In the fuss and bluster that always marks an election, for those forced to participate, an old school friend who only recently reconnected on Facebook, fairly asked the question "I thought I was supposed to be the comedian". Now never mind the politics, which played out where it did, I was simultaneously intrigued about this question.
Now I know my raison d'etre and don't find any need to tread on the toes of the very crowded field of stand-up. And my writing will only touch on humour when that happens as part of the process. But, since blogs are the place to ruminate on such things, I did want to scrape against the barnacled belly of the whale of a time called Comedy.
The first (and only) joke I wrote was an academic exercise - literally. We were asked to write a short piece on one word themes before semester commenced in Writing for the Web, and one of those was Joke.
I think I did better with that than with the other pieces and mainly because I didn't want to deconstruct or dissect the joke. I thought it would work better as a creative writing exercise (and this subject was very firmly writing praxis) to actually write a joke.
I don't know whether this was still the stage where I was getting inspiration for my other writing by wildly juxtaposing imagery and then letting the result speak, but that's how I tackled this task. Now the incongruity could be as stark as a table for two in the fallout shelter (which had less resonance a decade on) but then where's the laughs? As much as I like black humour, that wasn't what I wanted to do here. Perhaps because I had been writing so much about failed meritocracies and bizarre concatenations. I wanted dumb fun to be front and centre.
So a flea and a nightclub.
It still reads as a quality piece of comedy writing and I think that's because there's neither the need nor the desire to lay down any message or interrupt the laughs. Just follow the flea.