Looking out: Quashing a rumour
By Brandon Astor Jones
"Humor's ear, in the listener, is very much like beauty's eye, in the beholder." — Irving Elmer Bell.
If you have something important to do right now, you should not be reading this. On the other hand, if you are as bored as I am, this is precisely what you should be reading.
I will get right to the point. The nasty little rumour that is being circulated about me, in some critical quarters, is not true. I flatly deny it! I do have a good, albeit dusty, sense of humour; and while I am not expecting any calls from Bill Cosby or Robin Williams, on rare occasions I do make people laugh.
Oh, so you don't believe me? Then I'll just have to prove it. But be forewarned: my humour quotient is high. It borders on sophistication and just might go over your head, so be on your toes.
Speaking of sophistication (or, in this case, the lack of it) and things that are nasty, I suspect the rumour-mongers who attacked me will fit into the following category. I will call them "the itchers".
You have seen them many times. They itch all the time and, it would seem, in only one area. When they walk down the street and think that no-one is looking, they reach behind themselves, like a dog driven mad by fleas, and scratch the underside of their thigh(s) and buttock(s). Then, slyly, they look around to see if anyone noticed; of course; just about everyone does.
Some of them have itches from other causes, but if truth be told, some itch for having thoroughly failed hygiene.
If you go to their homes (and it does not matter whether they live in a shack or a penthouse) and venture into their bathrooms, you will often find that they all hired the same interior designer to do their toilet seats in an erratic continuum of splashing polka-dot yellow. Rich or poor, some men simply lack the hygienic sense to lift the toilet seat before urination. And later, when they have to sit — well, you get the picture.
Here is a clue for that special group. This is not rocket science, so listen up: If you do not get urine on the toilet seat, you will greatly reduce buttock itch. This is devilishly simple stuff. I think it is funny too.
Ha ha. Looking up from this paper, I can see that some of you are not laughing. Too bad. As I said, I do have a sense of humour. If you are not laughing, perhaps it is because laughing is, well, a bit like rocket science for you. I can understand and sympathise: after 18 years in prison, laughter does not come easy for me either.
One more thing, about my sophistication: I lied.
[The writer is a prisoner in the United States. He welcomes letters commenting on his columns. He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, Georgia State Prison, HCO1, Reidsville, GA 30453, USA. For the first time in 17 years, Brandon has the real hope of his sentence of death being mitigated. If you can help by contributing to his defence fund or in other ways, please contact Australians Against Executions, PO Box 640, Milson's Point NSW 2061. Phone (02) 9955 1731, fax 9427 9489. Cheques can be made payable to "Brandon Astor Jones Defence Fund".]