And So This Is Christmas. . .

. . . and what have we done? Well, not much. We went over to the in-laws and had turkey and opened presents. The Solipsist got just what he wanted: an assortment of tube socks and a membership in the jerky-of-the-month club. In the spirit of the holiday, though, we would like to begin a new Christmas tradition by virtualizing an old one--at least, an old one in the Solipsist family.

Every year, DOS composes a Christmas "fable" and sends it out to a select--we hesitate to say "lucky"--few. Now, with the technology available to us, we share this year's fable with the world. Merry Christmas! And, we're sorry!

"A FABLE FOR THE TABLE OF EVERY TOM, DICK OR MABEL"

Fellman Fernquist had not left the house, except for brief walks around the block, in 30 years. It seems that 30 years ago, on October 19th at 7:00 pm to be exact, he had watched a commercial for "Sneezego," a new cold medicine. The commercial ended with the caution: "Until you know how Sneezego affects you, you should not drive or operate heavy machinery!" Since Fellman had never taken Sneezego, he did not know how Sneezego affects him. Moreover, since Sneezego was soon removed from the market (due to an unfortunate side effect that caused nostrils to fall off), Fellman could never know how Sneezego affected him. Thus, he could never drive or operate heavy machinery. Thus, he was confined to areas he could walk to unless he could get a ride from someone else. . . but only from someone who knew how Sneezego affected them! Since he knew no such persons, Fellman's life became a dismal series of days at home which lasted for, as noted above, 30 years. . . so far!

How, you might ask, did he survive? And well you might ask that!

Go ahead.

Ask!

I'm waiting. . . .

We're all waiting!

WELLLL?!?

Ah, that's better!

Funny you should ask.

As it turns out, Fellman survived, nay, thrived, by being an on-line gift consultant specializing in books, DVDs, CDs, etc.

How it worked was: A client would email the specifications of a potential giftee and Fellman would tell said client what the best gift for said giftee would be.

Obviously, the Christmas season was Fellman's busiest time of year. (See how we worked that in?)

That being the case, we herewith reprint the best of Fellman's suggestions so that you, dear reader, should you have a problem giftee similar to those below, will benefit as well. In the interests of saving both time, space, and typing, I will not copy the whole request; merely will I list the TYPE of giftee (or perhaps I will type a LIST of giftee) and Fellman's suggestion:

Ready?

We begin!

FOR THE PERSON WHO:

--Wants to read an epic biography of Herman Windt, the man who, while serving time in a southern prison, actually carved out of soap the pistol that John Dillinger used to make his escape from that very same prison, we offer the massive

Gun Wittler Windt

--Loves musicals about Jews kvetching, in the style of Dennis Miller, the DVD of

Rent

--Loves Shakespearean plays about people without Barbie dolls who slurp their food, a first edition of

Toyless and Crass Eaters

--Wants to learn how to take measurements of more than three pieces of dough to be used as sacrifices to a pagan deity, the book

Weighing Four God-Doughs

--Wants to learn about the tragic outcome of the test run of computerized communists that killed so many people

Beta Reds, Then Dead

--Wants to read the tell-all biography of Sebastian Nostril, who lived his life as nothing more than a huge nasal cavity

"No Body Nose": The Troubles I've Seen

--Likes children's literature about ape-like golfers and photos taken by people named Blo

Hairy Putters and the Half Blonde Prints

--Can't tell the difference between snakes and heavy machinery used to move Italian sandwiches around, the Barchart Quick Study Guide

Adders and Sub Tractors

--Wants tales of knights who earn their living amidst the early morning moisture, the CD soundtrack of

The Pro Dew Sirs

--The epic film about Yelmachin Turnblatt, the wealthy cockney with a speech impediment who wandered throughout the world giving away motor vehicles

'Ave a tar

--And, finally, the sad, but ultimately triumphant story of Hugh Montenegro, a boy who was severed in twain at an early age but finally learned that the people who work in funeral homes could help him,

Half Hugh Heard about the Morgue Hands

Any and all of these are available, not only to Fellman's clients, but to each and every one of you at Yellmungiplotz.com.

Order them now!

Merry Christmas and, because the hearing implements on a wildebeest are good luck, a happy gnu's ear!

Huh?

"Vizzini: HE DIDN'T FALL? INCONCEIVABLE!
Inigo Montoya: You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means."
--The Princess Bride

The Solipsist received an e-mail at work today. He won't bother you with the actual text, but here's the gist:

"If you need help, I can meet you next Tuesday. If you can't meet on Tuesday because of your busy schedule (pun intended), Wednesday's OK."

Pun intended? Is the Solipsist missing something? Does the writer not know what "pun" means? And if not, what did he MEAN to use?

Perhaps we shouldn't be too hard on the man. He is offering to help. Maybe he's just interested in writing wrongs.

Pun intended.

Another Day Another Dolor

"If I were punished for every pun I shed, there would not be left a puny shed of my punnish head."

--Samuel Johnson

What is it about paronomasia that people find so punishing?  Can we not play with words, as long as we know where they've been?

A recent New York Times  article (click title) explored the relative merits of this rhetorical technique.  For many people, there are none.  For others, scarcely a sentence can be uttered without resort to some form of pun.  The Solipsist is neither clever enough nor, frankly, motivated enough to try cramming puns into every nook and cranny of today's entry.  So forgive him if today's entry is somewhat bland, not especially pun-gent.  (Sorry.)

And there it is: The nearly unavoidable apology that comes after a pun.  Particularly a lame one, as the one above surely is.  As the Op-Ed writer pointed out, puns more commonly elicit groans--or at best half-smiles--rather than laughter.  And yet they are also associated with wit.  Why?

The Solipsist thinks the main problem with a pun is not so much the thing itself as its medium. His theory is that puns go over better when spoken than when written.  There's something about a written pun that seems somehow forced, too clever by half (or three quarters, or seven-eighths--oh my, YNSHC has been driven to disfraction!)  (Sorry.)  When you read a piece of writing, you assume the writer has taken time to think about words and phrasing.  A pun also implies a certain amount of thought--implies that the writer took his time, sitting in his dark parlor, candlewax dripping over a weathered skull (did people not have candlesticks in the dark ages?  And where did they get all those skulls?), until he finds le mot juste.  And le mot juste turns out to be a pretty lame play on words.

A SPOKEN pun, on the other hand, with its air of spontaneity, can often be more rewarding.  The other day, Solipsist was listing his various responsibilities at his place of employment.  When his interlocutor commented that this seemed like an unusually large number of jobs, YNSHC replied, "Yeah, I have more positions than the Kama Sutra."

OK, maybe not a knee-slapper, but not bad for the spur of the moment.  And it is this very improvisational quality that seems missing in most written puns.  So, if you're going to write a pun, you almost always have to apologize for forcing your (forced) wit on your unsuspecting readership.  Either that, or the pun itself better be extraordinary.

By the way, have you ever met a multilingual punster?  (No, this is not the set-up for a bad joke.)  Once, the Solipsist was dining with some Spaniards who lived in New York City, where they were studying German literature.  Try to keep up with this one:

How does a German atheist tell you it's raining in Barcelona?

Gottes caen.

(Explication: The above Spanish phrase roughly translates into "raindrops fall."  However, it shares a pronunciation with the German phrase, "Gott es kein," which roughly translates to "There is no God."  Get it?)

So the next time you're confronted by an irredeemable punster, take a moment to be thankful that he's only punning in one language.

Tomorrow: The American Psychosomatic Society.