We’ve Hit a Dry Stretch In the Funny Department

You probably notice there hasn’t been a posting in the last few days. Okay, you didn’t notice because you stagger over to Babble only on days so tedious that you’ve already waded through 45 or so blogs and still the work day drags on. Trust me, on this singular point the blogger knows what he’s talking about. No posts lately. Two simple reasons:

  1. The blogger once again considered the writing of a book. The mere bird flutter of a thought about writing a book inevitably causes your humble blogger to switch into Defcon-5 (or is that Defcon-1?…I get confused) level writer’s block mode. A hat currently sits outside the Babble offices for well-wishers to throw small donations toward proper therapy for your humble blogger.
  2. Nothing funny has happened in recent days. You know when you wake up on the day after a fine Thanksgiving meal to see a headline about people burning other people alive that we’re in a low-funny cycle. You also know this is the case when the only funnyperson news is Michael Richards going drunk European soccer hooligan on some comedy patrons. Yes, we haven’t had any funny days now since Ted Haggard told us he bought the Meth, but threw it out the window and Katherine Harris and Rick Santorum got their asses kicked. Since then we’ve just been personally unwell, the number of people killing and burning other people alive has ratcheted up, 92-year old women are going out Bonnie Parker style, and Michael Richards is severely denting sales of “Seinfeld: Season Eight” DVDs. Not funny days.

Your humble folks at Babble are sincerely hoping the fickle finger of funny starts to swing from it’s current El Nino position into a wetter, funnier pattern shortly. Maybe Donald Rumsfeld could quit again, or be caught on YouTube buying some meth from Ted Haggard or something to get the funny juices flowing. C’mon Rummy, you owe us some more funny, big time.

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One thought on “We’ve Hit a Dry Stretch In the Funny Department

  1. The funny bone is like the belly button. It is always there, but sometimes we forget we have one until we have to dig out a wad of lint that has taken on a discernable unpleasant odor from some kind of nebulous fungal infestation. don’t forget to wash your hands afterward!And good luck on the novel.

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