You might not know this about me, but I can sometimes be funny. You’re shocked, I know, but it’s true.
One of the reasons for this phenomenon is that I have a twisted point of view. I see comedy in just about everything. Sometimes that comedy might be considered inappropriate and best kept to one’s self.
The other reason is that my internal edit button, the one that is responsible for filtering out potentially offensive or off-color thoughts before they enter into conversation, doesn’t work very well. So whatever inappropriate comedy is born out of my twisted cerebral cortex often rolls right out of my mouth. Sometimes it’s funny to other people as well. Sometimes not.
This has obvious drawbacks. I run the risk of offending people and sometimes misrepresenting myself as an insensitive, drunk, white trash whore. I try to remember to edit myself when in mixed company or when trying to make a good impression, but sometimes my edit button shuts off on its own. Often at unfortunate times. The larger the audience, the deeper I will insert my foot. In graduate school I became semi-famous for it (meaning I was well-known within a half mile radius of the conservatory front doors.)
Usually I have better luck with this when I’m writing, because it takes longer to type offensive thoughts than it does to say them, which gives my edit button time to engage and say, “what the feck did you just write? You were raised better than that, Missy. Go ahead and tap that delete button. In fact, just lean on it for a solid minute.”
But sometimes my edit button doesn’t engage and things slip by.
For instance, yesterday I was tweeting (as I do from time to time in an effort to reconnect with the 14-year-old girl inside me) and I wrote:
On its own, not at all offensive. Unless you are offended by bad grammar and punctuation. Unfortunately I felt the need to add this little tag:
Remorse immediately set in. I was appalled by my own lack of tact. And the fact that I misrepresented myself as some sort of morally bankrupt cannibal (as opposed to the ethical cannibals, who only eat Fair Trade people and mentor young cannibals in their spare time.)
I’m pro-homeless. Which is not to say that I’m for people being without homes. I simply support their right to exist without being made an appetizer. Love thy neighbor. Don’t eat thy neighbor. Even if your neighbor is passed out on the sidewalk. (That last part might not technically be in the Bible, but I’m fairly confident that it’s implied.)
I tried to right my wrong with a follow-up Tweet.
But really, how do you bounce back once you’ve advocated cannibalizing the disenfranchised? I really ought to fix that edit button.
**Note: If you happen to be familiar with the news story that inspired my tasteless Tweet about the nude gentleman who was shot and killed by police while snacking on the face of a homeless man, you should know that his girlfriend has gone on record as saying that he was a sweet man who often carried around a Bible and did not do hard drugs.
He sounds nice. Perhaps he was also having trouble with his edit button.
“My edit button tells me not to eat brains.” (image via dreamstime)
Fathead Follies 
I too am a bleeding heart liberal, but “hobo faces” as a follow-up to
“things I don’t even like” is freaking hilarious.
I went into a shame spiral thinking, “that poor, half eaten hobo probably has family who love him” and then I read an article in which his sister said, “we all thought he was dead already” and I didn’t feel as bad anymore.
I’m sure you really meant “hobo feces” anyway. Damn auto-correct.
Totally. I like to distill hobo feces and reclaim the alcohol for a cheap buzz.
I only feast on free-range hobos. š
I have a mental picture of you in a jeep with a high powered rifle, chasing wild hobos across the savanna. Then you could mount the hobo heads on your trophy wall.
I would have done exactly the same thing. Which is one reason why I’m not yet on Twitter. And I’ve heard the edit button referred to as a ‘brain bone’, which makes me think of ‘brain boner’, and actually has the opposite of its intended effect by causing me to start making penis jokes. Either way. No filters.
I can’t hang with serious, dignified people because it’s only a matter of time before I’m struck with a brain boner.
Brain boners are almost as bad a real boners. I start tenting, and it’s only a matter of time before I spew forth something salty.
This is why I like you. You are twisted and dark and you say what you think even when it shouldn’t be said. I also like that deep down inside, you do have a conscience (just don’t bring it up too often…it’s not that funny).
I’m not sure if I find the hobo faces funnier because of the cannibal attack or because you used the word “hobo.” My neighbor uses that word (and I then used it in a blog as a result) and it cracked me up. I don’t know if it’s just because it’s a funny word or if it’s because I thought everyone stopped using that word thirty years ago, but it’s out there again. And it’s funny. You know, whether you like it or not, you’re a humor blogger. As humor writers, we are the voice that everyone else edits inside themselves. People like us because we say what they’re thinking.
And speaking of being unable to self-edit, you should enjoy my next post which will be published this morning at 7 a.m. It’s about the time I insulted Alan Alda – in a major way – at a gala in his honor. I don’t need an edit button; I need a muzzle. Keep at it girl! You’re hilarious.
There is something undeniably attractive about an intelligent woman in a muzzle. I look forward to reading about Mr. Alda. As I did reading about zombies. See, I don’t feel conflicted about your thoughts. Just mine. You’re like the devil on my shoulder. Except more eloquent. My actual devil sounds more like Beevis.