Rainy Days and Mondays

It is only right and proper that I am careful as to where my humour leads me. Like a runaway train thundering down the track, myself huffing and puffing red faced behind, holding in the guffaws after one too many dangly bits joke. I confess this is not the only track my mind wanders too, I am afraid I have to stop it sniffing around many a dark and dank crevice.

I have this theory that out from the cess pit of humour springs hope. Many a good joke has come about from a spot of healthy oppression. Just ask Joan Rivers... Before you start throwing your placards at me of course there is no such thing as healthy oppression. Except for perhaps the Cabbage Soup Diet. I suspect the last thing on any self respecting despots mind is whether the last heinous act he/she has committed will translate into a good gag.

I would advise you steer away from the despot route if you are in the business of making people laugh, although I believe tickling is a bonafide torture technique. I would like to think those who successfully lob the PC book away have probably lived through their jokes first, turned their misery into mirth and are now reaching out and touching the rest of us; albeit somewhat inappropriately.