I like to laugh. That’s just who I am. I’ve always been this way. If you tell me a joke, especially one with poo and pee in it, I’ll chuckle heartily. If you tickle my armpits or my belly, I’ll giggle like a schoolgirl. If I hear someone farting, especially the rapid machine-gun style of farting, then forget it! I’ll laugh so uncontrollably that you’d swear I’m both crying and having an epileptic seizure. A comedy on TV or at the theater can crack me up like nothing else. Physical humor particularly leaves me in stitches. What I will absolutely not laugh at, however, is racism. I don’t find the topic funny. Racial jokes are inappropriate. One of my friends, knowing how I feel about racism, tried to get me to compromise my belief. He told me a joke about a Jew, Mexican, and Persian who couldn’t control their bladders and ended up defecating in public all the time. I didn’t want to laugh, but I had to. In my defense, I could totally picture those groups creating a scene in public and making it awkward for bystanders. If these numskulls had half a brain they could have avoided making a mess in the airport terminal. The Jew shits in his skullcap, the Mexican in his sombrero, and the Persian in his turban. No brainer!
