Mosaic / Reviews / January 27, 2011

About the balls

What is with all the sports movies with names that involve puns on testicles? No, we’re not moving on. No, stop reading and think about it. “Ball of Fury,” “Balls Out,” “Precious?” (Alright, maybe that last one doesn’t count…) Having seen one of these movies I can predict the rest as being full of “raunchy humor” and people getting hit in the junk (not the junk in that trunk. What you gonna do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk? No, don’t answer that. Stop.). And you know what? That’s not right. That is wrong. Why? WHY? YOU ASK ME WHY? FOOLISH MORTALS I — Sorry, lost it for a moment there. Consider this: if humor is going down the toilet, where, pray tell, do you think it’ll end up? I’ll tell you—in the sewers where it will mutate into some unrecognizable terror that will rise up and escape into the city, eating pets and children. Then we’ll have to call Patterson and Gimlin and apologize. Is that what you want? Is it? I recall watching a certain film, involving two gentlemen and a misplaced vehicle, whilst I was enrolled in my earlier years of high school (I believe the title was, “Dearest cohort, I believe we have mislaid our conveyance and presently are bamboozled as to its whereabouts. Tell me, have you any notion as to its location as of late?”). The film contained a certain…well, it had…er…Most of you know the film I’m referring to, and you can probably guess what I have to say about it, so just fill in the blanks (No, I did not love it and no, I am not going to buy you an ice-cream sandwich, it’s cold out and that’s just silly, no…ok, fine I’ll buy you one if you remind me later. Seriously, ask and ye shall receive.). More recently I re-watched “Blazing Saddles.” It was okay, I guess. That was a joke. Uh… FFFFFFRRRRRTTTTT (There, happy?)

Now, I’m just a normal guy (with uncontrollable laser-vision), but I think there’s a difference between the good ‘ole funnies and schoolyard jokes. Do you think Charlie Chaplin relied on fart jokes (Do you? Huh? Punk? Wait… do you even know who he is? A few of you nodded, but you…the one in the sweater…you’re lying, I can smell it)? We don’t know because there was no sound and dinosaurs walked the earth (or drove around in Geo Trackers). Still, you can bet other great humorists like Ingmar Bergman NEVER relied on having a character get hit in the jubilees to get a laugh (No, he had a crazy guy with a rock…in that scene… where the kid bites him… no? Forget it.). Basically, what I’m trying (albeit not very hard) to say is this: if humor hits rock-bottom it’s just going to keep tunneling until its digger-claws are all mangled and we end up with a mix of… I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like. Terrifying. So please, all of you, pray for satire and parody, do not let the milk shoot out your nostrils when Clyde says that stupid joke (Really, all he does is make farting noises with his palms…it’s not even a joke…it’s more like impressionist paintings… Damn you Clyde…), and keep good humor in good humor.

Dan Kahn

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