Comedic Relief

Sometimes, when life gets you down, there’s only one thing to do… laugh it off.

I’m not going to say that laughter is the best medicine, because apparently someone else has already said that, but I will say that comedy is the one thing I can count on to restore my faith in love, life, and humanity… you know, for a good hour or so.

Because the truth is, nothing seems quite so bad if you can get yourself to laugh at it.

Speaking of which, have you all met my new boyfriend?

We’ve never met, of course… but when you are in love, I think you will find that you have to deal with all sorts of little obstacles, and it’s best to try not to let them overwhelm you.

And now, for a quick rendition of that old classic, Slutty Sundays:

Pick a comedian to be your secret lover, and give a (semi) detailed account of your perfect date together.

For example: On my secretly loving date with Jemaine, we will walk down the streets of Paris, serenading innocent passersby with a choice selection of show-tunes, which we will sing at full volume and without apologies. Later, we will go skinny-dipping in the Seine and be caught by an American paparazzo, who just happened to be walking by at the time. After being bailed out of prison (by none other than Rhys Darby, of course), we will retire to a perfectly charming Parisian hotel (or , you know, The Ritz) and eat chocolate-covered strawberries while Jemaine sings “Business Time” whilst playing the guitar… and of course I will be so impressed by his ability to both eat and sing and play the guiture that one thing will lead to another… and well… you know…

(We’ll get slutty.)

Your turn!!!

Let’s try it again, from the top*

*Note: This is not an innuendo. No, really. It’s not.

You may be wondering where I’ve been. Even better, you may have been so busy being fabulous that you simply did not have the time to realize I’d been gone at all!

If, however, you have not been being quite fabulous enough (I understand) and have spent more moments contemplating your relative mediocrity than you care to say, you may have had a spare moment to remember my (previous) existence. (No, I am not writing this blog post from the beyond, although that would fantastically interesting. The reason I say previous is because I have not been present, lately, on this blog.)

What am I doing here again?

Oh yes, explaining my absence.

Yeesh, how boring for you. I do apologize. Sincerely and sweetly and with a glint of starlight in my eye. There now, wasn’t that a nice moment? Well it’s over now, let’s get a grip on things please, and you really can stop looking at me like that. Really, have you no shame? I didn’t think so.

Excuse me, I seem to have done it again. (Forgotten where and why I am. Jesus, how typical.)

Well, if you must know (or mustn’t, I really don’t have time for your hypothetical attitude, quite honestly) I have been living my life. Quite fabulously, to tell the truth. Or not to tell the truth. Either way, does it really matter? Since when did we all become so concerned with what is or isn’t true, anyway? Like the afterlife, for instance. A topic completely unrelated to what it is I am talking about. (Which is?) The point is, everyone dies and no one knows what the hell they are talking about when they discuss what happens afterward. Except for, you know, people who talk to ghosts and whatnot. But they’re so freaky, why in the hell would you want to listen to them anyway? More likely than not, they are just in for your hard-earned cash.

By now, you’ve probably realized that this blog post is about nothing. Good for you. You are awake. Can I make my piont while that fact remains?

The point, my dear friends

 

                                         –Wait for it–

 

Is that I am back.

For how long?

‘Til the end of this post at least!

We’ll see how it goes.

 

P.S. I am going to marry that sexy beast from Flight of the Conchords. You heard it first. And if Mel takes my life for saying so, you heard it here last as well.

 

Peace.