It’s Filled With Victims. I Killed.

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It’s Filled With Victims. I Killed.

Jokes. Those things that really piss people off.


“I like a guy that has a good sense of humor.”

“Really. Pull my finger?”

“Let me rephrase. I like a guy with MY sense of humor.”

“Oh. So, no finger?”



I always cringe a little when I hear those words. “I like a good sense of humor.” Because it’s kind of bullshit, right? It’s like saying, “I like a guy that likes good music.” Well, define good music. Is it a polka band that plays the hits of Nickleback? Perhaps an acapella group that performs Reign In Blood in it’s entirety. A hip hop group that targets toddlers?

“A hip hop group that targets toddlers? That sounds hilarious!”

Does it? Like, throw your diapers in the air! Poop like you just don’t care?

“Not the poop part. That’s disgusting.”

Oh. I see. Let me right that down. Poop references are NOT funny. Got it. I’m learning so much today.

“Well, poop is never funny.”

Now that there, my dear, is a slippery slope. There has to be someone, somewhere that thinks poop is a riot. But since you have been nominated to speak for the entire population of Earth, where do we stand on assholes?

“Definitely not funny. So don’t be one.”

Assholes. Writing it down. NOT funny. Well of course. There so close to the poop.



On a wet and windy night down on the boulevard, I see a man stumble out of The Frolic Room. He looks concerned and moves with purpose towards a city trash can. His expression is so familiar that I don’t question his actions for a moment. That guy is gonna puke.

Equilibrium fails him. His footing lost on the glistening, slippery star of Gary Cooper. As his body succumbs to gravity, the vomit seems to defy it. A geyser of beer, whiskey, and, what could be a Cobb salad, rebels against the falling rain. Until it too capitulates to the Earth’s pull, covering his entire face.

Quickly, he spins and rises to his hands and knees. The few witnesses frozen and agape. This man braces himself for a second heave. The regurgitative force triggers the juiciest flatulence ever heard while hovering above the star of Gary Cooper. I believe this man has just shit himself.

From under the frame of the bar entrance, a cackle. A hearty one. I glance over to see an aged man. A joyful man. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such happiness. I glance back. The tragic human on the boulevard turns his head and says, “Shut the fuck up, Bill!” But Bill doesn’t shut the fuck up. He laughs harder.

An epiphany rises. I think to myself, this is comedy. There has to be a victim. Otherwise, it’s not hilarious. Merriment so undiluted, you cry. Victimless humor is simply cute. And I’m not interested in cute. I’m interested in the admiration of suffering. Where schadenfreude rules supreme.

“Shut the fuck up, Bill!”


BH: Allow me to pose a question.

TP: Shoot.

BH: What is humor?

TP: Humor. It’s an action, or concept, that illicits laughter.

BH: That’s good.

TP: Thanks.

BH: But are there universals to humor? Something that everybody finds humorous.

TP: No. There will always be someone that has their arms crossed, frowning at everybody.

BH: And why is that?

TP: Because, whatever you are laughing at, somebody will have a negative association to it.

BH: Give me an example.

TP: OK. Take physical humor. Generally speaking, people find it funny. You walk into a glass door because it’s so clean. You smash face first into it, and everybody laughs. But somewhere in the world, a mother has lost her twelve year old son to that same event. A shard of broken glass into his jugular.

BH: Right.

TP: So, for her, walking into a glass door is very upsetting.

BH: And she never bought Windex again.

TP: Be careful.

BH: Damn you, Windex!

TP: But, you have a sick sense of humor.

BH: Do I? Because I can find a silver lining in an otherwise tragic moment? I think it’s admirable.

TP: Really.

BH: I would never walk up to that woman and say those things. That would make me a dick.

TP: More of a dick.

BH: Hey, come on now.

TP: I don’t know, BurpHole. Defining what is humorous is almost impossible. It’s completely subjective. It’s like trying to define love.

BH: Love? You’re comparing this to love.

TP: Well, it’s the ultimate act of physical comedy, don’t you think? People fall all the time when love’s in the room.

BH: That’s excellent.

TP: Love is hilarious…


Coming this summer to a theatre near you:

“When Love Walks In, And Through, A Glass Wall.”

“Is Love gonna be ok?”

“I don’t know, Laura. The glass cut pretty deep.”

“Damn you Windex!!!”

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