the search for funny

- the search for funny -




This is serious.
I am not a funny man. Well, sometimes I am a bit funny. I love a good laugh. It’s my favourite thing. Especially those ones where you’re all seized up, can’t breathe, tears welling up. That’s what this quest is all about – finding a laugh that will just about kill ya.

I’m nearly thirty. Three weeks to go. So I’ve been reflecting on my life lately. I mean you’d think I’ve got it pretty good: A satisfying job as an environmental technician – outdoors, cruisy, only requires my services six months of the year; a cosy house near the beautiful beaches and surf of Yallingup; good health, 20/20 vision, a good dog and no wife or kids. What more could a young man want? Well funny you should ask, because whilst sitting on the porch last week watching the late golden light caress the trees, I realised that something was missing. THE GUTBUSTER. The one where you’ve gotta prop yourself up on a mate or a bench or something. Where is it? I certainly haven’t seen much of it lately….maybe once a month if I’m lucky. So I decided to chase that rogue intangible shot of sheer joy down like a fly-blown lamb requiring the clippers and a dose of Diazanol.

So today I quit my job. They understood. “Once a month!” responded my boss, exasperated. I nodded earnestly and she passed me a stress ball. “I hope, Rowan,” she said, sounding very concerned, “when you return from this quest,” she paused, looking into my eyes, and placing a soft hand on mine, “this ball is no longer with you.”
“Thanks Katrina, I’ll get rid of it as soon as I can.”
She hugged me, we both cried a little, and then I left.
I am gunna find funny.



Monday, SEP 2, 2013

Operation funny find starts in earnest today. On the weekend I told friends and family of my new quest and, after chuckling at the “silliness of it all”, some of them offered up some pretty funny stuff. My favourite of which was a true story about a local guy, Murray Teresi. One sunny Sunday, Murray drove his old Holden ute deep into the forest on the sniff for roos and boar. The car broke down many miles from help. Murray spent hours trying every trick in the manual to get the old girl going again, but to no avail. Wrought with frustration Murray extracted his shotgun from the cab, strode purposefully away from the vehicle, spun around, screamed obscenities at it, then promptly raised his gun and shot it. Four times from four different angles. Then he walked twenty kilometres to the nearest pay phone to call his wife, who could not pick him up because she had left her keys in his car. Murray walked the remaining two kilometres home, where-upon he shot his wife’s car just once in passing then promptly went to bed.
I enjoyed that story, even more so because my friend, Liam, was beside himself with laughter as he told it.

I looked in the supermarket for funny today. Didn’t find much, except for when a young child in the queue loudly asked his mum if she was purchasing ‘the toilet paper that dad asked for? The stuff that’s soft on yer bum.’
‘Ssh, yes, now ssh,’ she responded in hushed tones. She went very red. I grinned but did not laugh.

Stopping at the video store on the way home I collected three funny DVD’s for five bucks: “Crackerjack”, “Shaun of the Dead” and “Independence Day”. I drank coffee and stayed up ‘til two a.m. watching them all. They were all very funny, especially Independence Day. Bill Pullman was amazing.



Sep 9th

I looked around for funny again today, and it soon became apparent that I am going to have to go global with this. I marched right into The Flight Centre, slammed my fist on the counter and demanded a round-the-world ticket. I was promptly escorted from the premises by two large security guards who kindly listened to me (thanks Bruno, Frank) when I explained my full intention of paying for said ticket, and happily returned me to the premises from which I was removed.

No-one wanted to serve me (too intense), but once I had explained that I was on the search for funny they all loosened up a bit and figured I wasn’t such a bad guy/freak after all.
Amanda took care of me. “Where would you like to go sir?”
“Well I’m looking for the ultimate laugh so where do you think I might find that? ”
“As in ‘oh we had such a laugh on that trip? ‘ or ‘I couldn’t breathe, nearly died? ’ ”
“Nearly died”
She turned to the map and pointed, “I’d say here, here and here, possibly here but definitely not there.”
“Thank you Amanda. And I wouldn’t mind just sneaking a quick surf trip in here if I could.”
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you’re focused on the task at hand or am I wasting my time here?”
“Yes I’m focused” I replied a little irritated, “No you’re not wasting your time. I just may need a little break from the rigours”.
“The rigours of looking for funny stuff all day?”
“Yep.”
Amanda studied me silently for a good two minutes. I didn’t drop her gaze. Didn’t blink, didn’t faulter. She soon yielded. “Okay sir” she said, now speaking softly to her computer screen, “whatever you say….loser”.

She definitely said ‘loser’, quietly, but she said it. I’m no loser, I’ll show her, I’ll show them all, I am going to find funny!




I took Amanda to dinner that night. We spoke of funny, but only briefly. Really we just wanted to go home and shag. Which we did, and it was great. “See” she said, “there is more to life than just laughter. That felt amazing, and it was funny too. We scored two goals from the one kick. You need to keep your mind open to all the other good things life has to offer. ”
“Funny?” I enquired cautiously.
“Well yeah, just your technique was a little funny” she replied distractedly; clearly more interested in examining her belly button for lint.
“Yours was hilarious” I retorted, confident I’d gained the high ground.
“Oh don’t be like that. I thought it was cute.” And she had won.




Sep 10

Today and for the next few I’ll just be getting things ready for the quest. Boring.


Sep 13

Departure: 11:30pm, Perth International Airport, red eye flight. No-one came to see me off. They think it's ridiculous.


Sep 14

1:08am

Well this is very exciting. Here I am really doing it: A late night flight to kick off possibly the greatest and noblest quest of the modern era. And all these people sitting around me don’t even know it. They’re sharing the same air as greatness and they are completely oblivious. Oh hang on, something’s happening nearby. A haggard, dodgy-looking old lady with a bung eye has motioned to the hosty. I’m listening in and actually documenting this as it happens. Aha, aww yep, she’s asking the hostess to ask me to stop speaking the words aloud as I write because A) It’s keeping everyone awake, and B) I sound like a complete tool.

Okay, I’ve accommodated the old bag and stopped talking aloud as I write, which is probably a good thing because that was embarrassing. Oop, hang on, everyone’s glaring at me again. Bugger.

Okay, I’ve got it sorted now. I get so engrossed in the writing I just don’t even realise I’m doing it. Enough about that. I’m here on a mission so I’m going to see if there is anything humorous on this here plane. First I’ll need my ninth beer. Following the embarrassment of recent events, I figure if I throw a few back I can retro-fit my apparent loopiness as simple drunkenness in the memories of those aboard, thereby becoming “the party guy” rather than “the crazy guy”. It’s worth a shot.

Okay, I’ve got it sorted now. I get so engrossed in the writing I just don’t even realise I’m doing it. Enough about that. I’m here on a mission so I’m going to see if there is anything humorous on this here plane. First I’ll need my ninth beer. Following the embarrassment of recent events, I figure if I throw a few back I can retro-fit my apparent loopiness as simple drunkenness in the memories of those aboard, thereby becoming “the party guy” rather than “the crazy guy”. It’s worth a shot.



Sep 15

I’m still in prison. The Portugese policia have no sense of humour. Nor do the hosties on Japanese Airlines flight 666. And they certainly don’t understand the concept of “the party guy” and how anything he does while under the influence can easily be laughed off with a simple-yet-endearing “you’re an idiot”.
Free food and water here though.


Sep 16

I’m out of prison. Spoke to my embassy, threw some money around and now I’m free. I now find myself in a charming little coastal village called Ericeira. I like it, so I’ve booked myself into The Gay Pelican, a local backpackers, the name of which, I am told, harks back to days past when gay meant happy, it probably still does for some. Which reminds me, here’s a true story from my childhood in WA. I attended a primary school in a small suburb called Eaton.

Established in the 70’s the school song proudly proclaimed that “Eaton children are so gay, as they work rest and play, Eeeeeaton our schoooool.” Needless to say, those of us who participated in interschool carnivals in the 80’s were not served well by our innocent-yet-proud declaration of gaiety in this not-so-liberal-minded corner of the world. In 1986 the song was amended and the students are no longer gay.





- CHAPTER DEUX -





Sep 19

It’s Friday. I’ve been out of jail for three days and really am enjoying my new-found freedom. Doing time really changes your perspective on things. I didn’t get institutionalised. Strong in mind.

I met an Irish girl this morning. ‘Are you finished with the toaster?’ she politely asked. ‘No’ I politely replied, ‘but you can use it’ I said with a smile. Very nice of me. She thought so too and joined me for brekky. She was intrigued by the notion of a search for funny and found the whole concept to be hilarious in itself.
Her name is Penny and she’s a waitress back in Ireland where she has left her boyfriend to travel for two months. She hasn’t “left” her boyfriend. He simply remains in Donegal patiently awaiting her return.

There are some friendly travellers here at the backpackers, though Penny is my favourite. She’s quite funny and has a glint in her eye that tells me she knows more than I do. She can’t be trusted. Tonight a few of us are heading out for a bit of a knees-up.


Sep 20

What a night! Big night on the sauce, starting with a few Westmalle Tripels on the porch here at O Pelicano, followed by a swag of La Trappe Quadrupels at A Cabeca de Cavalo, before stumbling into O Unicornio Frustrado to sample Samuel Smith’s Taddy Porter. Only Penny, the French lass Marie, the Swiss fella Matteas, and myself made it to that bar on the beach of which the name escapes me. This is where things got funny and just a little bit bizarre.

The funny bit relates to this old Portugese piss-head I got chatting to when we first arrived. He seemed a bit loopy, a bit alcoholic and a little bit fun too. He was short, round and wore a holey old grey jumper with faded green cords and fingerless woolly black mittens. He looked like Bill Oddie and I’m not entirely convinced that he wasn’t. His English was better than my Portugese and he laughed hard with wheezy diaphragmal intensity and slapped his thigh a lot when I informed him of my mission. He continued to laugh as the conversation progressed and slapped something different every time a new bout erupted – the bar, my back, you name it. His squinty green eyes were watery with glee. Then he huddled us up and said “Hey! You guys wanna see sometin’ really funny? Huh? You wanna laugh like me?” His eyes darted excitedly around the group. “Watch this”. And with that, the crazy old short drunk round fella proceeded to tickle me! And in no short measure! He keeps saying “tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle” as I try to fend him off with efforts rendered weak and ineffective through laughing too hard. Tears are streaming down my cheeks. Penny is in hysterics as she tries to drag him off me.
“Tickle him!” I manage to squeal through a larynx seized with laughter. Her tickle efforts render the man completely defenceless. He drops to the ground wriggling and writhing in a mad giggle-fest; this 58 year old stranger. Good times 

The bizarre bit happened when I woke up this morning, and this really has me intrigued. In my rear dancing pants pocket was a mysterious message scrawled on a beer mat:

“What you seek exists, I know
In a place where it doth ne’er snow
A clue for you it be in France
I hope this beer mat fits in your pants”
Ph: 0405 509 238


It’s probably nothing.





to be continued (para ser continuada).....