The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-04-14
IN. Y. Mail.l
The Vapid Punster.
A Familiar Member of Society.

We all know him; most of us intimately
How familiar are his vacuous levity, his
would-be knowing leer and his assinine as
sumption of archness. His affectation of por-
tentous gravity just before and during his de-
livery of some meaningless jingle Of Words
and his instantaneous, though unvocslized de-
mand for applause, or at least, appreciation
how we'll do we all know them; and with what
difficulty do we twist our visages into the ex-
pected grin of intelligence. With what con-
tortions of the vocal organs do we mechanical
~ force out cultural cachination, half con-
scious of its unnatural sound, when we feel
that nothing less than an audible expression of
mirth will satisfy our facetious friend. How
eagerly does he seize the extorted homage OBJ
livious of the fact that only the most shame
faced hypocrisy could have produced it; and
that it is no more like genuine laughter than
the sounds of fiendish glee which are wont to
issue from the respectable Mr.. Punch after one
of his exemplary performances in the coniugal
and social line.
Encouraged by this signal success, as he i'm
agines it to be, our Democritus launches forth
into brilliant sally of witticisms, buttonhol-
ing us the while, pausing after every scintilla-
tion of his fancy for the welcome sound of
ghastly and enforced merriment. Long after
patience has ceased to be a virtue," we con-
tinue to indulge the victim of the unfortunate
hallucination; so tender are we of wounding
his sensitive feelings by spelling his little joke;
although fully conscious that we are only lay
leg up misery for ourselves in the future, and
prolonging the agony of the present moment.
We weakly yield to one infliction after an
other in the purest spirit of Christian charity
though we know we'll that the next appearance
Of our friend will be but the opening of a new
onslaught of his terrible jokes, much diluted
by repetition in the meantime. He never
deigns to remember that he has entertained
you, perhaps dozen times before, with those
ancient gulps and gags which he seems to
have selected-he never invents- -o.o-wIth
special reference to their abject and wearisome
emptiness OF all humor. The more strongly
they display this characteristic, the more os-
tentatiously and continually does our poor
friend parade them before you; and the
more strongly is he convinced of their original
ity and sterling quality.
How thoroughly has he learned them by
heart, and how completely has his great mind
assimilated them and made them his own!
How he hangs upon your lips for some famil-
standard puns; and then, when you have been
unfortunate enough to utter it how he flashes
back upon you his dazzling beam of wit with
all the spontaneity of true genius! Then it is
your manifest duty as a friend, to laugh: but
what a faint, melancholy, funereal laugh it is.
What an insipid, unsatisfactory, cackling
laugh. Why can't the fellow understand the
real pathos of that laugh? Does the unfortu-
tion of a word or phrase which happens to
have two meanings supremely funny, when
emphasized so as to call attention to the mean
ing which was farthest from your thoughts
and makes your sentence ridiculous? Let
us charitably suppose that this is the result of
disease, morbid appetite for wornout buf-
f0onery, contraction or affection of the brain,
which only allows it to comprehend verbal
quibbles. The Pinafore fend, with his stereo-
typed inquiry Of "What, never?", has been
ruthlessly sat down upon by public opinion,
and is now almost extinct; even the wretch
who rings in all the variations of "Going to
the ball this EVENING"" is becoming decided
ly unpopular; yet these insults to common
sense are of comparatively recent origin, and
ire mild and inoffensive beside the wrongs
which the punster infiicts upon his victims.
While all such annoyances as the former are
but temporary and ephemeral, the latter seems
to be perennial and everlasting as his own
jokes, and is endured in silence and resigna-
ton. The good-natursd donkey-we never
saw him in bad humor, because no man has
yet been found hardy enough not to pretend to
be highly delighted with his puerilities-iS per-
mitted to go on year after year repeating over
and over again his formula of sounds deprived
of all sense. Some monomaniacs of this class
(much the more respectable portion of it, by
the way) have but one solitary pun, which may
be expected from them at every opportunity
thoughtlessly given them with as much regu-
larity as if they were automata which were set
in motion by string. We all know the man
who, when asked for a match, invariably puts
on an air Of vast importance, and with what is
intended for twinkle in his fishy eye, replies
that she is a match for any man." Immediate
ly looking around to see the effect of his bril-
liant rejoinder.
1t is unnecessary to pain the reader with fur
ther specimens of this masterly style Of humor;
he is already too, too familiar with them. An
apology should be made to him for alluding to
this delicate subject at all, were it not for the
plain fact that it is time to begin a crusade
against the punster who does not acknowledge
himself to be laboring under some mental de-
rangement and prove satisfactorily that he is
not actuated by malice toward his fellow men.
Let us steadily refuse to be accomplices of the
punster man by laughing at his poor watery
old jokes or even vouchsafing smile. Let us
nerve ourselves for the ordeal of transfxing
him at the most critical stage of his triumph
with "Oh! that's stale!" "Gve us rest!"
"We've heard that BEFORE" or other remarks
calculated to dampen his enthusiasm. This
may seem rash, and it is useless to try and pre-
dict the consequences but stringent measures
must be taken to check this evil, impossible as
it may appear Let us be the slaves Of the pun
Ster man no more