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Humor: Torment Behind the Art

Edward L. Flaim

Vitriolic Humor: When May We Laugh?

Whether this qualifies as humor, I haven’t a clue. I believe it does. Just as a means of mass destructions was defined as The Peacekeeper, and the ability to incinerate the earth and orbiting interstellar visitors as Mutually Assured Destruction, a beneficial quality of expending trillions of dollars assuring that generals remained obese while Appalachians remained hungry and ignorant, we redefine words to comply with the social milieu we believe imperative at the time. Lies become disinformation, truth becomes the presently acceptable social doctrine, and break-ins into political offices a cost of doing business.

Okay. Let the self-absorbed political munchkins play their obtuse games and feel a bit better that people don’t die; they expire, pass on, cease breathing or miss three hundred plus years of heartbeats. I could give a damn, for I see through their deceptions. BUT WHEN THE SONS OF BITCHES TRY TO ELIMINATE MY MATES! This is legitimate war, you ignorant pustules, and you’re attacking an army that will not accept defeat! Die, you frigging weasels, die. Or at least go back into the vermin-infested nests you arose in.

The Australian Parliament, who bear an astonishing resemblance to the orange-stained urinals at Cecil’s Pub and Cheap Cigar Hostel, have decided that the word “Mate” degraded the Australian populace and should be eliminated from dictionaries, political oratory and common speech. God knows how they intend to enforce it and what penalties they intend to impose for such demonic language. Geez, this is a colony whose original colonists were the vilest of the Empire’s criminals. And their descendants have perfected crime to an art form.

Any Australian tourist knows they must carry at least ten wallets, reducing the possibility of the Aussies grabbing the correct one. American women tourists are relatively safe so long as they tattoo on their foreheads, “I have AIDS AND THE PLAGUE IN MY PURSES!” Even Aussies seek to protect themselves. Unfortunately, they also seek to protect other Aussies and may shoot such women dead, if not too pissed to shoot straight. Fortunately, they usually are.

The above description of the Aussie mentality is a pack of lies. They are some of the friendliest, most decent people you will ever meet, if fortunate enough to meet them. So why does Parliament seek to eliminate a word that helps make Australians unique?

Is this an effort to reduce all cultures to their least common denominator? To eliminate those qualities that make people unique?

I suspect—and I hope I’m correct—that this is another attempt at Aussie humor that flushed down the toilet. Sort of like, “Tie me kangaroo down, sport. Tie me kangaroo down.” Unfortunately, I think it’s the Prime Minister’s attempt to end the uniqueness of cultural differences. Sort of like traveling to Germany and discovering that all Germans speak English. Although at least we needn’t worry about Aussies ever learning to speak English. They can’t even spell “humor.”

You are probably wondering, as am I, is there a point to this article? The answer? It depends on what you mean by point and what you consider humor. Can humor be vitriolic? Yes, so long as the subjects and objects of such humor recognize it as a humorous, not a vitriolic, exchange.

The above “dispute” was an exchange between an Australian and me. What makes it different is, I was the Australian, and the Australian was I, the American. We appeared vicious, but laughed throughout the exchange. We were actors in a play.

As long as we remain so, and the audience eventually realizes this, we stand on safe grounds. But at some point, the audience must become aware of the façade. Otherwise, the joke loses its humor and becomes an attack. A modern question. When is the joke racist, defamatory, bigoted or otherwise offending? I wish I knew.

I no longer know, so I rely on the judgment of those who should know. If I err, at least I’ve tried to prevent the error by consulting others.


About the Author
Ed was born in 1950. He entered the world butt-first and has since viewed the world primarily through this vertical eye. As most of those who survived the turbulent sixties, he faced several choices: death, prison, insanity or law. He chose both law and insanity. He graduated from the University of Minnesota Law School in 1984 after touring the world's asylums.

He was a well-established and recognized practitioner when diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1993. He continued to actively practice law until 1998, when his physical and mental condition said, "Screw this," and he returned to Maryland. In Maryland he vegetated until he came upon WVU and attempted to write fiction.

Ed has published hundreds if not thousands of his writings. That's only because every document he has ever filed with the courts is considered published. Thus far, publishers have been kind and printed one of his 300 story submissions. He's waiting anxiously to see what will happen with number 301, hoping it might bring him wealth and fame like Stephen King. Or at the very least, a cookie.