This being the holiday season, I shall attempt to tickle your risibilities by turning into a humor-monger.
I am not sure whether it was GB Shaw or Oscar Wilde who gave us this counsel: The best way to deal with temptation is to give in to it.
When poet-playwright Wilde (an Irishman) visited London, Customs officials expectedly asked him: “Have you anything to declare?” With a straight face, he quickly replied: “I have nothing to declare but my genius.”
’Tis said that the best things in life are either fattening or immoral.
Self-control is defined as the ability to eat one salted peanut. (I have some measure of self-control: I eat two salted peanuts!)
The reason I was sent to Germany as a guest of state five times still eludes me, but the visits more than convinced me that contrary to the prevalent impression, Germans do have a sense of humor. My first guide took me to a hospital which was right beside a cemetery. Presumably, the juxtaposition was to warn patients where they were going next! “How’s that for black humor, German style?” I remarked to my guide. “She said: “Wait until you hear this. Near the cemetery are two restaurants: ’Tranquil Abode!’ and ’Eat in Peace’.”
Another guide took me to Munich’s Valentin Funny Museum. On the door knob right under the lion’s face, one read: “Please don’t feed the lion.” On the door itself, one read: “If you are 99 and have your parents with you, you may enter free of charge.”
On display were two slices of marble cake hard as rock. Why? Because they were really made of marble. A frame enclosing a black canvas bore this sign: “A chimney sweeper working at night.”
During the martial law regime, to fight depression, some friends and I formed “The Locoholics Club” which I headed. We met at my residence every now and then. There were no fees or rules; we just met to exchange jokes. Our best humorist was the late Kitch Ortego who could make puns at the blink of an eye. Puns are said to be the lowest form of humor but who could have made these following clever puns except Kitch?
Do you have a cadillac? /No. I only have a cadila-cad.” /What kind of a soprano is she?/ She is a calaratura soprano. /Do you enjoy a per diem? /You must mean a per daya.
When I was studying at Harvard U., I was walking along with some friends when a group of Filipino Harvard boys crossed our path. I already bore the atrocious nickname of ‘Baby’, and each of the boys called out: “Hello, Baby!” Mortified, all my friends asked: “Are you everybody’s baby?”
A more amusing incident was yet to come. I was then finishing my studies with a summer course in French. One extremely hot afternoon, our professor suggested a boat ride across the Charles River. Perhaps curious to know how the mind of an Asian girl works, the professor sat beside me on the boat. I was very young then, very naive (I still am) and when the professor offered me cigarettes, not quite knowing what to say and just wanting to be funny, I said: “No, thank you; I don’t believe in minor vices, only in major ones.” I shall never forget the look on his face. I still have to see a more shocked expression.
On my way to our graduate house, I asked my companions: “What’s the major vice in America?” They chorused: “Adultery.” The professor must have thought I was propositioning him!
When I began my career as a journalist with the Manila Chronicle, I soon discovered that the late editor Anacleto Benavides had a terrific sense of humor. Many of his jokes were on me because he knew I admired his witticisms. Here are some of them:
Baby is so modest, she closes her eyes when somebody starts telling the naked truth. Baby is so modest, she pulls down the shades when she changes her mind./ Baby is so modest she can’t face the bare facts. /Baby is so modest, she won’t dress a chicken.
A joke of his I enjoyed most was on a bungling reporter. Ben became so infuriated with him that to let off steam, he handed me a slip of paper which read: “Why is So-and-So (name of reporter) like a young flower? Because he is a blooming idiot.”
Happy holidays! My deepest thanks to all those who, in one way or another, remembered me this season.