Laugh it up, fuzzball!

I like to think I have a pretty good sense of humor. Lotta things amuse me, from smiles to laugh-out-loud. Back when I went to movies, I was often that guy in the theater hooting like a loon when nobody else was.

Humor is, of course, subjective. The best of it teeters on a razor’s edge, a hair either way, it falls mirthlessly into the void. Did not reach far enough, or went too far.

The really funny stuff is always at some one’s or some thing’s expense. Every joke has a butt, the laugh comes from some kind if pratfall, albeit not always a slapstick version. Clever word play, the unexpected twist that catches you flat-footed, the creaky bridge not quite too far. They will do the trick

Malapropisms, spoonerisms, puns, three guys walk into a bar, the roads to knee-slappers are myriad.

Sometimes, the choice is to laugh or cry, and the humor will be exceedingly dark — almost everything can be grist for the laugh mill, stomach-turners only those hip-deep in bloody trenches will understand.

You have to make room for that wide swath.

For me, the best jokes about kinds of people come from those who are are one. Doctors tell the best doctor jokes, lawyers the best lawyer jokes; being a member of a group gives you a certain leeway outsiders don’t have.

That said? I spent a few minutes this morning deleting comments and memes in my social media feeds, snoozing some of the posters, kicking others out.

For me, there are some limits. Not just that it is not funny, but that it is egregiously cruel, it punches too far down, or it is simply too tone-deaf from someone who cannot read the room. That if you are someone who really thinks *that* is funny? There is a psychosis evident I don’t want to be around.