Just joking

I like to crack jokes. However, not many people actually understand the jokes I made. That's where the problem comes in.

The thing is, it is not hard to laugh at my jokes. They usually consists of two layers of meanings, one superficial and the other deeper. One can laugh at the superficial while failing to catch the deeper joke entirely. One may even just laugh at the way I crack the jokes, as opposed to the jokes themselves, deeper meaning or not since, as I have been told a couple of times, I do get pretty animated sometimes.

The problem with such jokes is that I'll never know if the person got the deeper meaning or merely the superficial one. I can only assume that she did, because there is no way she could laugh so heartily at the superficial layer. Then again, I can't be too sure.

The first hint that people just aren't getting the deeper jokes came when I was an undergraduate. I was "marveling" at the N** system of allowing students to take their tests in the Lecture theatre, which was such an awesomely stupid idea since everyone can just turn around and look at each other's script without even straining. I can even lean back slightly, and see the person's script behind me! I was so amazed that I told my friend that "Hey, we can compare our answers later, and we can even discuss quietly; no one will even see us!" We had a good laugh over that. Later when we were submitting our scripts, she spotted a mistake on my script, and told me about it. Then she was surprised that I didn't want to change the answer.

That's the problem apparently. Most people think that when I made any propositions, and I want to make it sound natural, I will just pass it off as a joke, but I still meant it beneath my joking exterior. That's not true however. The case above for example, was a joke in the sense that the system was so stupid that we can actually cheat, but it is also a deeper joke in the sense that I, one of the last persons to actually want to cheat, is actually the one who suggested cheating. The first layer is a sarcastic jab at the school; the second layer is a sarcastic jab at myself for being such a goody-two-shoes.

Naturally, if you don't know me well enough to be a goody-two-shoes, you wouldn't know the second layer of the joke. Or, if you don't know me well enough to know I always make layered jokes, you also won't know from the joke that I actually considered myself to be a goody-two-shoes.

Why do I want to make layered jokes then? Just stick to the simple ones you say. Well, for one, layered jokes are more fun. Any tom, dick or harry can do some piece of slapstick humor. It is only when you throw in some intellectual thinking into the joke, that you see the real fun of it. It is like a secret shared between the teller and his audience, all the more fun because it is unspoken yet perfectly understood. Douglas Adams once said this of Monty Python, that it made him realise "comedy was a medium in which extremely intelligent people could express things that simply couldn't be expressed any other way." That was the spirit of my jokes methink, or at least, I aim to have that spirit.

Again, the problem crops up; how many people would actually understand the intelligent jokes, or how many would bother to try? In my previous post, how many actually got the joke in the last two lines? And did I really mean it when I say that the electronic ordering system was stupid? You will be surprised at how many people actually didn't get it.

This problem creates some additional problems. Some people, owing to a misunderstanding of my jokes, or a failure to appreciate the deeper layer, think that I am egoistic (in fact usually when I am jokingly self-deprecating), callous (when I joke about leaving people who I care about in the lurch; I wouldn't joke about it if they were people I don't care about), or vulgar (I don't even want to imagine why). Which would explain why some people took an intense dislike to me, and some of the weird comments that I am really egoistic and like.

Maybe I ought to add a disclaimer each time I make a joke, to emphasize that it is just a joke. Something like "Hahaa, JUST JOKING."

In a perfect world, there is no need for such disclaimers. But apparently this is not that world.

Jokes with double meanings are double the fun, but it can get a little lonely in a world where no one understands them. Even something seems to be lost the minute I actually declare that "Hahaa, just joking." Something IS lost already the minute I wrote this post.

SME

Fans of Macdonald's breakfasts would know the agony of ordering the best meal on the breakfast menu: a Sausage McMuffin with egg meal.

For one, your tongue has no business twisting around seven syllables first thing in the morning. And if you take your time mouthing the words, chances are by the time you said "A sausage... McMuffin..." the cashier would have registered your order as a Sausage mcMuffin meal, which god knows is the worst meal on the menu, and woe be on you to try to retract that order.

The Macdonald's staff however have a way around that particular problem. They never had to shout across the restaurant first thing in the morning, "A sausage McMuffin with egg meal!", "Another sausage McMuffin with egg meal!", "Yet another sausage McMuffin with egg meal goddammit!" If they had, it would be obvious that god wouldn't patron Macdonald's very often. As it is, they shout this instead, "One SME, please!", "Another SME!" Or they would if the latest electronic ordering system had not been put in place, which is a stupid idea anyway--there is nothing like listening to the staff shouting one SME, two SMEs first thing in the morning.

The funny thing is, I had never dared to place that order instead. I know if I did, the Macdonalds staff would go "Huh? What SME? SMRT is to the left of Jurong Point. Please refer to the menu and place your order accordingly." Or they would if they had a Bachelor's degree in English at Cambridge. They would probably just go "Huh?" and look blankly at me. Then I would have to explain that I actually wanted "a Sausage McMuffin with egg meal", whereupon they would nod and shout across the restauarant "one SME, please!"

It is like a special code word, something that is unique to the Macdonald's staff. Coming from a patron, it wouldn't make any sense, but it would if it were coming from another Macdonald's staff. It is like if you were riding on one of the SMRT trains, and an aunty, who moments ago had mulishly squeezed in through the train doors just as it was opening, turned to you and said, "Do you have Being? " You would go "Huh?", or think that she is asking if you are a Beng, even though it is perfectly clear English and even though half of the Philosophy department would agree that it is perfectly non-rubbish.

So it is with a kind of philosophical respect that I avoid using "SME" with the Macdonald's staff. Let them have their own special way of speaking I'd say; if the Continentals can do it, why not them?

There is however, one particular thing which I am wondering at. I mentioned earlier that the Sausage McMuffin meal is the worst on the menu. Which is rather a pity, because I have never seen anyone ordering it. Why is it a pity however?

Well the reason is rather simple. Suppose one had said "One Sausage McMuffin meal, please." What then would the Macdonald's staff shout across the restaurant?

"One SM, please!"

Gladly, around the back, please.

Fly — previously published in my old blog

Born in the dark alleys, amidst heaps of rotting refuse, this is no ordinary fly. On the day it was born, an incandescent white dove had glided overhead, portending a great fly in the wait. Its mother had decided on the spot that its going to be named after the auspicious dove, but had been unable to convey her decision since she was immediately eaten up by the auspicious bird.

The fly is, naturally, unaware of its mother's misfortune, nor of its own name. It had earned its own name in its own right; having lived a total of 2 months, it is already one of the most experienced fly around.

The fly has one abnormality; it is born with a squint: the left eye tends to wander. That is to say, while other flies see a thousand images reflected in their thousands facets of both eyes, this fly sees double that. It might have accounted for its longevity, it might not.

Altogether, it is a humble fly. It has no illusions about the future; one day is as good as any, so long as it could roll about in the dumps every nightfall, and perform the dance with some females every now and then. That has on occasions, led to no small embarrassment--til now, he couldn't quite figure out how to tell the females from the males. The only consolation being the rest of the community similarly in the state of confusion.

Suddenly something jolts it out its reverie. Whirling quickly towards the origin of the smell, its myriads of small eyes zooms in on a plate of prawns lying innocently on a table. The smell of the thing overwhelmed its head, and it made a beeline for it.

A slight change in the air pressure is all the warning it got. Flipping itself desperately, it somersaults in two tight loops, the extra momentum carrying it narrowly beyond the path of a black fly swat passing through the strip of air it occupied a moment ago.

There is a slight pause. As though the owner of the fly swat is surprised at the miss.

Then the air erupts in a flurry of blows, coming in from all directions, seeking to squash the fly in its ever tightening range. The fly clamps down on its teeth, dodging the millions of swipes it sees, slipping through the gaps in between the strokes. It is a matter of life and death, literally.

An orange coloured fly swat joins in the fray, and the air is practically humming with death. But still, it has not lived its life thus far for nought: every feint is quickly seen through, every killing stroke carefully averted.

Abruptly, a pair of chopsticks weaves in amidst the wild swipes of the two flyswats, and would have crushed the fly between its metal vises had it not seen it coming head on, so silent it has been. As it is, the chopsticks only missed its left antenna by mere nano-inches. A martial arts exponent, it thought, judging from the efficient way it reaches in from afar and withdrawing just as fast to allow for the swinging of the swats.

The split second it is distracted, it finds itself being pursued in the horizontal path of the black swat. Cursing itself inwardly, it tries to angle off left before climbing. It soon realises its mistake when the orange swat swerves with frightening speed in midstroke to meet the black swat with the full intention of catching it in between.

With a desperation it is coming to feel, it flattens its wings and banks sharply, plunging downwards, spiralling furiously between the two rapidly narrowing swats. It clears the fatal runway at the last instant before the two swats rams into each other; spiralling brings it face to face with the two hideous swats screaming past its face that set its teeth chattering with the sheer force of it just before they clamped shut.

For a moment, it could see bits and pieces of the previous victims that had fallen under the twin weapons; appendages and abdomens frozen forever in the cracks and folds of the swats.

More by instinct than anything, it kicks with all its strength at the two swats just as it clears them, adding to the air impact, propelling it even further from the swats, thus barely avoiding the chopsticks as it snaps at the spot it has vacated split seconds earlier.

Wings almost a blur, it flings itself away from the table. A dozens rubber bands followed it, dashing themselves against the wall with a loud smack when they missed.

Escaped! The fly exults in triumph. It could hear the exclamations of the hairless apes in the distance. "No fly have escaped my swat for years!" "THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE! IT GOT PAST MY CHOPSTICKS!"

So much for the martial arts exponents, the fly thought smugly, that wasn't too hard...

WHAM!

A toddler lifts one of its pudgy foot, exposing the half flatten fly.

"Where did it go?!?"

"Quick, find it!"

Drawing breath is a mighty effort, but the fly grits its teeth, resolutely keeping its eyes closed. It has been through situations like this, as long as it keeps its cool, recovery is not a problem, playing dead is only...

WHAM WHAM WHAM

The toddler bends to examine the gooey remains of the fly, fascinated at how the insides of the fly possess a distinctly different colour from the fly itself.

The search for the fly continued, but the apes never found it.

Left lying desolately in a corner, the grave of a legend never to be found again remained unmarked, all alone.

Debate -- previously published in my old blog

Note: This is just for fun, if you are that kind that would scream Blasphemy everytime anything supernatural is mentioned, you best not read on. Its just for fun yah, and I am not poking fun at any religion.

At a Philosophy conference, a highly sophisticated debate on the existence of god is going on. For the benefit of the larger non-philosophically inclined audience out there, the actual debate is translated into easy to understand language, leaving out the technical terms.

Philosopher A: God exist because...

Philosopher B injected: God doesn't exist.

A : He does.

B: Doesn't.

A: Does!

B: Doesn't!!!

A banged on the table for effect, knocking over his glass of water in the process, and screamed back: DOES!!!!!!!

B did exactly the same thing, though cleverly exchanging the 'does' with a 'doesn't', which was regarded as a very neat move by the seated audience who gave him an ovation.

A composed himself visibly after having obviously lost the first round of debate, cleared his throat and started again: God exist because...

B: ...doesn't.

A ignored him and continued: because the Bible says so.

B jumped to his feet, and was pushed back into his seat by his colleagues for his trouble, but shot back anyway: And why should we trust the Bible?

A: Because the Bible is based on the words of God.

B: and?

A: and the words of God are always true.

B: So you are saying God says he exist, so he exist???

A: yes!!!

God appeared with a poof in the middle of the conference room, and interrupted: NOW I DON'T THINK I SAID THAT EXACTLY; I AM NOT EVEN SURE I EXIST.

Jaws around the room began dropping onto the floor, much to the consternation of the janitors who had to sweep up after the debate.

A jumped to his feet and exclaimed: Ah ha! The final and crushing proof! By His very appearance!

B: wait a minute! How do we even know he is He? This is a philosophical debate for heaven's sake, the last thing we need is the real thing! We need theoretical proofs! We refuse to believe in anything even if it is there, unless you can write it down in paper for us to read!

A: hmm, yah. prove that you are God first.

WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO?

A: like turn this table into solid gold?

He turned the table into solid gold.

LIKE THIS?

B: Can you turn him into a pig? (points at A)

A: Why you... ! Why do you.... oink oink oink oink.. want to turn me into.... Whats everybody laughing at?

LIKE THIS?

B: how about creating a rock that you cant lift?

He created a rock that he cant lift.

LIKE THIS?

B: Ah ha! so you are conceding that there is something that you cant do afterall! You cant lift the rock, so you are not omnipotent!

OH, YOU WANT ME TO LIFT THAT ROCK?

He went and lift that rock.

B: Then you didnt create a rock that you cant lift in the first place! You are still not omnipotent!

OK DUDE.

He created a bigger rock.

I CAN'T LIFT THAT NOW.

B: Not omnipotent!

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I AM A DYNAMIC GOD. WHEN YOU ASKED ME TO CREATE THAT ROCK, I CAN'T LIFT IT, BUT WHEN YOU ASK ME TO LIFT IT, I CAN. GET IT?

A: But God is not supposed to be dynamic...

LOOK, SMART ASS. WHO'S THE GOD HERE, YOU OR ME?

B: But if God is dynamic, then nothing in the world would be static. What about moral laws? Rights and wrongs. They would be totally dynamic as well then?

WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THEY ARE NOT?

B: What makes you think they are?

COS I CREATED THEM.

B: and how would I know that?

THATS MY POINT, YOU DON'T. SO I FORGIVE YOU, AMEN.

A: Wait a minute. Just now when you appeared, you said you don't even know if you yourself exist.

YUP, THATS CORRECT, OLD BOY.

A: Do you know about Descartes?

ARE YOU DOUBTING MY ALL-KNOWING ASPECT NOW?

A: eh... no. thats just a perfunctory question.

I KNOW.

A: err.... ok nvm. Back to Descartes, you cant don't know that if you exist.

WHY?

A: Do you doubt that you exist?

THATS WHAT I AM SAYING.

A: But the very act of doubting reaffirms a mind. You doubt, you can think, therefore you exist.

NEGATIVE.

A: huh?

HOW DO YOU KNOW I CAN DOUBT? YOU ARE NOT ME.

A: well, you just said you can, didnt you?

AH HA! YOU THINK I SAID I CAN DOUBT, BUT HOW CAN YOU BE SURE I AM NOT MERELY PART OF YOUR IMAGINATION?

A: well... are you then?

NO.

A: So you can doubt, and exist?

HOW DO YOU KNOW IF WHAT I JUST TOLD YOU IS NOT PART OF YOUR IMAGINATION?

A: well...

SO I DON'T KNOW IF I EXIST.

A (feebly): but you can know...

CHUCK THAT LINE OF THOUGHT ALREADY.

He then proceed to disappear with another poof, taking the solid gold table with him, sending the academic papers resting peacefully on it a moment ago flying into the air.