Seriously

I need me a big old belly laugh. I need a really good, roaring laugh that goes on for a long time. I need a laugh like my daughter and I used to have in the kitchen when she would say something and I would say something and conversation would end because we’d be laughing too hard to talk. We’d quiet down, look at each other and erupt again in laughter. That’s what I need.

I would like something to be insanely funny. Not humorous, not comical, cute or whimsical. But not much qualifies.

Already tending to the dark (I spin like a compass needle in the direction of anything sad, depressing, maudlin; my tank is empty, fill me up with angst), I have to travel extra far to get to where things are funny. And people who might try to bring something funny to me will have to climb into some deep narrow holes (I’m in here, it’s okay, it just looks depressing, next week I’m going to redecorate).

I figure I can become melancholy about yet another thing – why nothing is insanely funny – or I can double down on my quest for the high quality belly laugh, the yeti of joy.

I start my hunt.