The Writer's E-Zine Home

Writers' Village University - F2K: Free Fiction Writing Course - ePress-online
Writers' Village University Membership Information

Humor: Torment Behind the Art

Edward L. Flaim

As most of you probably know, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1993. I’ll never forget my then girlfriend, What’s-Her-Name, who suggested that since I had scheduled a doctor’s appointment for my annual physical, I should ask him why I was walking into walls, tripping over lamps and ottomans, and sounding drunk when I had consumed nothing stronger than coffee. So I asked, and a year later, after several neurologist consults, the diagnosis arrived. Multiple sclerosis. If my then former girlfriend had not suggested I ask the doctor about my coordination and speech problems, I would not have multiple sclerosis. If a tree falls in the forest and no one is near to hear it, does it still make a sound? Hell no! I could have stumbled through life tripping on grass blades and never have known of my disease. Damn her.

At Writers' Village, I know I’m not alone. Quite a few people who frequent this site are afflicted by the same or other neurological diseases. Yet they survive, as I survive, knowing our diseases do not define us. We are so much more.

However, we do confront difficulties. Here I’ll switch from “we” to “I,” for everyone’s manifestations of their illnesses differ. So I now write only about my difficulties, hoping that others can see portions of themselves in me. And no, I haven’t forgotten this is a humor column, or so I hope, and the humor will follow, I also hope. Just be patient.

I have extreme problems with balance. I have visited many bushes, trees, a gully or three, stair bottoms and creeks. It’s an odd sensation, drifting from the sunlight into a creek bottom, feeling minnows nibble my nose. This I can endure. I merely dwell on the days I spent good money to get in this condition. What I find most disturbing is the near complete absence of short term memory and the inability to determine whether a person is truthful or not, an ability essential and innate in trial attorneys, one I never lacked until The Big D arrived.

Big D? Multiple sclerosis, plus a few others The Prime Mover threw in for luck. Poor, poor pitiful me. To my surprise, I’ve met quite a few writers at WVU who suffer from the same or similar neurological deficits and weren’t complaining. What the hell was wrong with them?

I reversed the question. What the hell was wrong with me? The light bulb flashed over my head and I knew. They had persevered and overcome these deficits. If they could, so could I.

I bought two audio books. One dealt with memory loss and overcoming it. The other dealt with how to tell if someone was lying in five seconds or less. Right on, thought innocent me. I now held the keys to the kingdom.

I placed the disc on memory loss and techniques to overcome it into my car CD player. Interesting stuff, I thought, until it got to the point of the alpha numeric alphabet and asked me to close my eyes and breathe deeply through my diaphragm. I glance at the speedometer. 90 miles per hour and climbing. I slowed down to 70, turned on the cruise control, closed my eyes and heard horns blowing everywhere. I opened my eyes and found I was in the lanes for oncoming traffic. Swerving back into the proper lanes, I realized this tape was not suitable for driving. The cop who pulled me over and put me through a field sobriety test confirmed this thought. He gave me a ticket for blatant stupidity and consummate jackass on the road, confiscated the CD and permitted me to drive on. Guess it was near the end of his shift and he wasn’t in the mood for paperwork.

I drove on, listened to the Incredible String Band for an hour or so, before I felt calm enough to face the how to detect a liar in 5 seconds audio book. After all, every person has spent his or her life attempting to learn this skill, and I had devoted the last 20 years focused on perfecting it. Should be easy.

“I’m what is affectionately known as a hired gun.” Huh? What? LIAR! The only person who affectionately refers to such a person as a hired gun is his client. Of course, others in that profession will affectionately refer to that person as a hired gun. “He’s a gun. If you’re ever finally busted for all that coke you snort while awaiting a jury verdict, he’s your man. Like Paladin. Have Gun, Will Travel.” What was this guy trying to sell?

“If you suspect that your boyfriend is cheating on you, ask ‘Did you get home before 3 last night?” You’ve got to be kidding.

If he answers yes, dump him because he’s a fool. If he answers no, follow up with, “Oh. I always thought you were a fun-loving, free-spirited man. It’s disappointing to discover otherwise.” Sorry, Hon, I was home all evening.”

To this response, respond, “I’m sorry you can’t tell me the truth.”

To which he responds, “I suspected you were a delusional, paranoid woman with whom I never should have become involved. Go back to Happy Haven and stay out of my life.” Click. Cheer up. You now know the truth. Happy?

Perhaps I’m too cynical—perhaps? No doubt about it—but the only scene more hilarious than this expert on psychology is the person who listens to him and believes it! Humor is often found when the public believes a person’s credentials, the alphabet soup following her name, raises her above those lacking the soup and should thus be accepted as correct. Not so.

When depressed and feeling that a smile will never again grace your face and a laugh is the impossible dream, turn to the experts. The Orgone Box and Piltdown Man should cheer you up in no time. If not, turn to statistics and numbers.

Now! Our burgers are 50% larger! Do you find the concept of a 3 ounce burger more appealing than a 2 ounce burger? If so, buy the audio book on how to tell if someone is lying in 5 seconds.


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.