Tonight my sister's birthday coincided with St. Patrick's Day and a friend's housewarming. The ultimate culmination of which, beyond one on one conversations with dear (and growing dear) friends, was that Mel became the drunkest she has been in like, at least, five years. With her sister, which is an equation for weirdness, if not raucous.
Tonight, our drunken gaze fell upon my lock screen, which I recently changed to my favorite picture of my parents- one where they're both leaning out of the window on a train from before any of us were born. And one of us said,
"They're dead now."
"And they're on a train."
(more hysterical laughter)
"But that's not why they're dead."
(even more hysterical laughter)
"They didn't even die at the same time."
(laughing becomes maniacal)
"But they're both still dead now!"
At this point I was laughing the hardest I ever have in my life. And sober me doesn't quite understand why. While I do resent my parents for not being here to explain their actions and help me consider my own, I loved them a shitload, and I don't really see how their being dead can be funny for its own sake like that. (gah! This is so why I don't drink often. I hate not being able to communicate, and here it is happening with myself). My sister and I went through this three times like it was the damn "Who's On First" Abbot and Costello sketch. And it got funnier each time.
There is something the Nerdy Mr. and I call the Heinleinian tipping point of comedy/humor. It comes from Stranger In A Strange Land.
I grok people. . . . I've found out why people laugh. They laugh because it hurts so much. . . . because it's the only thing that will make it stop hurting.
That's about the best I can offer by way of explanation.