Why’s it funny? ‘Cuz.

An odd bit of comedy lore holds that punchlines containing ‘k’ sounds are funnier than punchlines that lack them. According to Mel Helitzer,

Mel Brooks agrees. There are phonetic values in certain words that almost guarantee a laugh. “Instead of saying salmon, turkey is a funnier sound. It just helps.”

Why is the k sound funny? Research indicates that babies associate the sound with comfort and joy. Think of many of the words we coo to babies, and you’ll notice they have a k sound, even though most of them begin with the letter c. Just a few are cutie, cookie, kitten, cuddle . . .

. . . and so on. Who am I to dispute ‘research,’ but I’m not convinced. And yet the notion persists. Tonight, over at the Indecision 2008 blog, they have a cool post: 95-year-old Shecky Sloan, a Catskills veteran, weighs in on the comic aptitude of the Democratic Presidential candidates:

John Edwards on Hillary’s outfit: “Not sure about that coat.”

Shecky Says: Taking a pot shot at the lady’s outfit? Well, it’s not my style, but I know the kids like that kind of thing. Oh, my wife said to mention that it’s not a “coat,” it’s a “jacket.” Maybe he was going for the funny “k” sound in “coat,” but that’s also in “jacket.” Good looking kid, though.

The rest is worth a look, by the way. Turns out Biden is a comic genius, while Hillary sucks lemons (that’s my opinion — Shecky is silent on the topic).

Certainly, not all punchlines depend on a ‘k’ sound. But what about punchlines whose power hinges on the sound of the words? Surely such a punchline would have to work in a ‘k’ sound, right?

An attractive young woman sees a gynecologist for the first time. He takes a thorough history, listens to her heart and lungs, then moves on to the pelvic exam. In the midst of the exam, she hears him say, “Do you mind if I numb this up?”

“Well, um . . . okay, sure.”

“Mmmm num num num num num num num num.”

See? Not a ‘k’ in that entire line*.

D.

*You have no idea how long it took me to figure out a legitimate way to tell that joke.

Those Potter spoilers for which you have yearned

Now that the Rowling wench has profited from her lies, I supposed you would like to know the truth of the matter. Sans filigree, sans varnish, as those Americans say.

First and foremost, I am fine, as you can plainly see. In the bone-chilling denouement of our misadventures, I most certainly did not get my hair caught up in one of Voldemort’s Convolvulus spells; my scalp warms my pate still, nary a drop of blood spilt. Nor did that spell foreshorten Little Lord Potter’s wand, as is evident here. (That last image is neither safe for work nor conducive to good corneal health. Click only if you wish to indulge your most self-destructive tendencies.)

Norbert the dragon did not, with a fiery belch, roast the hapless Luna Lovegood. Luna and Hermione presently cohabit in a kitschy Soho flat, but don’t expect La Rowling to provide those steamy details. No, she’d rather turn the poor girl into Lovegood flambé than scandalize her young readers and jeopardize her precious profits.

Given Ms. Granger’s present lifestyle choices, I needn’t comment on her on-again, off-again histoires de coeur with that Weasley sniveler. But never fear: I understand Nymphadora slipped Weasley some Amortentia potion at last year’s Sorting Ceremony Feast, and now he is an official Tonk Boy Toy. I was wondering why she asked me for a dram of Rohypnol . . . the woman never did have confidence in her potion-making abilities.

What about all those deaths and resurrections of which Rowling is so very fond? All of it untrue. Yes, yes, life is so dreadfully undramatic, isn’t it? Why, just the other day Albus and I were giggling over our butter beers on this very point. We had received our advance copy of Deathly Hallows (Rowling grows a positively fetching tail if she fails to send us each an ARC) and for all the laughter, we could not see through the tears. Voldie swung by our table and made a grab for Albus’s copy.

“What is it? What is it? What confabulations has that hideous muggle wrought now?”

“You — you’re dead again,” said Albus. “Sorry old chap.”

I didn’t have time for Voldie’s grumblings. He was bringing us all down. I said, “Simply be content you’re not the object of slash fiction couplings with young Potter.”

That stopped him. “Much of that, is there?”

“Reams of it,” I said.

“Oy,” said Albus. “You’re making me hot. I wonder what Minerva’s up to tonight?”

S.