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Humor: Torment Behind the Art

Edward L. Flaim

Anger and Humor: Oil and Vinegar?

With the exception of WVU students presently in a coma or deceased, all are aware this columnist recently waged war against several staff members at WVU.  As is true of all wars, an Idiot Child commenced this war. Yes—I am indeed that Idiot Child—and by the time I apologized for my lunacy, it was too little, too late.  The mysterious they claim time heals all wounds.  I do hope this is true, for I respect, admire, and dammit, I like these people!  I hope that someday we are capable of passing the Pipe of Peace and once again become friends.

This incident did cause a rarity.  It started me thinking.  A thinking Ed is the ultimate oxymoron, I thought, until I realized I was dwelling on my stupidity. Praise the stars, I found an exception!  Only the truly dense can comprehend density.  This revelation led to the title and subject matter of this story.  Is a mixture of anger and humor necessarily an impossibility, no more compatible than oil and vinegar?  Or can the two merge and produce humor?

A first impression indicates anger and humor are irreconcilable.  In the recent incident instigated by me, I find no humor.  However, there are several people on the board—yes, you know who you are—who have created elaborate and mystifying scenarios seemingly predicated on anger and hate that are actually well rehearsed scripts. They create an atmosphere of the vilest of emotions, but cause mouths to drop “Huh?” with certain clues indicating we are viewing a farce.  Or are we?  And thus the beat goes on.

For example, I depict Tanya, a/k/a Broom Rider (my creation), a/k/a Broom Rider in Training (her creation) as the most despicable of The Powers’ creations, with the possible exception of Zakgirl. In reality, though, we are the best of friends, always willing to assist each other in our efforts, supportive, kind, understanding, comrades in arms—OH, FORGET IT!  I CANNOT CONTINUE TO SPOUT THIS TWADDLE!  Put us in the same room and we’ll rip each other's throats out with sheer glee! Vile, beastly, horrendous creature further polluting the earth’s already rancid ecosystem.

Or is she?  Only The Shadow knows. And He ain't telling!

Our attacks, whether serious or in jest, are so exaggerated, reek of hyperbole, or so ludicrous, inane and insane they can only produce laughter or, at the very least, a quizzical smile, with the reader asking herself, are these people for real? Of course we’re not real. We are also not fiction. We are who you wish us to be. Heads or tails, take your pick, but always remember that occasionally the coin lands on its edge.

When I still practiced law, I engaged in an anxiety reducing game when dealing with opposing counsel who thought propriety was a real estate concept.  Many attorneys specialize in arrogance which leads even the most stable, a club to which I never belonged, to rage. When dealing with such counsel, I would sit before the computer screen and write the most vitriolic letter I could create. The act of writing such a letter purged my soul of its anger, I deleted the letter and responded civilly. The mere act of writing eliminated the anger and I once again became as normal a human being as is possible for a misfit.

One morning after writing such a letter, I received a call from a partner who needed me to substitute for him at a hearing. I quickly changed into a suit and ran to the court house without deleting the letter. I had an extremely efficient secretary, for whom I was usually grateful, who printed the letter, stuffed it in an envelope and carried it to the post office. He showed enviable efficiency on the one occasion I neither needed nor desired it. When I returned to the office, I thanked him for his initiative, locked myself in my office and began to clean a .410 Beretta shotgun, a present from a grateful client who wouldn’t need it for five to ten years, and considered whether I should shoot him or me.

Fortunately I did neither. I called the intended recipient of this mail, informed him a confidential letter mean for another attorney was mistakenly sent to him and asked if he would return this letter to me unopened. Unbelievably he did!  I didn’t cease playing my game. I switched to a computer unable to print.

So are anger and humor inconsistent? Yes and no. Yes if the anger is real and readily susceptible to such an interpretation. No, if all participants recognize it’s a game.  And no, if the anger arises from the audience in response to a well-planned scenario by the humorist to create anger and who ultimately reveals the joke.

The best planned joke instigating apparently real mutual anger  between the humorist and audience I have personally witnessed was an act performed by the late Andy Kaufman on Saturday Night Live. Andy appeared on stage, straight faced and holding a book. He sat astride the typical comedian’s stool, adjacent to a small table with an ancient record player resting on top.  He announced that most of the audiences he encountered we’re utterly lacking in knowledge of the literary arts and, in an effort to educate the audience, he would read The Great Gatsby.  This initial insult to the audience’s intelligence caused scattered murmurs, but the audience believed this to be a prelude to the then little known comedian’s act. It decided to give him a chance.

Andy began reading The Great Gatsby.  And read. And read. And read.  The audience began to grow angry and heckle Andy, at which time he appeared to grow angry and asked it if should proceed or play the trash on the record sitting next to him. The audience relented and asked him to continue.

This pattern of reading and heckling continued. Andy apparently became enraged, and asked the audience if he should continue with their education or play the record.  The audience, in sincere and virulent anger, screamed the equivalent of Give us Barabas, demanding the record.  Andy ridiculed the audience for its ignorance, walked to the record player, dropped on the record and stormed off stage.  The record continued with Andy’s voice reading The Great Gatsby at the precise point he had stopped.  After a brief pause, the audience broke into exuberant laughter. It had been had.  The joke became apparent.

Yes. Anger and humor needn’t be oil and vinegar in the hands of an expert.  I am not such an expert so I’ll stick with why did the chicken cross the road?


About the Author
Ed was born in 1950. He entered the world butt-first and has since viewed the world primarily through this vertical eye. As most of those who survived the turbulent sixties, he faced several choices: death, prison, insanity or law. He chose both law and insanity. He graduated from the University of Minnesota Law School in 1984 after touring the world's asylums.

He was a well-established and recognized practitioner when diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1993. He continued to actively practice law until 1998, when his physical and mental condition said, "Screw this," and he returned to Maryland. In Maryland he vegetated until he came upon WVU and attempted to write fiction.

Ed has published hundreds if not thousands of his writings. That's only because every document he has ever filed with the courts is considered published. Thus far, publishers have been kind and printed one of his 300 story submissions. He's waiting anxiously to see what will happen with number 301, hoping it might bring him wealth and fame like Stephen King. Or at the very least, a cookie.