent the rest of the service choking back her laughter.
Weeks later, I was sitting in services and this story popped into my head–it was my turn to hold back the belly laughs!
My family and I were at my cousin’s wedding. I was sitting beside my brother. The preacher was droning on and on, and out of the corner of my eye I see my brother has his head down and eyes closed. I look over at him, wondering what in the world he is doing. I elbowed him and he whispered, “Stop! He’s praying!” Well, obviously the preacher wasn’t leading everyone in a prayer, he was just talking. I immediately got a case of the giggles as I started to wonder how long my brother had sat there with his eyes closed. My brother could tell I was shaking with laughter and the very second he peeked over at me, the preacher announced, “Let us all bow our heads and pray.”
Well, that unleashed the floodgates. My brother and I sat silently quaking with laughter for rest of the ceremony, which wasn’t that long, thankfully.
I might add that this happened only a couple of years ago when we were both adults. Age is not a factor in giggle fits.
A few years ago, LilMiss, a friend of hers, and I played charades. She couldn’t have been more than 6 years old. It was LilMiss’s turn. The main theme was ‘animal’- we didn’t write anything down, you just had to act something out.
So, she lies on the floor, puts her arms and legs straight up in the air. Crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out.
umm… no clue.
After a few minutes of her friend and I saying we don’t know, she got up, put her hands on her hips, rolled her eyes, and said “Gawd, it was a dead bug! Don’t you GET it?”
I laughed so hard I cried, got the hiccups, stomach hurt- the whole nine yards.
Fast forward a few years. We’re in church. She to the right in the choir loft. Pastor is droning on and on and on. I look up at her. She crosses her eyes, juts her tongue out, and discretely points her fingers skyward.
I died. We’re talking muffled snorts, hiccups, giggles. I had to leave. Unfortunately, the acoustics in the church are such that going downstairs to let loose cause my sounds of merriment drift up into the chapel. Then the parishoners were lucky enough to hear my mother stomping downstairs and lecturing me. :o
When I was around 10 or 11 years old, I got to spend a few weeks with my cousin. My aunt and uncle were “super cool” compared to my strict parents, but even they had hit their limit with our giggling one night. We had gone to bed about an hour earlier, and had been told several times to “settle down and go to sleep!!” She and I called out goodnight to them, and then started the “Goodnight Johnboy” Walton routine, then moved onto “goodnight closet…
goodnight trashcan…goodnight dresser…” until my uncle finally hollered upstairs; “If I have to come up there, you two girls are gonna really get it!!!”
We both settled down quickly then…
For about five minutes it was quiet…you could almost hear the sighs of my aunt and uncle thinking “Finally !!”
My cousin was just about asleep…
I turned over on my stomach with my face in my pillow (to muffle my laughter) and whispered…
“Goodnight toilet!”
I felt kind of bad when she burst out laughing and got in trouble ( )
The service at the viewing of my grandfather after he died.
The rent-a-preacher that did the service (thankfully, NOT the one that did the funeral, who was a very good friend of the family) kept confusing the words “cemetery” and “Seminary”. He said that the dead in the SEMINARY would be raised.
My brother, who was at the time ATTENDING a Seminary, leaned over and muttered, “Huh. He must’ve seen my 8am Greek class.”
I couldn’t help it. I started snorting with laughter. LOUDLY. My mother told me to behave, I told her what my brother had said, and then there were THREE of us snorting. LOUDLY. And I just couldn’t stop. The harder I tried, the funnier it was.
Oh yeah, you all have it so tough when you’re sitting in the pews at Mass.
Try being a 10 year old altar boy serving a funeral, “on stage,” when the priest trips and falls into his chair right in front of you and two other 10 year old boys who absolutely, positively, cannot laugh, no matter what.
I think I know what you mean. Believe it or not… I was an alter boy (and it the church didn’t explode in flame). Well, the best story was when a friend was showing a newbie the ropes. When the priest raised his hands and says “this is the body of Christ, that will be given up for you…” one of the alterboys was to ring a small group of bells. Now this was to last about 3 seconds tops to maximize the effect, and then the priest went on with mass. Well the story goes that my friend told the new kid when to ring the bells, but forgot to tell him how long to ring them for. I was told later that it seemed it was a given as its not like this was his fisrt time to mass or anything
So.
Its 10 o’clock mass…and the priest says “this is the body of Christ, that will be given up for you…”. And the new kid starts ringing the bells.
And ringing the bells.
He was really into it too, as he was smiling and looking around the church congregation (probably trying to spot his parents). He was a good 30 seconds into his little ring-fest when he finally looked over at the Priest behind the alter, who was staring at him over his shoulder with the Ultimate Look Of Death. Now That was hard not to laugh through (I’m told ).
At the funeral for my husband’s grandmother, my long winded brother-in-law was giving the eulogy. My 5 yr old son was already bored and it was his first funeral. He asked me what his uncle was doing, and I made the mistake of saying “Uncle Paul is telling a story”. About 10 mins. into the eulogy, my BIL paused and my son loudly said “The End!” When BIL resumed, my son, in a lower voice said, “No, it’s not the end.” The pallbearers were sitting in front of us, two of which were my husband and his other brother. Both of them were shaking with laughter. But what almost made me loose it, was after I’d told him to be quiet, he’d been good for awhile, then he leaned over me and gave my sister-in-law this serious look, and said “Got Milk?”
)