Some Things Just Aren't Funny!
But What Things?
There are small but solid signs that Trump and Company’s traveling circus seems to be headed for the historical trash bin; you can almost see the small green shoots of democracy coming up… I’d love to think it’s the beginning of something hopeful, something truly good—but I’m too superstitious to let myself get carried away; Trump and his gang are too immersed in their fascist zealotry and massive corruption to suddenly see the light and accept The Constitution as their personal savior…
But—since things look a little less bleak recently, I’m taking a break from my usual preaching and putting something different up... This piece was inspired by the fact that I live in New York City, and most of the people I’ve known in my “adult” life have been either therapist or patients—or both…
I’m prefacing this piece by noting that it always struck me as funny that Sigmund Freud wrote a book about humor. He just didn’t seem like a barrel of laughs to me—but, of course, what he wrote wasn’t meant as a joke book—it was a medical/academic examination of the unconscious origins of humor. Doctor F. was, after all, an upper-middle class Victorian and spent his life listing to the distressed and miserable…
Anyway, here we go:
SOME THING JUST AREN’T FUNNY:
…Recently found in the attic of the great-grandson of Sigmund Freud’s personal cigar-maker in Vienna; the original manuscript of Freud’s: Jokes and Their Relation to Unconscious (1905). …Discovered between the preface and the first page of the manuscript was a letter written to Freud in 1904 from his cousin Sholem, “Shecky” Freud. Little is known about Sholem Freud, save for the fact that he mysteriously left Vienna for America around 1895 and ultimately found employment in Pittsburgh as a traveling salesman in lady’s lingerie.
Written Across the top of the letter—in Freud’s distinctive hand—is a note to himself: “This may prove to be much more than a joke—or, possibly, much less—investigate further…” The full text of the letter from Freud’s cousin Shecky, faded with time, reads as follows:
“Sigi—you nut! Bet you couldn’t wait to hear from your favorite cousin! Anyway, I got another one for that book you’re writing about jokes. I heard it yesterday at the office from a guy named Henny or Benny or something…This one, I guaranfriggingtee you, is going to knock your socks off—Unless you’re still wearing those weird black wool gaiters. Ha! Ha!
Anyway, here it is:
A man walks into a psychiatrist’s office. His clothes are wrinkled, his hair is wild, he’s shaking all over…
Man: “Doc! Doc! You gotta help me!”
Doc: “What seems to be the problem?
Man: “Every time I fall asleep, I have terrible dreams. What should I do!?”
Doc: “Stay Awake!” …Is that a pisser, or what?
Meanwhile, tell me how the humor book going. Did you get my last letter with the fart jokes? If anybody’s going to find out they have some “deeper meaning”, it’s you. Ha! Ha! You remember that time we were in Uncle Morty’s apartment, and somebody let go with a big one? I made a face and looked at you—and you said, “He who smelt it, dealt it.” That was so typical of you. Everybody thought you were such a serious kid, but you could fire off a quick one when nobody was looking.
Anyway, switching to other stuff—How’s the wife and kids? I bet that little Anna is a handful, eh? (Between you and me, Sigi—I think you spoil her, but what do I know?)
And how’s Martha doing? …I was always crazy about that woman. In fact, since we’re on the subject, I’ll tell you a little secret—something, even though you’re a big genius head doctor, maybe you never knew… I always had a thing for Martha, but—go figure—she only had eyes for you. I know the whole family was always trying to figure out why I left Vienna in such a hurry. Well, that’s it.
…Anyway, no biggie, Sigi! (Ha Ha!) The thing with Martha is already old news. Let’s just say that I’m still on the lookout for the girl of my dreams—but hey, I’m in lady’s underwear, so there’s going to be plenty of opportunities, right? Ha! Ha!
Anyway, as they say, “always leave ‘em laughing,” so I’ll close with one more joke—maybe for your book, or just to hand you a giggle:
“Knock Knock!”
“Who’s There?”
“Eddie”
“Eddie who?!”
“Eddie Puss!”
Pretty funny, right?
Anywyay— ‘til next time, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!
Your cousin,
Shecky