I've always loved Mel Brooks--at least, his early films. Somewhere shortly after "To Be or Not to Be," his films started to sag, but the musical version of his first film is brilliantly funny. It's packed with jokes that are in such bad taste, which, as everyone knows, are the ones I like the best.
I think Mel Brooks...and also, David Letterman...are the ones responsible for the Tourette syndrome of the mouth that I am unfortunately afflicted with. They're the ones I loved the best growing up in the seventies and early eighties. As a result, this is the way my mind works. I automatically go to the tackiest, most appalling thing that I can possibly say, simply because I find it funny. Half the things I say I say to amuse myself, without any thought as to how other people will respond to them.
Take yesterday, for example. Beth, at work, was sharing a big bag of candy corn, and handed me a big cup full of them. And I thanked her and said, "Now, these are from your toes, right?"
Or today. My boss, Joe, and David (who works with me--together we're the PR Department) were in Joe's office. And we're talking about the hurricanes, and Joe says, "I have to cut this short. I have a meeting with Vhonda in five minutes." And then he pauses and says, "You know, she's 55 years old, and I still think she's looking pretty good."
"She is, Joe," I agreed, smirking. "She's a damn hot woman. In fact, I'd bone her, if I wasn't gay."
I mean, can you imagine saying such an appalling thing to your boss? And yet, I can get away with it. Joe burst out laughing and made me promise that we'd go on another trip like we did to New Jersey some time soon.
(This also says something about where my head's at these days. Can you imagine me saying that even six months ago?)