Are you funny IRL?

[Jorge]

We all like to make each other laugh on RM, but are you known for being funny among your group of friends in real life? Do you consider yourself a funny person?

[tree_]

Yeah

[E.H. Ruddock]

Yes

[BurtReynolds]

Accidentally, yes.

[epilogue]

Super funny, yes

[Anders]

Probably funnier irl than on RM.

[E.H. Ruddock]

I think if you’ve been posting here regularly for an extended amount of time, you probably have a pretty decent sense of humor.

[JuanHamm]

Yeah

Funny looking, maybe...

[dad]

i'm a riot.

[knee tunes]

We all like to make each other laugh on RM, but are you known for being funny among your group of friends in real life?

Yes

[BurtReynolds]

none of you are funny IRL

[Jorge]

Probably funnier irl than on RM.

Impossible

[Bammer]

All these yes answers are pretty funny

[Anders]

Probably funnier irl than on RM.

Impossible

Hehe, I was going to write something about how that’s not difficult. I don’t see myself as especially funny here, apart from a random post once in a while.

[The Argonaut]

My answer is yes

[BurtReynolds]

I think I'm considered a very serious person IRL who occasionally says some very caustic or bizarre shit that makes people laugh in surprise.

[tree_]

Same, generally. I think pretty much everyone can be funny sometimes. But the question is: are you funny? Like, permanently, and the answer is probably yes or no depending on what your opinion is.

[tree_]

I think if you’ve been posting here regularly for an extended amount of time, you probably have a pretty decent sense of humor.

This is a really good answer. But does one have to be a funny person in order to have a good sense of humor? That is definitely a question.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[tree_]

You still got it but your audience sucks now.