I've mentioned several times about our sense of humor there in the prison. It's pretty awful.
Part of it comes down to we have to laugh or we might start screaming and not be able to stop. Some of it boils down into a very simple mathematical equation.
Everybody knows that guy jokes (GJ) are bad.
And everybody knows that prison jokes (PJ) are terrible
Therefore: GJ + PJ = GAPGJ or (Gawd Awful Prison Guy Jokes)
We often have the most juvenile sense of humor. The worse the joke is, the funnier we find it. And, of course, a good fart can send us rolling on the floor in tears.
And, after my post last night, I'm almost wondering if some of us aren't actually suffering from some sort of weird twisted type of PTSD.
It makes sense. How else could we sit in thirty acres full of murderers and meth heads and child molesters and the clinically insane and crack bad jokes?
We laugh to make the pain go away.
We laugh to keep the ghosts at bay.
We laugh to show that we aren't scared.
We are "Whistling past the graveyard".
Sometimes I look around and think "These are the lunatics that have my back?"
Yup. And the ones that laugh the loudest and the longest are usually the ones who show up when there's trouble and the ones I can rely on the most.
Maybe they can get us a clown car to drive around the yard rather then those pathetic golf carts.
I'd feel much safer.
Go ahead and laugh. It's okay.
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