And Please Tip Your Waitress

What you are reading now is, in large part, a reflection of my character. I am a creature of habit, and I tend to do the same thing over and over again until someone tells me to stop. This includes the repetition of certain jokes and "funny bits" that have long since lost their original flavor and now exist primarily as a reflex action to the circumstances around me. Are they still funny? I'm a poor judge of that, especially if you were to interview those closest to me. That would produce a preponderance of eye-rolling and hopefully a certain amount of diplomatic discussion about the nature of humor and so forth. There are some who would say, I'm sorry to admit, that I'm just a joke box that operates even when the batteries have long since been used up.
I had one of those for real once. It was called a Comediator, and its existence preceded downloadable ring tones and sound effects. It allowed me to spice up my conversation with cartoon noises and the occasional rim shot. Even when I was boring my audience to death, I still had a chance to amuse myself by inserting the appropriate boing, crash, or honk. The fact that I no longer have this machine suggests a vast covert conspiracy to rid me of that sense of cleverness.
And so, that habit was forced into submission. Now I only think "ba dum chhhh" when I feel that I've reached the top of the Comedy Pyramid. That moment when the humor has escalated to the point where that last joke has taken the subject as far as it will go, and the punch lines have all been expended, that's the moment for which I live. It's a habit, and for those around me who have put up with it all these years, I can only offer you this.