About

Some say I’ve done it all. Nobel Prize. Pulitzer. Army. Safari. Plane crashes (multiple). Hell, I lived in Florida. But nobody ever said I was funny.

Till now.

I’ve been watching from the sidelines for quite a while. Catching your Farrells and your Carells, your Wiigs and your Galifianakiseses, and that hilarious comedian Glenn Beck. I know I could make you laugh harder and longer and from a deeper place than any of these people if given the chance. So I’m taking it.

I want to be known as “Ernest Hemingway, Humor Writer.” In pursuit of this title, I will attempt every kind of humor known to man. The situation comedy and the time-honored knock-knock joke. The stand-up routine, the motion picture screenplay, the Shouts and the Murmurs, the SNL skit and the LOL Cat. I might explicate an Onion story or “Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear.” It is high time we learned more about poor Fuzzy.

My goals?

  • To attempt 100 kinds of humor. You might not think that’s possible. That’s why you’re not me. (But if you have ideas for humor types, please do pass them along.)
  • To be mentioned on national television, preferably late at night. As “Papa Funny,” that is. People talk about “Ernest Hemingway” all the livelong day.
  • To have a restaurant food entree named for me. Preferably a sandwich but there’s some wiggle room here.
  • To get the attention, in some way, of Ms. Tina Fey. I know, I’m married too. I would just feel so good if I could impress that woman and her glasses.

I cannot claim to be a humor expert right now, but I will hone this skill the way I’ve done everything else, by trudging through its mud, crawling through its trenches, getting shot by it in the left thigh, and dragging myself to lie, wasting away, under its tree. In short, through experience.

A few other things:

I may write here while on my third daiquiri. This is neither here nor there.

I may let other people like my wife, Mama Funny, or my assistant, who I think is named Jo-Jo, write a thing or two. Maybe others if they don’t pester the hell out of me.

Speaking of which, I would like to hear from you, the public, especially those of you who still write words and read books and do not use punctuation to mimic facial expressions. If you just said to yourself, “Why’d he say that about books? Their stupid,” this site is not for you.

But really, say to me what you must. I knew Zelda Fitzgerald, so lord knows I’ve heard worse.

Yours Sincerely,

Papa