Editorial: How to Write a Humor Column - Profiting From Genital Inadequacies and Five-Martini Breakfasts

By Paul St. Fakename, Esq.

Esteemed Humorist and Filthy Polack

Many people have asked me, "Paul, is your dick really as small as you say it is?" Of course not! Silly readers. I often employ a literary device called "hyperbole" for comedic effect. For example, when I called George W. Bush a "coked-up monkey cannibal" elsewhere in this issue I was simply referencing current news stories in an intentionally exaggerated fashion in order to poke fun at this lovable wife-swapping redneck reefer-addict.

This month I would like to show you how The American Jerk can be educational as well as entertaining (Which is a nice way of saying that I’m really sorry for all those times several months ago when I tricked you into looking at pictures of my naked, unshaven ass under the auspices of artistic enlightenment). I would like to share with all of you small, insignificant people how you too can bring a little bit of sunshine and levity to five, or perhaps even ten, people every day - people whose companies have that software that blocks them from visiting all the really good porn sites. But my goal is to help you to know the indescribable joy that can only come when horny, nameless strangers laugh out loud at something that you wrote. In a drug induced stupor. At work.

Here’s how you do it:

1. Choose a subject that is topical. Then write about something else, preferably your genitalia or the genitalia of one of your friends.

There is a lot of debate going on right now over whether HMO’s have taken too much control away from doctors regarding treatment choices for their patients. I have to say that there are points to be made for both sides. Like when my cousin Eddie stuck his dick in a blender while testing the "autoerotic stimulation potential" of various kitchen appliances. Let’s just say that after what happened to his pecker I couldn’t eat Moo Goo Gai Pan for months. And there was this chunk of it that was, shall we say, no longer part of the continental United States, comprendé? His doctor basically had to hock some monkey kidneys on a street corner in New Delhi for the HMO just to get the approval for the procedure to put Eddie’s balls back in the same area code and, quite frankly, I don’t think that’s right. To be fair though, Eddie did complicate matters for himself somewhat when he also requested simultaneous penis enlargement surgery to "satisfy the black man inside" him.

2. Drunken raving comedy is good comedy.

Start every column with a shot and soon you too will be able to write sentences like: "And that’s when I noticed the striking resemblance between Chester A. Arthur and my wife’s ass. Sure it was an unshaven, unholy Chester A. Arthur, but I could tell it was him by the way he chewed that tomato and the size of his pimp stick." Finished writing that first paragraph? Have another shot. You’ll marvel at how soon your well-researched, dryly satirical editorial on the Democratic propensity for adultery in the Oval Office will devolve into a semi-intelligible paragraph in which you call the President a "pig-fucker" and then rattle off fifteen knock-knock jokes all having to do with Kathie Lee Gifford in a three-way with Kermit the Frog and Fozzie Bear.

3. Incoherent tangents are your best friends because that time when I shit an entire waffle iron out of my ass after shooting heroin at that Vegas brothel was the only time I truly missed my mommy.

No really, it was a Belgian waffle iron that I was just watching for Tiger Woods. He had to go help these homeless diabetic nymphos from Wisconsin change a flat tire. I still don’t know how I swallowed the damn thing but I’m pretty sure Ken MacDonald was involved.

James Beam is not related to James Dean.

Did you know that Jimmy Carter once called Ken MacDonald "The Greatest American Hero?" That was, of course, before he was in the Liberian Army and shot up all those baby zoo pandas, saying: "Those little peckers tried to fondle my sack." I guess it was also before that TV show of the same name. CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN TO ME HOW A SUPERHERO SUIT FROM ALIENS 18 MILLION MILES AWAY FIT PERFECTLY ON THE FIRST GODDAMNED RETARD TO TRY IT ON? NO ONE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS BEFORE THEY FILMED THE PILOT???? Jesus Butterfinger Christ.

4. When at all possible, include something about Elvis or, if strapped for time, Erik Estrada.

That goddamned suit wouldn’t have fit on Elvis, that’s for damned sure. He would have been calling up the Superfriends looking for the name of their tailor. "Yeah, and after you take the waist out about 15 sizes, can you throw in a secret pocket for my Enchanted Rack of Lamb? One rub on that baby and I’ve got the strength of 10 barbiturate freaks."

Well, folks, I hope this has been helpful. So go forth and multiply upon the Internet. Personally, Erik Estrada and I are going to down a dozen Long Island Iced Teas and compare circumcision scars. Then I’m going to try to recreate that waffle thing and my mommy will hate me and call me those filthy names again but that’s the way I cut my hair now, mom, so kiss my sweet baloney tuckus and ride the Soul Train Express down to the junkies in Funkville.

Main Archive Table of Contents

October, 1999 Issue Table of Contents

It's Sick...   How to Write a Humor Column...   It's Like, You Suck...

Month in Pictures   Kiddie Korner

Are You Presidential Material?   White Trash NASDAQ   Rate The Candidates

The American Jerk™ and all contents © 1999 - 2005 by Rob Reuter and Paul St. Fakename, Esq., © 2006 by Rob Reuter.