Your funny bone is the one in your elbow (allegedly).
But is it? Is it really?
The idea of a “funny bone” is not funny to me at all. I think it’s a childish saying for childish people who think that bones can be funny. I don’t think bones are entirely un-funny but I don’t think they are necessarily funny either.
Hitting your funny bone is not funny. It’s unpleasant. It’s funny, in the way that something strange is “funny.”
Like “why is that man looking at me all funny?”
I don’t know if my elbow bones even WANT to be funny!
I do. Want to be funny.
I am happiest when I am being funny and other people are laughing and other people are also being funny so I am also laughing too.
I broke my elbow in Kindergarten. I was playing on the monkey bars in the playground and a bunch of other kids were waiting behind me. I was being slow because I was scared that I was going to fall. The kids behind me were losing their minds. Someone pushed me, I fell, and then, all of a sudden, I was alone and my arm was bent in the wrong direction. Bent in a way that an arm was not supposed to bend. Bent funny, in other words.
I remember a waifish child named Nathaniel nervously looking down at me.“Should I get the teacher?” (Nathaniel was my first crush)
There’s a picture of me in the hospital bed with a stuffed chihuahua.
I look small and sickly like a bruised Victorian orphan swathed in white hospital linens. Waiting to regain the use of my own arm.
I remember the wallpaper in the hospital had animals on it. I was all loopy on drugs, so they looked like they were squirming on the ceiling.
I’ve always secretly loved being sick. Being forced to rest. To surrender! (Is that why I’ve been sick so much?)
The scar on my left elbow is a straight line with two small dots next to it (where, allegedly, a giant medical safety pin was attached).
Now, it feels like there’s an extra little bone in my elbow. A small, triangular lump. I don’t know what that’s from. Funny how bones just show up sometimes.
Comedy comes from the unexpected (allegedly).
Which proves that we are all such sheeple! Always expecting certain things to be a certain way all the time and the crazy thing is, we’re usually right! It’s the same shit over and over and over until a surprise.
A little delight, a mistake, a wonder really.
Recently I’ve been practicing something called “Say It” where I say things that I want to say even though part of me thinks they may be inappropriate in terms of being not funny but also not interesting.
Like at a party recently, I was talking to a very handsome guy (who has a girlfriend so don’t even worry about that) and we were standing by a shoe rack and I said “wouldn’t it be funny if we just scrambled all the shoes up?” but it wasn’t funny, it was just weird, and not at all the tone of our conversation. So he looked at me in this way that I hope means that he was charmed by me (he has a girlfriend) but also like he was confused by me and maybe didn’t totally know what to do with me (he has a girlfriend). I liked it. But it was also a little bit lonely.
I was always trying to make people laugh when I was a kid. A magician’s mustache, a cardboard penis, a horse made of sticks. My mom laughs generously. My dad laughs silently.
“You want to be like your father? Your father is fucking boring!” —Philippe Gaulier, 2026.
My father is not boring, but he is very repressed. He lives with enormous pain in his spine and legs. But if you say something about shit or poop or farts, then he WILL laugh.
Ultimately, I am only writing all this because I don’t really have a crush on anyone. If I really had a crush on someone, I would be scared of scaring them away.
She has a blog? I don’t want to fuck a girl with a blog! (This is not a blog)
But then again, I am lonely a lot.
I think that’s why I like making people laugh.
Because it’s loud.
Drawings and photos are my own (except for the stock image of an elbow, that one is from the internet).
Thanks for reading!!