Monty Python
I don't find Monty Python funny. At all. Not the parrot sketch. Not the ministry of funny walks. Not the cross-dressing or the bobby hats or the two guys who can't decide if they're having an argument or a contradiction. Or the Spanish Inquisition. I also don't find anything worth laughing about in The Holy Grail, Life of Brian, or The Meaning of Life. At this very moment, Zach is watching a movie about an Italian man who starves his girlfriend, and that movie is funnier than Monty Python. And the girl dies in the end.
Not even the Knights who say "Ni!"
Monty Python, to me, is funny only to people who don't have their own sense of humor or who don't believe in their own kind of funny enough to trust it. So instead, they haul out hour after hour of Monty Python quotes, complete with their own awful ideas of what an English accent might be, and they attack. Some think of themselves as jazz musicians, running specialized riffs on their favorite skits. Others are traditionalists. All of them are deeply and aggressively unfunny people.
I'm harsh only because I am fair and just. I will concede that 11-year-old boys who find Monty Python funny are forgiven, much like unbaptized babies were when Catholics still believed in the groovy idea of Limbo. Eleven-year-olds have atrocious taste in pretty much everything; but that's because they're eleven, and bad taste is nature's means of inhibiting reproduction. When those 11-year-old boys become, say, 31-year-old boys and they're still hauling out the Lumberjack song? There's a reason Johnson & Johnson invented hand lotion.
My distaste of Monty Python and Monty Python-related "humor" is linked, I think, to my fear of public performances by strangers. Many's the time I've been at a party or a birthday or a get-together and everything is going as well as can be expected for me in a roomful of people. I'm not much for crowds, especially when those crowds consist of a lot of strangers. And then, when one of those strangers pulls out a guitar, or a harmonica, or some sheet music? Instant nightmare, just add sing-along. There they are, singing or strumming or humming or harmonica-ing their little hearts out for all they're worth -- and it's usually awful. And everyone else starts clapping, and I don't want to draw attention to myself so I start clapping, only my heart's not in it and actually, truth be told, my blood pressure is now elevated as I begin scanning the rooms for nearest exits. Of course, I'm never near the exits. I'm usually near the chips or the snack items.
I'm also afraid that a public sing-along will ensue. My friend Lissa (with two esses) once dragged me to a party where I knew no one but her, and where we all sat in a circle and were called upon to contribute a blues ditty to some song one of the guys-with-guitar had started. I feigned choking on a bit of cheese cube and excused myself when my turn came around. Fortunately, that worked. I was willing to commit to a full grand mal.
It's the same thing with the Monty Python-ing: someone will say something about "strange women lying in ponds" and then someone else will get really excited because now personality is no longer a requirement for attention and they'll follow with "'elp! 'elp! I'm being repressed!" and then I've got an Anacin headache behind my right eye. These quote wars will go on for hours, complete with props sometimes and the bad accents I mentioned. These quote wars will go on for hours until finally I can't take it anymore and either I leave or start making my way to a Texas bell tower.
"You know, Mike: for a guy who says he hates Monty Python, you seem to know a lot of their routines." Yeah. You know why? Because as soon as I out myself as a Monty Python hater, everybody feels like it's their job to convert me. "Wait," they’ll say, "you mean you don't like Confuse-a-Cat?" No. "The Chemist sketch?" No. "The Man Who Speaks in Anagrams?" No. No. A thousand times: NO. But of course, I'm not believed. I can't be right, they think. “But, you’re so funny,” they’ll say. “How can you be funny and not find Monty Python funny?” “Like this,” I usually answer. And sometimes, I’ll weep openly. So then they'll launch into their versions of their favorite sketches and there I am, trapped as surely as if they had a keyboard and a song. The thing is: you're not going to make me laugh. The guys who do it professionally can't even get me to crack a smile. It's probably for the best if you just assume I'm irrevocably broken and you go back to polishing your 16-sided die while humming "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life."
I hate you.
Not even the Knights who say "Ni!"
Monty Python, to me, is funny only to people who don't have their own sense of humor or who don't believe in their own kind of funny enough to trust it. So instead, they haul out hour after hour of Monty Python quotes, complete with their own awful ideas of what an English accent might be, and they attack. Some think of themselves as jazz musicians, running specialized riffs on their favorite skits. Others are traditionalists. All of them are deeply and aggressively unfunny people.
I'm harsh only because I am fair and just. I will concede that 11-year-old boys who find Monty Python funny are forgiven, much like unbaptized babies were when Catholics still believed in the groovy idea of Limbo. Eleven-year-olds have atrocious taste in pretty much everything; but that's because they're eleven, and bad taste is nature's means of inhibiting reproduction. When those 11-year-old boys become, say, 31-year-old boys and they're still hauling out the Lumberjack song? There's a reason Johnson & Johnson invented hand lotion.
My distaste of Monty Python and Monty Python-related "humor" is linked, I think, to my fear of public performances by strangers. Many's the time I've been at a party or a birthday or a get-together and everything is going as well as can be expected for me in a roomful of people. I'm not much for crowds, especially when those crowds consist of a lot of strangers. And then, when one of those strangers pulls out a guitar, or a harmonica, or some sheet music? Instant nightmare, just add sing-along. There they are, singing or strumming or humming or harmonica-ing their little hearts out for all they're worth -- and it's usually awful. And everyone else starts clapping, and I don't want to draw attention to myself so I start clapping, only my heart's not in it and actually, truth be told, my blood pressure is now elevated as I begin scanning the rooms for nearest exits. Of course, I'm never near the exits. I'm usually near the chips or the snack items.
I'm also afraid that a public sing-along will ensue. My friend Lissa (with two esses) once dragged me to a party where I knew no one but her, and where we all sat in a circle and were called upon to contribute a blues ditty to some song one of the guys-with-guitar had started. I feigned choking on a bit of cheese cube and excused myself when my turn came around. Fortunately, that worked. I was willing to commit to a full grand mal.
It's the same thing with the Monty Python-ing: someone will say something about "strange women lying in ponds" and then someone else will get really excited because now personality is no longer a requirement for attention and they'll follow with "'elp! 'elp! I'm being repressed!" and then I've got an Anacin headache behind my right eye. These quote wars will go on for hours, complete with props sometimes and the bad accents I mentioned. These quote wars will go on for hours until finally I can't take it anymore and either I leave or start making my way to a Texas bell tower.
"You know, Mike: for a guy who says he hates Monty Python, you seem to know a lot of their routines." Yeah. You know why? Because as soon as I out myself as a Monty Python hater, everybody feels like it's their job to convert me. "Wait," they’ll say, "you mean you don't like Confuse-a-Cat?" No. "The Chemist sketch?" No. "The Man Who Speaks in Anagrams?" No. No. A thousand times: NO. But of course, I'm not believed. I can't be right, they think. “But, you’re so funny,” they’ll say. “How can you be funny and not find Monty Python funny?” “Like this,” I usually answer. And sometimes, I’ll weep openly. So then they'll launch into their versions of their favorite sketches and there I am, trapped as surely as if they had a keyboard and a song. The thing is: you're not going to make me laugh. The guys who do it professionally can't even get me to crack a smile. It's probably for the best if you just assume I'm irrevocably broken and you go back to polishing your 16-sided die while humming "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life."
I hate you.
posted by Mike at 11:57 AM
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