Everyone's a Comedian

As the Friday night girl here at The Art of Loving, I think it's safe to say I deal with a fair number of the crank calls we get. They usually come in rapid succession, generally decreasing in the quality of character work from first to last, and almost always involving at least one question about blow-up dolls. In my expert detective opinion this points to a common source. Which in turns points to the fact that there are some sadly unimaginative parties going on in the city of Vancouver.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for laughing about sex. I'm all for laughing DURING sex. But there is a difference, I think, between that kind of laughter, and the kind of laughter one seeks in phoning up a sex shop in order to ask in one's most insensitive fake Chinese accent if one can purchase an anal vibrator for one's young son. That, to me, speaks not to an openness or a joyfulness about sex, but to a sort of giggling, cringing, defensiveness about sex. A need to distance oneself from sex, to make a parody of it, dare I say for fear of it?

Or perhaps all my philosophical pyschoanalyzing is misguided. It's entirely possible that I'm just bored. But demonstrative of society's skewed and squeamish attitudes toward sex or not, these crank calls are certainly one thing: not particularly funny. In fact, I'd say that if the funniest and most outlandish thing you can think to do at a party on a Friday night is to call up a sex shop and ask about the Obama dildo, you are, sadly, just not a very funny person. As a funny person myself, I know about these things, and so I'm fairly sure I'm right. It's not the end of the world though. Not everyone has to be funny. There are plenty of things you can do other than try and make jokes. Just stop calling me! My mission is to sell dildoes to the good people of Vancouver, and you are impeding my ability to do so! Cease, I say! Go do a kegstand or something.