Analyses of why humor is, well, humorous always seem like dry bran cereal unaccompanied by milk (or gasoline). But I think that the bottom line on them is, “There but for the grace of God go I.” It’s funny precisely because you can see yourself in that position, if things were a little different.
I’ll tell an “offensive” joke to two categories of people:
[ul][li]people who belong to the group that would be the butt of the joke and whom I know well enough that they’d realize it is shared humor, not a putdown[/li][li]Extremely close friends that share my opinions on the subject of the joke[/ul][/li]
In essence, if I’d offend somebody, I’ll avoid it. Something I failed to do once on this board, with predictable consequences.
Yosemitebabe has it on target. “Laugh with them, not at them.” As I was posting this, a coworker who is trying to lose weight walked by with a snack from the vending machine, held it up, and asked, “Does carrot cake qualify as a vegetable?” with a big smile and a chuckle. I laughed along with her.
I want to share a joke, not terribly funny, but given the source better than a small chuckle. At one point in my life, I was working with a book remainder house which ventured into selling “seconds” of a number of other products. In the case in question, the company had bought a trailerload of promotional balloons that had not met Q.C. at the factory. 20% or so of them were “face” balloons with eye and mouth printed on and nose being a rubber projection that stuck out when inflated, a la some of Slug’s cartoon faces. These were rejects because the eye/mouth print was “off” and in most cases resulted in the “nose” sticking out from the eye.
About two miles down the road from where we lived were a series of car dealerships, including a Ford franchise owned and named after a gentleman named Dick Ide (which I wish I’d remembered for the “funny names” thread in MPSIMS).
Our next-door neighbors had a 13-year-old son who was retarded in the literal sense, developmentally disabled due to congenital problems that had failed to provide adequate oxygen to part of his brain. He was as alert as anyone else, and a whiz at electronic kits, but a very slow learner. He was, as well, a truly nice kid, fun to have around, polite but not obsequious and infectiously happy.
The afternoon I came home from work with some of these balloons in the back seat (perfectly OK; we were welcome to help ourselves to small quantities of things that would only be profitable in bulk sales), Billy came over, saw the balloons, and asked about them. I explained what the problem was and why they were not saleable, and he said, “No problem; you can always sell them to Dick Ide Ford.”