Pick a target for your satire and let your humor flow.
It’s a lot easier to write humor when you have a target that’s fun to attack because it can be attacked, should be attacked, or just because you feel like it.
Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary defines satire as:
1. a literary work holding up human vices and follies to ridicule or scorn
2 trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly
Well that gives you a lot to work with, doesn’t it?
For an excellent discussion of how to write satire, and get it published, visit Not Theo Nion. The last time I Googled “satire” (12-28-09), Not Theo Nion was at the top of the page. I believe it deserves its position.
Following is a one of my efforts at gentle satire. It will tick some folks off, but I know from positive reviews that it has made a lot of others laugh.
It’s Christmas Brag-Letter Time
By Jack Rawlins
Well by golly, it’s that Season again and time to spam everyone with pure unadulterated bullshit about what a good year it has been for our bright, talented, lovely family…a family the good Lord apparently endowed with everything —except modesty.
However, as luck would have it, my wife Maud’s book club and its members, who are dedicated to intellectual snobbery, just finished discussing Pinocchio. (They don’t actually read books; they just talk about them.) They thought it was an historical novel, and Maud warned: “It could happen to you, Claude. Why risk an extensive and expensive nose job? When you write this year’s letter, just stick with the facts.”
So, here are the facts:
We felt we had a good year coming way back in January when Aunt Tilley (a.k.a. Wiggles) announced that she had finally conquered her tormenting rectal itch. While happy for her relief, we will miss her graceful movements.
Next, Aunt Bessie reported she achieved her first multiple orgasm between 10:00 p.m. Feb. 21 and 3:00 a.m. Feb. 22 while watching the Do It Yourself channel. There is some question, though, whether she should be congratulated or castigated. She admitted she wore out two sets of AAA batteries in the process. That does not sit well with those of us who are trying to conserve energy.
In early March, Uncle Stud Muffin (we had been warning him for years) finally did go blind from playing with himself. He says at eighty-seven it isn’t much of a sacrifice, and he can’t see what Portnoy’s complaint was all about. It’s a little embarrassing for the rest of us, though. Now he can’t see if anyone is watching and often picks awkward moments.
In April our Great Dane, Brutus, developed a gender identity crisis. When he lifted his leg to pee he couldn’t keep his balance. To compensate, he began to squat. We thought it was funny at first, but then he developed a false pregnancy and started having morning sickness.
We couldn’t cope with that, so we sent him to one of those new doggie shrinks we’d been reading about. The shrink didn’t fix the squat, but Brutus came back much smaller. And that’s a good thing. Now he eats and poops a lot less and it’s easier to coach him on his three-point stance.
Remember Nephew Michael who was studying for the priesthood? Well, in May he dropped out and went back to work in the produce department at the A&P. Said he aced Latin, but flunked bingo. It’s really in everyone’s best interest, though. We fear he might have used the confessional as a lead generator to target sinners who practiced his favorites.
Our daughter Gretchen’s sixteenth birthday party in June was literally a smashing success. Actually the newspaper’s account of SWAT’s involvement was rather exaggerated. And the extensive damage cited was mostly from the team’s tear gas canisters.
The kids thought the teargas was just a batch of adulterated grass that burned their eyes. They coughed, gagged, and toughed it out until the SWAT guys laughed themselves hysterical and went away.
And speaking of parties …I thought the neighbors were rather narrow-minded in their reaction to our little Fourth of July get-together.
Our attitude has always been that there is a certain amount of risk in any exuberant manifestation of patriotism when sixty or seventy fun-lovers are given unlimited access to booze.
The funny thing is, despite all their complaining, we were the ones who suffered the greatest financial loss. When our barn burned down, the heat blistered the paint on Maud’s obnoxious Hummer and melted all four tires off my tasteful little Toyota. The neighbors’ token damage, on the other hand, was limited to a few rather inexpensive tool sheds, two garages, a sun porch, and a few picture windows that happened be facing the ball field and rocket launching pad.
In August we sent Gretchen to an outreach camp in the Adirondacks to improve her self esteem. Meanwhile, we vacationed at Sunshine Park, a nudists’ retreat in Southern California.
Unfortunately, while she was building her self esteem, we were lowering ours. The Park, rather than being “A liberating experience at a ‘couples only’ facility,” as the ads promised”— was humiliating! Contrary to urban myth, all men are not created equal.
And although we should not have been surprised, we soon learned that when you drop your drawers, body hair becomes very important. As we gathered about the evening camp fires, instead of sing-a-longs and ghost stories there was a spirited dialogue about the pros, cons, cost and techniques of hair removal via laser, electrolysis, depilatories, wax jobs, motorized clippers, and old-fashioned tweezers. Obviously, without a little help, bare ass is just a figure of speech.
The big news for September was Cousin Leroy’s acquittal in the paternity suit that has dragged on since he was thirteen. True, he and his teacher did have an affair. What’s more, he admitted he clipped the ends out of his condoms “to make them more sensitive.” But when the child was conceived, court records show Lee was in a juvenile detention center doing a stretch for a flashing incident at Our Lady of St. Francis Academy. So, he was obviously locked up when the lady was knocked up.
Lee is twenty-one now. If you want to see a big smile, just ask him about his early education. In fact for a real treat, ask about his post graduate work.
One other thing: We’d like to set the record straight about our trial separation in October. Like most things we tried this year, it just didn’t work out. When you’re both horny, a week can seem like eternity. It was an aphrodisiac for both of us. We each took a two-week sabbatical. One week was to catch up; one was to get our strength back.
In November, while Gretchen celebrated Thanksgiving with her grandparents to give thanks that she’s their sole beneficiary, Maud and I dressed as Pilgrims and went to Foxwoods Resort Casino in Connecticut. It’s owned by the Mashantucket Pequot Tribal Nation and I guess they’re still pissed about the time they brought all the food to the party and the Pilgrims were grabbing their land before they stopped burping the bird.
Anyway, when I ordered turkey sandwiches and cranberry daiquiris they summoned a big brave to check us out. He didn’t think our outfits were cute. What’s more, he was much better at alliteration than public relations; He said I was “a witless, wise ass, white man who should be whipped. “
“Look, chief,” I said, “We came in peace.”
“Okay, pal,” he said as he took each of us by an elbow. “If you hurry, you can leave in one-piece.” So we took his advice.
But, hell, we really do have a lot to be thankful for and we wanted to share all this good news, not only with you, but also with anyone we ever happened to meet, and most of all with those who—when they get this letter — will wonder: “Who in the hell are these people?”
So, may the Lord bless and keep you and make his face shine upon you and yours. And may he punish all the ladies who go through the express line with more than 10 items.
Fondly,
The Warped Family,
Maud, Claude & Gretchen
PS: Starting Jan. 1, 2010 we will block all TV ads for personal female or male plumbing products. We’ve decided to just let Gretchen watch porn. It’s a lot less offensive.
PPS: Early response to this letter— despite two death threats, a few pieces of hate mail and the voodoo doll full of pins hung on our doorknob — has generally been favorable. No one is writing to us any more. In fact, no one is talking to us anymore.
© Copyright 2007 Smiling Jack (UN: jackrawlins at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Smiling Jack has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Filed under: Jack's Portfolio, Writing Technique