Laughter

What makes you laugh?

My favorite variety of humour isn't afraid to cross boundaries.
One of my all-time favorites is Rodney Dangerfield.

I used to have a little Alpaca. If you know anything about Alpacas, then you know… they spit. But my alpaca wasn’t a spitter. He would blow a puff of air instead. So once, I went out there to visit with my alpaca and the little guy blew air. I said, “yeah, you think so, huh! If you’re going to do it, do it like you mean it dumbo!” (Then I took a sip of my drink and spit the whole mouthful square in his face.) “That’s how it’s done!!” As I turned to walk away, I heard his spitting noise and a gob of Alpaca spit splattered the back of my head and neck. It was disgusting. But I turned it into a game. Whenever I’d see the alpaca standing in the yard, I’d take a mouthful of water and I’d try to sneak up on him and spit. Once the moment was right, I’d charge in as fast as I could run and I’d spit that mouthful of water on that crazy alpaca. He’s come galloping after me to spit back. He learned the game really well. Whenever he had the chance, he’d do the same thing. He’d stalk me down and then come charging in full speed…and he’d spit and gallop away wagging his victorious little tail. It became a bit of a game, me and my alpaca having spit wars. We were great friends. Face-to-face, we got along just fine. The spitting had somehow become a sort of sneak-attack game. So if there wasn’t a sneak attack to be had, neither of us would bother. Ernie learned that the best sneak attacks were to be had on strangers, because they didn’t know the game. So I took great delight in introducing people to my alpaca. They’d walk up with me and Ernie was as sweet and docile as any animal. But Ernie and I both knew that my little friend was going to get spat on before the day was out. I’d tell my friend, I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back. At the same time, Ernie would harmlessly wander into the yard to graze. But then, as soon as Ernie saw me heading that direction, he’d wink at me and then go bolting towards my little friend with a dive-bomb spit attack. It was great! I’m not sure which part I liked best, my angry little friend covered with green fresh-graze alpaca spit or the frequent terrified scream I’d hear from my friend when the 250-lb. animal came galloping up like he was going to run them over. I always took great delight in mimicking their screams… and reminding the posers in my neighborhood how, “Yeah, you might think you’re Billy badass cool…wearing your official pleather Arthur Fonzarelli jacket and shades, but I’ve seen you curled in the fetal position screaming and crying like a pup. Once you’ve disgraced yourself in this manner, no amount of pleather will restore cool." It happened nearly 30 years ago, but my friend Burriss still talks about his encounter with Ernie. After all these years, I think he’s still a little mad.

You talkin’ to me? Punk!

I spit in your general direction!