Before reading, I ask all the people who hate the grudges of white cisgender men to turn away from the screen. Yes, I’m a white cisgender man and excuse me for this.
In my surrounding men make better, I mean, funnier jokes. Not better than earlier. They make better jokes than women. This is my surrounding, this is my selection. Not a static or a role model selection, I note. And if you’re getting ready to criticise me for my observations, you’d better pour this blog with the links of cool women humour. I know the girl, who will rock any man in the humour battle. And recently the thought that there’re some problems with the men’s ability to make better jokes has been bouncing around in my head. The men have some problems.
There’s a stereotype that one of the key points of man’s attractiveness among women is the sense of humour. There’re other points – money, muscles, intellect, gallantry etc. And some of my friends, being adults, turned out to be used to nothing more significant than the sense of humour. And some special guys are absolutely lack of any features of attractiveness except unrealized ambitions and petty witticisms. Neither girls are left around, nor big incomes were poured into the pockets, nor rock-hard muscles were poured under the skin. And that’s because within several pivotal points which the women use to define men’s attractiveness, my friends, for some reason, focused on the sharpening of their sense of humour. On the sharpening of the so-called hook of giggles and smiles.
However, on the face of it, there’re some advantages in this sharpening of the sense of humour. Because in the modern world to crack a funny joke before a woman, it’s like to bring her a killed mammoth into the cave. Because to make good jokes in the company means to attract attention to yourself. And the attention is one of the biggest values in the modern world. It’s like, look at me, how witty I am, get admired by my sharp and quick-fire twists, bend
on the knees in front of me, worshipping, it’s so cool and funny to play dominoes with me. I’m the guy, who smoothes all corners at work. I’m the winner of the unheralded tournament between the jokers at our table in the bar.
But the years pass by, and the smaller fish is hooked. And more frequently, the hook catches seaweed or shell. And I don’t mean women, no-no, the topic of this writing isn’t about gender, I stress. I’m about the life in general.
So, why is the catch getting smaller?
When I cast a look from my highest mountain of the Greek leniency and tolerant facepalms, I notice the tragedy of the men, who have a gag for every life situation. These men are poor in their force to squash from them one more tiny joke. These men are chained to their “godlike” humour. And these men, what’s more important, are hiding behind the jokes from the harsh reality and responsibility. They built barriers of jokes to hide from life. To confess, I also happen to be like that.
I walked, observed for about thirty years and noticed that the toolkit of jokes of each separate human is limited by three-four types of jokes, technical tricks, which can look fresh in different situations. For instance, I quite often make a joke punning with the words. “English at the C14 level”, “Ivan – Puluy but you – don’t manipulate”, “Welcome, ladies and sir Pauls”. Or ask follow-up questions. For instance: “What is the feminitive to the word “pryvit”? – pokA?”. Or: “If nobody, then you?”. But these are only several hooks for jokes. And I’m also chained, I’m the prisoner of such jokes, I know it, reconcile and let them free most of the times.
And it’s good that my sense of humour isn’t sharpened for perverse giggles. Some lustful jokers come to mind on the spot, don’t they?
My mind works in the direction of these several hooks of humour excessively. It’d rather make strategic plans, search for finances, plan journeys, write such reflections. Here’s the problem.
And the problem of blurring, clogging of the lives with the wain humour is pervasive. It’s scary to take the mortgage, I’d rather go and mock with the friend at how Vakarchuk burrs. I don’t feel like going in the snowfall to beat the rugs, I’d rather watch the new hilarious season of Rick and Morty. It’s difficult to start up your own business, I’d rather make some mems about politicians on my Facebook. It’s scary to ask about salary increase, I’d rather meanly shit-can my grandson.
I the man makes jokes, in many cases he defends himself. Or even more precisely – he hides. Buries his head in the sand. Hides from the bad environment, from the lost illusions, from the personal problems. Often, the laughter is the cry for help. But the cry is hardly ever noticed – neither by a crier, nor by a listener, nor by the society, nor by the country.
And it’s not only a private problem. I mean the wide societal space – conscience, humanity, tenderness which are often trampled by lowbrow flashy jokes from the screens, from 1488 quarters, from the internets, from the Youtube channels, from the ads.
Under this flow of useless and important, monotonous and acute, mediocre and overly twisted jokes – the personal responsibility is taken off from the millions of life trifles. Dozens of worthy thoughts and observations are neglected. Thousands of important decisions aren’t taken. Hundreds of chances to improve one’s way of life, not mentioning the society, are lost. Often, the whole human lives are wasted.
Feel? Guys, what’s going on?
P.S. Actually, laugh, the laughter prolongs the life. At least, Uliana Suprun hasn’t refuted this statement yet, hah.