Don’t LOL at yourself. Please!

I’ve watched enough comedians in my life to have a good appreciation of how they elicit the best response from us to whatever shenanigans or word soup they’re slinging our way. Abbott and Costello. Aykroyd and Belushi. The casts of Friends and The Big Bang Theory. They were all greats and shared one common pillar of comedic delivery: they never laughed at their own jokes or situations. We weren’t laughing with them, we laughed at them, as the joke goes.

Good humor comes from inside us, that delicious moment when we connect the dots and appreciate the twist, the double entendre, the farcical situation or the absurd reality spewed at us unexpectedly. We get to decide whether a joke is one that we acknowledge and appreciate and makes us smile inside, one that makes us smile outwardly as we “get it,” or one that elicits a loud guffaw as all the elements of a good situation, setup, delivery and surprise hit us like a rubber brick.

“You’re a pistol, you’re really funny.”

The key point that underscores all of the above is that we decide what is funny and how funny it is. We instinctively recognize a great line, but also understand that all jokes are not created equal, no matter how good the writers are. We smile at but don’t criticize weak lines, and we know that in the peanut bowl of jokes being streamed at us there will be a few that don’t land. That’s OK though. We’re judging the entirety of a fine meal, not individual mouthfuls that may contain a stray bay leaf.

“Funny how? What’s funny about it?”

With that corpulent introduction out of the way I can get to the point of this post: I hate—did I say hate? I mean loathe—it when someone decides for me whether or not something is funny. Usually the jawbone of an ass I’m smitten with is the entirely gratuitous and presumptive “LOL” tacked onto the end of a sentence or affixed to a meme or image.

Folks, LOL means laughing out loud, literally. Are you telling me that you just wrote something witty and actually laughed out loud at how witty you thought you were? “Look at me, I’m funny! And I just wrote a funny thing! And I’m laughing out loud!”

“I mean funny like I’m a clown, I amuse you?”

I love me a good meme as much as anyone who spends more time than is necessary or healthy on social media. I’m especially a sucker for puppies and silly dogs. But receiving a photo of a dog with a guilty look on his face appended with “LOL” kills the vibe on the spot. You really laughed out loud when you saw this? Do you laugh out loud when you see babies wearing hats or a cat stuck up on a utility pole? You, sir, are someone I would give wide berth to in a social or office setting.

Using LOL is just the social media version of other criminal offenses against good humor. “Hey listen, I got a funny joke to tell you.” Great job, Batman, you just watered down the humor in your joke to the essence of near-beer. I haven’t had a chance to savor the setup and punchline of your story yet, but you have already deemed it one that will make me laugh.

“My friend told me a funny joke.” Now I’m dealing with two people who have determined that I will find the joke funny. My expectations are down to the level of a competitive limbo stick and I’m already subconsciously negatively judging the joke before having heard one word of it.

“Tell me, tell me what’s funny!”

“But wait,” you say. “Don’t you watch comedy routines where you’ve been told in advance that the comedian will tell funny jokes?” Sure, but let’s put that in perspective. The comedian never says, “Oh, here’s a good one” or “This one made me laugh.” In fact, take your cue from the entire act of a good comedian: Stories told directly without introduction. Wiseass asides thrown in for good measure. A deadpan delivery. Facial expressions and body language that are ten times funnier on their own than someone telling you that they actually laughed out loud.

Humor is subjective, I know. My own tastes lean toward dry, absurdist humor: think equal parts of David Letterman, Robin Williams, the Monty Pythons and Kafka. But the delivery of humor is an art equal to the delivery of inspirational lectures or public speeches. My one-person’s-view on the topic would suggest that humor should stand as alone as possible without crutches, an introduction or sideline commentary. Don’t let it trip over the shoelaces of your best misguided intentions.