Why do men have nipples? Humour writing -- part II

Giving back to society is something to which we all should aspire. This whole “giving back” thing is too often associated with only the rich and famous. That is just plain wrong. Our society cannot afford to wait for Sol Kerzner to throw crumbs our way. We’ve got to grab this bull by the proverbial horns. Here’s my latest pathetic attempt:

A few weeks ago I contributed a post on these pages entitled “Humour writing instruction — part 1” in which I shared one of the ingredients that are guaranteed to make you a favourite with friends, colleagues and family. I have received a trickle of emails from aspiring writers asking me to deliver the second instalment. Let it never be said that I do not keep my promises.

At this point I need to point out that while these techniques will endear you to the recipients of your funny emails or blogs, it will take away all the mystery of humour for you and turn you into a humourless blob of flesh and bone. There is very little, for instance, that amuses me. People who know me in real life will attest to the fact that I’m not even vaguely amusing or fun to be around.

The first technique I shared was the lateral-thinking, zany and weird route. This time around I am going to share with you the self-deprecating technique. People find jokes at your expense extremely funny for some reason. When you are about to press that “send” button, ask yourself: “Is there any way I can turn this joke on to myself?” It is just part of human nature to appreciate the humour directed at the individual delivering it. Poking fun only at others will make you a know-it-all smarty-pants. A cruel, mean and unfunny smarty-pants. Undesirable situation to be in. Don’t go there.

Take the body of work of fellow blogger the Sumo, as an example. For the uninitiated, the Sumo writes hilarious blogs about the trials and tribulations of being a large individual, using his own experiences. The man is talented and it is only a matter of time before someone turns his blogs into a book.

I have done a cut-and-paste job of a piece I wrote a few months ago on my other blog. By now you are hopefully able to recognise the two techniques I have shared so far:

1. The morbid, zany, lateral-thinking stuff (nipples on men’s chests).
2. Poking fun at myself (the visual of me in a bra).

Why do men have nipples?

I have made it my quest in life to answer some of life’s great mysteries. For instance, you’d be interested in knowing that I’m the fellow who nailed the “what do women want” mystery. You’re welcome — but the Nobel Peace Prize committee has already been in touch.

Moving right along to the mystery of the nipples on men’s chests. It seems that the best explanations we’ve come with so far are of the “Uhm … er, well, you see evolutionarily speaking, the embryo bulldust, bulldust, cowdung …” variety.

That and the fact that men would look pretty weird without those two dots on their chests. But we’d get over it soon enough. After all, we’re all used to Mugabe’s Hitler moustache by now, aren’t we?

I know my mind is preoccupied with things that can only best be described as “morbid”. That’s why I don’t have a social life and spend most of my life in front of a PC having “conversations” with e-people. When I make my rare appearances in social settings, a mini stampede always breaks out as people try to avoid being the nearest person to me. Inevitably I pin someone down and start pondering out loud just why I have nipples.

As I write this, I’m waiting for a little package in a small cooler bag from the courier company. It’s a hormonal cocktail treatment course (it’s amazing what you can buy on eBay). I have it on good authority that men have mammary glands just like women. I’m going to find out for sure in eight weeks, I’m told. I’ll be sure to record that historical moment when I squeeze the murky liquid out of my nipple: “One giant drop for mankind.”

And then I’ll report back on my findings. In the meantime, if you meet a really weird-looking guy with a girly voice at the bra section at Woolies, do not judge him. It’s for the greater good of humanity.

Oh bummer, someone’s at the door …

The tragedy of being a so-called humour writer is that you have no way of knowing if anything you write is actually humorous. I’ve told you there’s little I personally find funny, remember? As I shared before, I never actually set out to write funny articles. I was writing what I thought were pretty deep thoughts and people would crack up laughing. Very disconcerting experience.

The trick about it is to realise that there is no such thing as a universally funny joke. Humour is very specific in terms of who finds it funny. You’ll be lucky if what you write makes 20% of your readers laugh. That’s a good percentage — take it.

For instance, at least 40% of people who read this blog will make comments such as “Actually, the male nipple is a remnant of embryonic development. You see, until 14 weeks male and female embryos are identical …” You cannot hold yourself responsible for this. Some people are just tweaked that way — humourless amphibians. They grow up to be chairmen of parliamentary committees on this, that and the other. Or TV-licence inspectors.

I hope that with this second instalment I have successfully helped you further along the path towards being a favourite on the email circuit. I’m afraid you won’t be having any fun yourself. I cannot help you with that. Personally, I can only derive amusement from such obscure sources as 7de Laan and opposition-party statements.

You’re most welcome.

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