I guess I should probably mention that I’m the Mookie King.
My class and I were on a field trip to a three-day camp adventure so that hopefully us kids would gain a better understanding and appreciation of nature (you can probably guess how well that went). On the first night, the kids in my group -- about thirty strong, if I remember right -- gathered outside with one of the camp counselors to play a game of “Mookie”. The rules are simple: one person gets pulled out of a line of competitors, and has to stand his ground amidst his rivals and their attempts to make him laugh by saying “Mookie” as hilariously as they can. If the single person doesn’t laugh, he moves down the line. If he does, he goes into the line and loses his chance at winning the game -- at becoming the glorious, undisputed “Mookie King.”
I was somewhere near the start of the line -- second, maybe third -- but I played the game well. I covered my face with a hat (in retrospect, building up anticipation) and then let it rip. So I took the hotspot, and had a chance at winning the whole thing…assuming, of course, that I could clear some twenty-eight additional attempts, including the camp counselor. As it turns out, it was a lot easier than I expected. Nobody could get me to laugh. Nobody. The camp counselor -- who I rightly assumed would be my greatest challenge by virtue of commanding the game for years -- got a slight smile out of me, but that was it. I probably freaked him out a little. “How could there be a kid who didn’t laugh?” he must have thought. “He must be a very sad child.”
No, I don’t think that’s the case. Maybe it was just a signal -- early proof that I had needlessly-high standards. I don’t think I’m funny, that much I’m sure of no matter how many people disagree. But by the same token, I’m not usually the laugh-out-loud type, or even the laugh-at-all type. I LOVE How I Met Your Mother, but even on its best days it’s barely gotten a chuckle out of me. It’s not that I don’t think it’s funny; it’s just that whatever mechanisms there are that make people want to laugh (or even smile), I might be lacking. It probably has something to do with me getting into my dad’s beer can when I was three, but whatever. I’m sure that didn’t have too serious of an effect on me.
Now, you might be wondering what this little story has to do with Family Guy. And the answer to that is…it doesn’t have anything to do with Family Guy. I just thought I’d offer something that’s only tangentially related to the post at the beginning, because A) I do that a lot, in case you haven’t noticed, B) maybe it’s an insight to the madness of King (but not really King) Voltech, and C) it’s about to get worse.
It always gets worse.