Q. I’m running for president but people say I’m crazy. How do I prove I’m not?
A. Are you the guy who says Australia doesn’t exist because you’ve never been there?
Q. Same with New Zealand. Have you ever been there? I don’t think so.
A. You’re the guy who says we should build a series of giant trampolines on the Mexican border to catch illegal immigrants.
Q. Because, who can resist jumping on a trampoline? See, you hire out-of-work nightclub bouncers—I’ve fired many of them myself—and they will grab these criminals in the act of illegal immigrant trampolining without dropping their handcuffs.
A. That sounds crazy.
Q. No, it borders on crazy. Get it? Border? Look, it’s no different than arresting people for bouncing checks.
A. It sounds as crazy as when you accused Muslims of sending kryptonite to Superman.
Q. I may have been sarcastic. I’m sarcastic a lot, although I usually don’t know it until somebody tells me that millions of people are mad at me for something I said. I go “Whoa! That was sarcastic.” But, you know, the trampoline thing — it’s not a half-bad idea.
A. You’re right. It’s a completely bad idea.
Q. Uh, I think I was being sarcastic.
A. Just curious. How would you define sarcasm?
Q. Wasn’t that the really deep ravine in the land of Sar in that movie about those little freaks with the hairy feet and small boners?
A. Is that sarcasm?
Q. Um. If I say no, does that mean I’m crazy?
A. Probably just ignorant.
Q. Ignorant it is! So I’m not crazy, right?
A. You may not be crazy, but that doesn’t mean you’re not crazy. There’s a broad spectrum of craziness. There’s crazy and then there’s cuh-razy.
Q. Did you just use italics on that last crazy?
A. I did.
Q. Am I italics crazy or just everyday messing-with-people’s-heads crazy?
A. I’m thinking underlined, italics, boldface, yellow-highlight crazy
Q. Yes, but wouldn’t you say I’m really crazy-like-a-fox?
A. No. Crazy-like-a-fox is an example of dramatic irony.
Q. Like when your woman irons your pants but complains that this isn’t in her job description and you have to fire her?
A. See, you’re not really saying the fox is crazy. You’re actually saying the fox has a very sharp mind and to make that point you exaggerate in exactly the opposite direction.
Q. Are you saying I exaggerate my point in the wrong direction? You think I’m one of those LMNOP losers? Because my point knows exactly what direction to exaggerate in.
A. I’m saying your entire campaign is one nightmarish example of dramatic irony gone terribly wrong.
Q. That’s talk that only people who read can understand. I’m for the common man who doesn’t have time to read because the words have too many syllables. I don’t have time for syllables. Just saying the word syllables makes me tired.
A. What about words like Constitution and Democracy and presidential?
Q. You know what words I like? Billion bucks. I have a billion bucks, did I mention that? And I never even read Fireman Small.* Guess I’m not so crazy after all.
A. Maybe we’re the ones who are crazy.
Q. Which is why you need somebody who is crazy like a fox to lead you.
A. Foxes often have rabies, though. You’re gonna need a vaccination.
Q. Vaccination? No way. You can get communism or gored by a bull if you get vaccinated. And that’s no exaggeration.
A. Sadly, no. It’s what we call dramatic irony to go, hold the irony. I wouldn’t worry, though. You’ve probably already got rabies. Try not to bite anybody.
*Thank you Lois Lenske.
©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2016, all rights reserved.
I know where you can get a speech writing gig. You would give it gravitas
As I think is pretty obvious, I eat, drink and sleep gravitas. Which reminds me. My Daffy Duck jammies are in the wash. I spilled some turkey gravitas on them while I was drinking from the gravitas boat. Non problemo. It’s all good.
Score a perfect 10 for PAMG — score zero for the vulgar yam