I can be offensive

I gotta get something off my chest here.

I have, what I call, an acquired sense of humor. In case you haven’t noticed.

There is very little that is off limits to me as comic fodder. I don’t share a lot of it with you here because it’s extremely inappropriate. I couldn’t even start an anonymous blog telling all the jokes/stories that I tell Chris throughout the days without fear of being shut down due to it being offensive. Extremely offensive.

Robot Chicken wouldn’t even want to use some of my shit. That’s how bad it can be at times.

I’m lucky, however, because Chris gets my sense of humor. He thinks I’m funny. He understands that I use humor to drag myself out of dark places. Not a lot of people who have my kind of taste in comedy finds someone who, not only doesn’t get weird-ed (that’s what spell check tells me) out by it, but laughs at it, unashamed.

He understands that I will tell you that I don’t eat seafood because fish have sex and use the bathroom in the same exact space they live. Or that I don’t eat pig because a pig is a cop. Both of which? Totally true.

He doesn’t complain that much of my “everyday speak” consists of a mixture of “urban” and “Dungeons and Dragons.”

He laughs with me when I say I want to set something on fire, like the birds, or a car with someone locked inside. I’m sure I make him uncomfortable when I make jokes about cutting myself, or other things, but he rolls with it. Because it’s what helps me.

I’m offensive to the point where I’m sure I would lose every Twitter and blog friend I have ever made if I mentioned some of the things I thought. But you know what? I’m chill with that. Because my husband thinks I’m funny even if no one else does.

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One Response

  1. I feel like I could have written this post myself. Especially because my husband’s name is also Chris. lol.

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