Ever since I was little, I wanted to make fun of everything. This was a problem because, of course, everything is bigger than I am. And, it had a headstart.
At first, I thought I could compromise: I would make fun of everything…I knew about. But, a little voice in the back of my head said, “Everything is not divisible.” Clearly, by this logic, I would have to make fun of things I knew nothing about, too.
After all, when you’re making fun of everything, who has time for semantic distinctions?
Because I have so much to catch up on, I can sometimes be a little intense. I went to a psychiatrist to help me out. “Tell me about your mother,” he asked.
“Sorry,” I replied, “but I don’t do material without getting paid.
This did not bode well for our relationship. After 12 years of therapy, my psychiatrist finally told me I didn’t have the right attitude. I could have told him that in the first five minutes of our first session, but I wanted to see how things played out.
When your goal is to make fun of everything, everything is research.
Of course, reality is not so easily mocked. “How would you like it if I made fun of you?” everything taunts me.
“I beat you to it,” I easily answer, pointing to a number of less than flattering self-portraits that have popped up from time to time in my writing.
“You’re soft on yourself,” everything insists.
I shrug. “I’m soft on everything. I like the give and take of developing funny ideas, but I don’t think I have the pitiless cruelty necessary to be a truly effective satirist.”
Everything skulks off, planning to cause an earthquake in Mexico or some equally defenseless third world country. When it comes right down to it, Reality is a sore loser.
My mission in life has made some things easier for me. Whenever any of my subjects threatens to sue me for libel, slander, defamation of character or any of the other roadblocks everything puts in a writer’s way to keep her or him from having a good time, they know where to find me.
“You the guy who wants to make fun of everything?” their lawyer or other legal representative will ask me.”
“Yeah?”
“Make fun of this.”
Okay.
In some ways, my goal makes it easier for others to understand me. “Now, Mister Nayman,” the judge at my trial will say, “when you say that it is your intention to make fun of everything, surely, the serious business which takes place before this court is not included?”
“Of course it is,” I politely respond.
“I see,” the judge will say, immediately before dismissing the jury and dispensing with any trial, finding me guilty, assessing the maximum penalty the law will allow (and court costs for all the cases before him that month) and admonishing me to seek a different, more reputable calling.
Television evangelism, perhaps.
Not that I want to paint a totally rosy picture; there are drawbacks to my goal in life, after all. It’s hard to keep friends, for instance.
“You’re not going to make fun of me, are you?” they inevitably ask.
“You know what my goal in life is,” I remind them.
“Couldn’t you make fun of everything except me?” they insist.
“Everything is indivisible,” I say.
I don’t know. I heard that somewhere.