It's almost ten PM, and it's almost time for my mom to come over. Not like I want her to. I wouldn't mind if she made a few errands. In the past six hours that I've been here on Havana Street, I've watched routine after routine online of Jerry Seinfeld, Eddie Murphy, Jim Carrey, Steve Martin, Jon Stewart, David Letterman, Jimmy Fallon, Adam Sandler, Ricky Gervais, Ellen DeGeneres, Will Ferrell, John Oliver (one of my favorites), Woody Allen, Jeff Foxworthy, Billy Crystal, the lates and the greats- George Carlin and Rodney Dangerfield, and of course... the Marx Brothers. That's a lot of comedians and a whole LOT of laughs. I didn't even know that some of them were actors and that some of them starred in a lot of movies. Tears streamed down my eyes in a few parts as I nearly collapsed in laughter, and I can still feel the aftereffects of them. I still have to wipe my nose every once in awhile.
When we finish watching the last video from John Oliver, which was some sort of rant about standardized testing that made me laugh at many parts, Sans asks me to turn off his phone for him because his phone only has 32 percent battery left and that he'll get a better light. He says he has something to discuss, but I don't know what.
After "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" and during "Duck Soup", I built a couch fort for us with a blanket roof, a carpet floor, and unstable, soft, couch cushion "walls" that block light -even though it wasn't really necessary because the sun had already set hours ago and it was night- so I'm a bit hesitant to turn it off. But I turn off the phone anyway, and the entire tiny couch fort turns dark.
Sans finally gets up from his spot in the couch fort that looks comfortable- just about everywhere in the couch fort is comfortable, I tried to make sure of that- and with usual tiny strides, he runs off to the kitchen for a few steps and a few strides, but then realizes his brother and father are asleep upstairs and the house doesn't provide much in the way of sound insulation, so he stops for a few seconds, then walks off to the kitchen until he turns a corner and is out of sight. I can't help chuckling a little at the sight. Meanwhile, I wrap myself in a thin white blanket that was on the couch, but I tossed to the floor when I made the couch fort. I dart outside, then dart back in, careful not to knock down the walls or come in to fast, because the couch might fall down if I do. I take the blanket and wrap it around me. I laugh as I realize that if I had a mirror, I would see that I would look exactly like a burrito.
I suddenly see a bright LED light shine into my face and I cover my eyes, which have gotten used to the dark. The light hits my eyes even worse than the afternoon sun would after a few hours in a dark theater. I hiss like a cat and start to laugh again. "Sans, stop it!" I say. He smiles just a little before it leaves his face. He diverts the light off of me to hit his spot, carefully crawls into the couch fort using the same silent cautiousness that I did, and sits back down.
I'm used to seeing his smile. I'm used to seeing him with a wide smile across his face and making jokes. But now, there's none. He's completely serious, the way a teacher is when she reads from a book in order to give instructions to the kids and administer the yearly final exam. Which makes me think that something is terribly, terribly wrong with him. There's something that he's not telling me, and I want to know. Is it something medical? Does he only have six months to live? I have no idea, and that's what's killing me. A feeling of slight dread creeps up my spine, even though there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just a normal, everyday conversation... right?
I want to speak, but Sans does first.
"So... let me tell you a story. So when I was a kid... I mean like a little kid... I mean before I was born..."
"Um..." I say, the dread slowly ebbing away and being replaced with what I think is teenage awkwardness, mixed with a little disgust. "Please don't make it gross..."
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"I won't!" Sans says defensively. "I swear!"
I chuckle a little politely, glad that he won't make it gross.
"Anyway, the docs at the hospital kept on checking on me every so often. For a lot of the time, I was completely fine. But then, they started to notice something different. They started to measure me, and I wasn't growing as much as they wanted me to. That's sort of how this whole thing started with me visiting doctors and stuff like that. Anyway, I was being brought to doctors ever since I could remember after I was born, but when I turned six, I started picking up on things that I would see in the waiting room or in the doctors' offices. Instead of just reading a picture book or taking a nap or something like that, like I would do when I was little, I'd look on the walls and the pictures of skeletons on them. And then I started reading them and picking up big words for a six- year- old. Words like 'ribs' and 'maxillae' and 'trapezium'". I had no idea what they all meant and I couldn't pronounce them well, but one thing that I did know was that they sounded like other words that I did know, like 'bibs' and 'max' and 'trapeze', and that I could make a little wordplay with them. I didn't know it, but I'd planned out my first puns. It was such an amazing moment.
Ever since I was in school, people started to make fun of me because I looked like a baby... and I guess I wanted people to laugh with me and not at me, so ever since the day that I started coming up with puns, I wanted to be a comedian, and I needed a test audience, so I started with Dad. I remember the day that I made my first pun. It was another day in the doctor's office. I was sitting on top of the chair where the doctor looked at me, and my dad was just sitting there on another chair, not saying a word. He looked really worried, but I didn't really have any idea why. I just thought he needed cheering up, even though I had no idea why. You know, I was six, so I didn't know a lot. So I said to him, 'Hey Dad, I hope my jokes are humerus!' It was terrible, I know."
I cringe a little.
"My dad laughed politely, and I felt so proud. For a few years, I went around the hospital, harassing people with terrible bone puns. It was fun. And I guess this is where it all began.
When I turned eight, I started to want to make other people laugh AND get good at it, too. So I told my dad that I wanted to become a comedian. He was a bit shocked, but he bought 'Duck Soup' for me so I could get some extra material. So I started just creating material from both that and what I saw in real life, and I started writing them down and memorizing them, which was pretty fun, and before I knew it, I was in the talent show. I was nervous, but I tried. People managed to laugh. I wasn't exactly the audience favorite, and I'm still not the audience favorite- ahem, looking at you, Thomas-, but I still got an award. This made me think for the first time, Hey, I can actually do something with this. And I continued with it, and I went on, and on, and on... but I've never actually recorded myself, other than the few times when Dad wanted a few routines to post on Facebook...
So, anyway, the point is... I want to ask you one thing. I'd like to start making comedy sessions and recording them for the first time. I've been wanting to do this for a little while. Are you okay with that or-"
Woah. That was a lot. And I can't exactly say that I didn't see it coming. He tried to make me laugh from Day 1, sometimes failing and sometimes succeeding. So I think that he's got a point. I think that it's completely OK, and I think he can do it, as long as the jokes are actually funny and not like the pun he just told me. I think I should tell him. I-
Wait a minute.
What about me?
I mean, I've spent the entire night getting into comedy, and I guess I've been into it as long as I can remember. Who doesn't want to laugh, right? I mean, I know I need a bit- okay, a LOT- of work and practice even to squeak out a half- decent joke... but I think I can churn out some good comedy, too, if I really, really try. I mean, why not? I don't have anything better to do other than worry about the bullies. At least this will take my mind off of everything.
I pause. "I guess the real question is... can I join you?"
His reaction is unlike anything I've ever seen. He's completely silent for about two seconds, then he starts stammering and laughing a little and ranting and jumping up and down and not caring about whether his brother and dad woke up all at the same time in a perfect flurry of excitement that I'm sure would wake up his dad and his brother, but it doesn't.
I laugh, tell him to calm down, and ask him to write it down because I couldn't understand him when he started ranting. He looks at the time. 9:50 PM. "Okay," he says, looking just a little frustrated that I couldn't understand him. "But the handwriting isn't going to be pretty because I'm both left- handed and I have arthritis. Which is not a good combo."
I tell him it's OK and I can decipher it (hopefully). He writes a little and gives it to me. He runs to the kitchen and comes back with another ice pack.
My mom rings the doorbell to take me home, and I read it the next morning.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- November 7, 2015
Okay, Asriel, so you sort of wanted me to explain everything that I was ranting about. So... you said that you were going to join me in recording them, right? What if you could? I mean, you want to, right?
So I have a Youtube account called COOLSKELETON98, and my little brother's is COOLSKELETON02. Yeah, I know, those names are stupid, I was dumb and I just let my brother pick out any names he wanted when we started them when I was thirteen. I haven't touched it for a long time... or ever. Zip. Nada. Nothing. No videos, no subscribers.
But I'm considering starting it now. For a long time, I've been considering doing a comedy series, but seeing you, Frisk, and Betty laugh so hard when I tell my jokes and looking at the award... it makes me think I can actually do something.
Anyway, I'm getting too sappy here. I'm really ge
I'm really sorry about that. Ugh. That's embarrassing. I'm writing with a pen, and because of my arthritis- yeah, I know, seventeen years old and having arthritis, sheesh- my writing gets all shaky and it looks really bad because my hand hurts bad. Hold on, let me switch to a pencil.
Okay, that's better. Now I can erase stuff. Anyway, I know that you wanted to join me so... do you want to?
I already have an idea for the thing. It's called "Hump Day, Fun Day." I'm considering for it to be like a five minute weekly series (on Wednesday) to where you and I crack jokes. and hope at least one other person sees it other than us. I can teach you stuff, and hey, maybe you can teach me a thing or two also.
Okay, your mom's here. Text me about it tonight.
This sounds intriguing, to say the least. Me and Sans, cracking jokes together and sharing it with the world. It would be just like a regular "Big Amigos, Little Amigos" session, except other people will get to see it! Of course, I have to ask my mom about it.... she'll probably say no. But right now, I feel so excited that I want to burst! I really don't know what I'm going to do specifically and how it's all going to work out, but I know one thing: I'm gonna do it!
So tonight, I text him one word. One simple word that will fill the rest of my days with laughter, no matter how this turns out. Because even if Mom says no, he'll still do it without me. And I can still ask Frisk and Betty to help us make some material. Heck, he can even make fun of me in the process. I'm fine with it. I'm used to it. Plus, he's my friend, so he's just playing around. So I send him one single word.
Yes.
Sent at 7:55 AM
