I was flattered to think she had recognized me as some sort of authority on humor, so I ignored the obvious tone of agitation and decided to attempt an analysis; however, this being the first time I'd seen the cartoon, I actually laughed out loud. LOL's hadn't been invented yet, so I had to actually laugh out loud, and unfortunately, I somehow found her lack of understanding coupled with her overly serious demand for literary analysis just as funny as the cartoon. I picked up the paper and said, "See..." but then started to laugh when I realized she wasn't even smiling. When I got control of myself, I started again, but only got as far as "Well, it's..." before my sister showed up and asked what was funny.
They both just looked at me while I made a few more attempts on a thesis statement, but every time I looked at them, they looked more serious, and I took a nosedive into catastrophic hysteria. after a demonstration of why "falling out of my chair laughing" is a cliche, I wound up sitting in the floor holding my sides straight-jacket style.
Stacy asked my mom what was wrong with me, but it was a rhetorical question. Mom just picked up the paper and asked her about the cartoon. Stacy told her, "At the supermarket, when you buy meat labelled "boneless," I guess some people might think it would be funny if those animals were born that way." When my mom looked at me for confirmation, all I could do was point at my sister and nod because she was right, and I had entered the truly scary part of uncontrollable laughter where the snot starts to flow.
Mom asked me if I was on drugs, but that was also rhetorical. I focused on a stray corn-flake under the table, held out my hand "please stop" style, and in a miraculous act of spontaneous self-control, gave the following analysis in my best Mr. Spock voice:
"Stacey is mostly right; some of us are so heartless that the mere image of congenitally deformed chickens flopping around on the ground is funny. On further analysis, we can see how the cartoon is aimed at the casual carnivore who may actually beleive there is a boneless variety of chicken. Of course, it's preposterous to think anybody would be that ignorant, but if you've ever watched the Q&A portion of the Miss America pageant, you know such stupidity is sadly well within the realm of possibility. At the same time, and in light of recent developments in genetic science, a reasonable person might be forgiven for having a shadow of fear that bonless chickens may soon be an agricultural reality, and a shadow of fear is always a component of truly entertaining humor. These components work in concert with a more abstract device common to Mr. L arson's work; he has an unparalleled talent for illustrating an absurdity in a way that places it at, or more frequently in his case, just on the other side of the boundary between possible and impossible. In fact, I assume this is why Larson named his strip "The Far Side."
"Oh, like Monty Python?"
"Exactly, but with less squirting blood." I said.
"Poor chickens." Stacey said.
My mom gave me three books for my next birthday; a collection of Far Side cartoons, a collection of Nancy cartoons, and a copy of What Color is Your Parachute.
I skimmed the Larson book because I'd already seen them in the funnies section of the paper as they came out and I had maybe half of them cut out and tacked to something somewhere. But Nancy! Nancy changed my life!
The message from my mom was pretty clear. "If you think floppy chickens are funny..."---so I tried Nancy. I really did, but after twenty or so strips, Nancy was having the same effect on my mind as the corn-flake under the table. Since it was a birthday gift, I felt obligated to continue. The only thing that came close to amusing me was when, after reaching the halfway point, I realized that not one single panel out of hundreds had amused me in any way whatsoever. At the time, Nancy was a major syndicated comic strip with a readership that outstripped Far Side by whole orders of magnitude. I turned inward and started to ask myself what was wrong with me in a non-rhetorical way. I trudged on through the houmorless wasteland of Nancy in desperate hope that at some point something would strike me as funny, even if it was accidental. Nothing ever did and eventually I just gave up and realized that it just wasn't going to happen.
As with most of the truly dramatic life-changing events in my life, the transformational moment came only after my complete and total surrender. Nancy had dethroned my mental child-king tyrant of what-is-and-what-isn't-funny. Free at last, I was able to enjoy the last few cartoons for what they were. After my enlightenment I reread the whole collection in a transcendent state of bliss and comfort completely devoid of entertainment. I was so distracted by the fact that I could be truly happy without being entertained that I had to give it a third read after the novelty had passed. Perfect Zen.
Not only did I discover the capacity to be content witout being entertained, I started to see my mom as a white middle aged female version of Master Po from Kung Fu.
At some point, Master Po mom asked me why I thought she had given me the Parachute book, and when I said I guessed it was because she wanted me to get a job, she said I was wrong. She said it was just because she thought it would be funny to give it to me.
"Oh, like Nancy?" I asked.
"Exactly, but with less not having a job."
And thus, Master Po not only informed me that I had graduated, and it was time for me to leave the monastery, she gave me the news with the most richly nuanced call-back line I've ever heard. Of course, I didn't laugh at the time, or even a few days later when I finally got it, but now---now I consider that to be the single funniest thing ever said, and I'm instantly, if not ironically, entertained every time I think about it.
Thanks mom! I miss you a lot, and not only like a Conway missing his Korman, but sometimes like a Grasshopper missing his Po.