Pride and Predator-Juice.

there are loads of things people don't know about me. or just disapprove of.

first on the list of shame is my inherent and passionate love of really horrible puns. and i am talking like real bad puns. like if these puns were to somehow take human form, they'd be racist and would probably like to hurt animals and use gel in their hair. i am in almost constant, red-hot scrutiny when any bad joke is made and i so much as crack a smile or cackle like a hyena on a coke bender.

for clarity's sake, i will whole-heartedly admit that i have a boisterous laugh, a high-pitched cackle of some forgotten overweight English nanny, that some experts have said is infectious. i will also readily admit that i find very stupid things incredibly, irresistibly hilarious.

many times i have stood alone in the white spotlight of uncontrollable public laughter, feeling heavy looks of confusion and sometimes rage. and in that moment, i have pondered: "how did i get this way? why am i so sensitive to the venom of the giggle bugs?" well, friends, i have dug through files and files of useless Dave Watt memories, and have managed to trace it back to a simpler time, a time where young DW was raised by a mother who was also a part-time clown. with an army of homemade puppets and a suitcase full of rubber chickens, she reared us Watt siblings with goofy voices and a semi-religious-but-not-idolatrous worship of anything Muppets, and a sharp wit that, despite it's dripping cheesiness, is so fast and potent it would make Robin Williams' head spin until he vomits. yes, she's been known to cackle at things that most people would probably just shake their heads at, or not even comprehend. if you've never met her, you need to. it's that important.


mom rules.


so, as far as who murdered my normal-person-sense-of-humor, mystery solved. it was Suellen Watt, in the late 80's/early 90's, with the Sneaker puppets. and i couldn't be happier.