Freddogg Off The Chain

The freak flags are flying on “American Idol” a show I have never watched as the new trend is to find losers who will humiliate themselves in front of bigger loser judges and 60 million American losers think it’s funny.
I often discussed the elements of true humor when I taught Psychology otherwise known as “The World According to Fredman” and told students the reason Mimes were the least funny of all performers is because they didn’t make fun of people.
Now all people are quirky and easy to mark and mimic and there are sleazy street mimes in New York City that silently jump in behind losers walking down the street and mark their walks and postures in front of Wall Street brown baggers who pay cash to watch the “unsuspected” get trashed by some sneaky street mime loser with a painted face and if the French find mimes hilarious then you know by default ”them bitches ain’t funny” .
A high school hallway between classes is teeming with imperfect people with low self esteem, no self confidence and/or unrealistic idealized images, teenagers who can be leveled by a single mocking parody.
But even high school kids don’t make fun of the physically disabled, those with speech impediments, grossly obese people and those with big eyes, like lemurs who look like nocturnal arboreal tropical rainforest tree humpers-I mean huggers.
Back when I was in eighth grade a fat girl named Gertrude Charchiardi came into the co-ed self contained Catholic grammar school classroom late as everyone was seated. She sat down and I popped up in a little “cause and effect” humor. I don’t know where I got the idea-my own mother was fat- but I thought it was clever and received much acclaim from peers for my cruel sight gag.
Then for weeks every time the girl sat down, everyone popped up. It was funny if you dismissed the human emotion of empathy and forget this girl was a person. I took ownership of the joke and told the rest of them to stop because it wasn’t funny anymore but had evolved into cruelty and if that’s what they were into just go home and kerosene the kitten. Gertrude started to like me and I told her, ”Let’s not get crazy.”
I was walking down Broad Street from Temple basketball practice one late afternoon in 1964 and looked into the first floor window of a sorority house to see six sisters mimicking my walk bouncing on their toes while leaning forward walking in place. They had been waiting for me as they did everyday to make fun of my purposeful ambulation towards destination anywhere.
I felt so violated, so humiliated and I tried to lean back, and walk on my heels, but it just wasn’t me. I could have called them names but no one called women bitches before rap plus the parody was accurate so I told them “I know what you really want” and they said to please “don’t get crazy.”

Walking Like a Man

Freddogg