You see, that’s what we, in America, call a “joke”. People invented them so other people would laugh at them; and other people did for the longest time, until jokes got old and worn out and people had to start being more creative. Now there are anti-jokes and sub-jokes and all these other things that no one really understands but tells anyway.
I try to tell jokes, to amuse. Sometimes I succeed with heaps of interest, such as when I bopped my face with a plastic cup and people are still laughing about it to this day. Other times, I go the more obscure route and make exceedingly complex puns that require a working knowledge of early 20th century Irish Modernism to understand. Then there are times when I decide to bring The Catcher in the Rye into Walmart because I want to be cool and weird and funny but then I end up looking like a pretentious dork and being highly embarrassed the entire time. FACT: I can never spell embarrassed right. It’s my only weakness. Well, that, and *whispers incoherently*.
In other words, I’m like everyone else. Sometimes I’m funny and sometimes I’m not. When I’m funny, I feel like a worthwhile person that people can enjoy being around; but when I’m not I kinda just want to crawl into a hole and die. It’s upsetting because I’m an incredibly awkward person. Like, hold on a sec, I’m going to put on a aardvark hoodie to prove my point.
You can’t see me right now, but it is currently 6:59 AM on a Sunday morning. I am in pyjama pants and a brown aardvark hoodie and I’m at the point where I just want to finish this post and go back to sleep. I haven’t even had any coffee yet. My name is Shelby and I am an awkward person. Sometimes I’m awkward and funny, but other times I’m awkward and awkward, and this upsets me because then people make fun of me or avoid me for a really long time because I literally don’t know how to behave in public.
P.S. Everyone go read the Catcher in the Rye if you haven’t already. Because it’s awesome.