My jokes come back to haunt me. Always. Years ago, when I was on AOL, and you didn’t have to give your life’s history to leave comments on news articles, there was a story that inspired me to comment that Freemasons were spiking municipal water supplies with estrogen in order to boost sales of Viagra and bring it to non-prescription status.

Never one to miss a chance to overdo and run a joke into the ground, I began leaving this hilarious conspiracy theory all over AOL news posts. I didn’t get any responses, and when the thought of it no longer made me collapse in gales of laughter, I dropped it. No more use for AOL, and they began restricting comments anyway.

Months later I see an article that says hormones had been detected in the water supplies of major cities. Someone got the idea of testing the water specifically for hormones!

Of course, hormone levels were nowhere near a hazardous mark, but I always wondered, and still do, if my joke had anything to do with the tests being ordered. I’ll never know. But I’m very suspicious that I rolled a snowball downhill.

I’ve made other jokes. They usually are ignored. However, some trust me so much that they believe what I post. That’s sad. A joke is not so funny that you should risk losing a friend over it.

I’ve got a twisted, dry sense of humor. It comes with an appreciation for Monty Python. It comes with the risk of laughing at things which will get me punched. For my part, I’ve always wondered if I made it onto a local Lodge’s shit list, and maybe they’re watching me. I can’t have that.

I’m now administering automatically generated electric shocks to my nipples via automotive batteries and hotshot cables every time I get the idea that anything about a spiked municipal water supply could be funny.

Like Freemasons giving the men in America limp dicks with estrogen pumped into reservoirs, LOL!

SHIT FUCK SHIT that hurt!!!!

I’ll be going now. I have to look for my right nipple.