One of the first times I laughed so hard I thought I'd break something in my torso, was when my sister whipped her head up and down (like a hesher but with her waist as the fulcrum and not the neck), for several minutes.

I got down on myself the other day for not being as funny as I used to be. I decided it was because I became self-employed. There is no room for funny when you work freelance. So now, I'm resolving to be funny again for the lunar new year (yes, it's THAT easy for me...cough...). I mean there's no reason to be serious.

Did someone say election year? (Anne looks around herself) I don't see anything.
War, global warming, injustice? (Anne starts daydreaming about gay porn)
Anne's being scissor-cut by financial insecurity? (Anne looks up "scissor-cut" in thesaurus)

To start things off, I wrote something to my (and your) friend Aaron this morning, to cheer him up. Consider it a sort of warm up.


It was the twilight of their lives. After retiring, Bess took a volunteer job cleaning up the stacks of their local library, Jeffrey had picked up gardening. It was Autumn and the golden pair was sitting in their doilied living room half-watching TV after having finished a dinner of tortellini soup and a new recipe for peanut butter pie left over from the weekend.
"Oh Bess. Isn't it a great life we have here?"
"Oh, Jeffrey, you said it."
"I'm glad we made that peanut butter pie."
"Tommy and Lisa wouldn't have had it otherwise, no sir!" Bess said with an anachronistic sarcasm not quite a guffaw.
Their favorite grandchildren had just come up from West Haven to pay them a visit; made a humorous attempt at teaching them what Bess kept calling "the emails." It was as satisfying for the kids to have been able to teach something for their first time, as it was for the grandparents to learn something after so many years of assuming they'd seen everything. Now it was just them. Sitting, relaxing.
Until.
The peanut butter monster showed up...
"Bess, hon. Did you start another peanut butter pie?"
"Well no, Jeffrey. You're talking about that smell?"
"Yeah."
"I thought I was just having a senior moment."
They chuckled.
But then it rumbled to high stinking peanut butter heaven again. This time it was audible too. BRRBRBBRLLL. Like someone was simmering a pot of peanut butter chili, except it smelled like peanut butter chili. Then, before either of them could get on their feet, Jeffrey was catapulted into the air with the force of a peanut butter geyser exploding through his anus, ripping through his army surplus kakhis and coming to life as a tetrahedron. Chunky. Very chunky.
Bess, though not characteristically religious, started saying the names of holy saints, starting with Jesus Motherf***ing Holy Christ, and started to run with the legs of an 18 year old before finding herself cornered between the wall with wood siding and the wall with crown molding. The peanut butter monster, whose real name was Bielzenut McBaal, had rendered Jeffrey into a blooming mess and now turned his attention to her.
"I am Bielzenut McBaal," said Bielzenut McBaal.
"What do you want from us?" said Bess.
"You, Bess. I want YOU!!!" Bielzenut said, as he spiraled out of control like an amateur lasso, whipping Bess with pelts of whole peanut that didn't get crushed on their way to becoming butter.

I didn't have the energy to finish this story (though I invite you to try), and I'm sorry for anyone this offends. For those offended, I'd like to say for the record, that there is in fact, no such thing as a peanut butter monster, nor do grandparents ever favor any particular set of grandchildren. This is a total fiction, and that's what makes it ok to laugh.