Laughing Matters: The Funny Thing I Wanted to Share

by Ryan G. Van Cleave |  Illustrations by Darcy Kelly-Laviolette

I run a blog.

Nope—that’s not the funny thing. (Not unless I was the genius author of Olga, The Traveling Bra, which is a real blog. Man, I wish I thought of this idea first . . . )

Remember, though, how in the movie Notting Hill Hugh Grant’s character (who runs a travel book shop) has some British dope who keeps wandering in and asking for “the new John Grisham” or “Winnie the Pooh”?

That’s happening to me now, sort of. My blog’s name? www.OnlyPictureBooks.com

Yet people keep emailing me to ask: “Will you review my dark elf young adult thriller?” Or “Here’s my how-to fiction novel about the exciting industry of dog costuming!” And my favorite: “I’m thinking about writing a business book. What do you think?”

If only I’d have thought to make the blog name and/or the URL more clear about what I’m up to.

Like www.IOnlyDoPictureBooksSoDon’tSendMePornOrRomanceOrHowToAnythings.com

Still—none of this is the funny thing. It’s just an annoying thing.

Anyway, one of my work buddies has been trying to sell me on running a costume-mandatory murder mystery party. “It’ll be a total hoot,” he promises again and again. “We can put this baby together just in time for your birthday.”

To which I reply: “It’s November. My birthday was in May.”

After a moment comes his response. “Well, we can drum it up for your half-birthday then.”

After a little quick mental math to determine that yes, November is six months later than May, I nod extra vociferously. “Sure thing. And since it’s a half-birthday party, we can do half of the murder mystery, then save the half with the Big Reveal to run on my actual birthday. That’ll keep them stewing in their own juices and really wondering whodunit!”

“Yep,” says my work buddy. “Shall we order the entire game kit online?”

I smile and cryptically point to my head, saying, “I’ve already ordered it. Up here.”

“Gotcha,” my buddy says. Whatever that means.

That’s not the funny thing though. It’s just a weird thing where I (apparently) can’t tell when people are joshing me. Or maybe it’s that they can’t tell when I’m screwing with them. Same difference, I suppose.

So, the other day, I was picking up a 16” pepperoni and banana pepper (with extra sauce) from one of my fav local pizzerias, and the teen-ish tattoed kid at the register with the “I like the sound you make when you shut up!” t-shirt starts giving me the business about not leaving a tip.

I ask if it’s normal for people to tip their delivery guys. “Better believe it, dude,” he says.

“What are people tipping them for?” I ask.

He says, “For hustling a pizza over to them. Gas money, time, effort, all that.”

I try to ignore his misspelled “Mischeif managed!” wrist tattoo, saying, “Well, I did all the driving by coming here. So does that mean YOU should tip ME?”

This stops him cold. He mumbles something, then disappears into the back, never coming out again.

Yet that’s not the funny thing either. (But I do think the pizza dudes on Fruitville DO maybe owe me a buck or two now. Maybe I should send an invoice.)

So two days ago, I was out mowing the lawn on just another Florida afternoon—which is to say that I was losing 2 pounds a minute from the sweat being leeched from my body because my backyard is only 3° cooler than the surface of the sun. Then came a ka-THUMP as the mower lurched down and started tearing up dirt, dandelions, blades of browning Bermuda grass.

The front wheel had plunged into a wasn’t-there-before armadillo hole. How do I know it’s an armadillo hole? Well, I’m a bit of an armadillo expert, to be honest. And not because I watched all three episodes of the ill-fated 2001 TV show “Armadillo” (which was actually about an insurance adjustor who collected ancient battle helmets—no joke). It’s because a writer pal of mine once wrote an article entitled “14 Surprising Facts About Armadillos” for some online magazine, and I remembered exactly one thing from that. Armadillos do NOT attack people.

I recalled this fact just as an armadillo emerged from that hole and gave me a Death Glare. It let out a squeal. I let out a squeal. It ran. I ran.

And I’m not the least bit embarrassed to say that after diving into the garage and slamming the door shut just moments before that vicious little thing tore me stem from stern, my mower is still sitting in the yard to this day. I’ll take the angry neighbor looks about my grass versus risk my life just to deal with the knee-high grass that one day will surely take over the planet.

And just in case you were wondering, that wasn’t the funny thing. Man vs. armadillo is just a fact of life here in the critter warzone we call Florida.

But here it is at last—the long-awaited, much-ballyhooed funny thing.

My neighbor bet me $8 that I couldn’t write this month’s humor column by only talking about four things that he came up with more or less at random: “your dumb blog,” “banana pepper pizzas,” “those ridiculous murder mystery parties,” and “when armadillos attack.”

Clearly my buddy doesn’t fully appreciate the weird life I have. He would’ve lost just as fast had he wanted me to write about snakes with a bellyache, nighttime helicopter lessons, or musical cockroaches. I attract strange stories like iron filings to a magnet.

But far more important than all that . . . I am now the proud owner of 8 buckeroonis. Scoreboard, Tim! SCOREBOARD!

PS—Cash only. I don’t accept checks or credit cards.

PPS—If I have to drive to your place to pick up my cashola, I’m expecting a tip. Apparently that’s a thing.

PPPS—If you try to back out, I’m going to introduce you to my new pet armadillo, Sir Fangs-a-lot.

Got your own pizza delivery make-you-think moment that you’d like to share? Are you considering writing YOUR own dark elf thriller and you’d like Ryan’s input on the age-old debate: “pointy vs non-pointy ears”? Want to bet $8 on whether I can successfully arm-wrestle an armadillo or not?

Zip those gems to ryan@scenesarasota.com today! Every email is guaranteed* a response.

*not an actual guarantee

Note: Ryan has been awarded the Silver 2018 Charlie Award in Writing for his humor column in Sarasota Scene!

Ryan G. Van Cleave is the author of 20 books, and he runs the creative writing program at the Ringling College of Art and Design in Sarasota, Florida. Web: ryangvancleave.com.