... About the Pressure to be Clever

Most people don't remember their first joke. That's because most people don't have a first joke as awesome as mine. Wanna hear it? Sure you do. Here's the setup:


When I was about 11, my family and I were on a little trip to Vegas. Someone pointed out the infamous Drive-Thru Wedding Chapel and said something like, "Can I please get one wedding to go?"

To which I replied, "Would you like a hot apple pie with that?"


Everyone laughed. Of course they did, it was hilarious. I bet it ranks in the top five best first jokes in the history of first jokes. Prove me wrong.

I know what you're thinking, Reader. And you're right. This probably wasn't my very first joke ever. But it was the first joke I can remember that made other people laugh. Until that moment, I had been the proverbial black sheep in my family when it came to humor. I had always known that I was funny, but no one else seemed to agree. I'd shoot off witticisms with the intensity of a Russian particle beam death ray, the likes of which should have brought people to their knees (or at least obliviated them in a bright flash of dematerilization), but to no avail. No one ever understood. Yet this simple little joke was the first time others recognized my comedic genius. At first I was surprised by their reaction, but then it dawned on me.

I realized I had to dumb myself down for praise.

It took some time to fine-tune my technique - there is a very small margin of error in comedy. Too dumb, and people look at you oddly. Not dumb enough, and people look at you oddly. But eventually, I became quite adept at instantly reworking a witty remark to fit the intelligence level of the intended recipient, thus invoking their laughter. And oh, once I had that first taste of sweet, sweet mirth, I was addicted. I wanted more. Nay, I needed more.

Let's take a quiz.

Laughter is to Kristen
as
_______ is to crackheads

a) crack
b) crack
c) puppies
d) crack

I was hooked. And once I figured out the system, it just kept getting easier to get my hands on it. With this knowledge I suddenly had the power to endlessly amuse those around me, but every time I used this power I felt I lost a tiny piece of my soul. Dumbing myself down for praise felt wrong, but it was a wrong that was so right.

And suddenly, I'm terrified of the consequences. In these past few years of finding ways to make people laugh, I've dug my own grave. Now, because of my own lack of foresight, people expect me to be funny.

Crap.

A few people that have read this blog intend to return for further amusement. I don't need that kind of pressure. It makes it harder to come up with things to say, and even after I find something I second-guess myself. So thanks a lot, Reader. You've ruined me. Is this what you wanted? In my very first entry, I made a Kane-esque Declaration of Principles, vowing that each entry would be thought-provoking. Was it your goal to force me to abandon those principles, so that when I buckled under pressure you could taunt me with your laughter? Your... laughter...

Oh, sweet laughter. Mmmm.... Can I get some hot apple pie with that?