I'm going to recount a touching personal experience of mine right now. This story is about self-discovery. But not the sexual kind, so tough luck, perverts.

At the gym I belong to, there is a separate, smallish room with a speed bag and two heavy bags. When you are in this room, you can see a door to yet another room. No one knows what lies beyond this second door, because of the legend of the demon-child who will rip your face off and steal your soul if you enter. Actually, that's not true. I've been in there several times, and I didn't see anyone like that. Mostly I just wanted you to stay alert. So in this second room there is an area in which to stretch one's lithe muscles, or just flail about randomly on the floor. Last week I was in the second room stretching, when I heard two individuals enter the boxing room. Judging by the ear-splitting racket, the younger man's goal was to destroy all of the equipment in 25 seconds or less. I believe he succeeded. Nonetheless, the stuff he was saying was pretty funny.

"Bam-Bam-Bam-Bam! watch watch, I'm Box-O, the King Boxer and I will box your lights out and then I will box your eyes out!--Duh-Da-Dah!! No one can beat me, I will crush you like a tiny beetle! You are a tiny beetle and I'm crushing you! If the two things were a beetle and something larger, I would be the larger thing that is crushing you!!"

I had to smile, because I think everyone can identify with sacrificing every last shred of their dignity for the sake of a laugh. No? Just me? That's cool. Anyway, it was really great, because he was acting funny in much the same way that I myself might act funny. You know how that goes, even if your sense of humor is total crap, you can bond with others who are similarly defective. That's why this post isn't very funny to you. My sense of humor is very advanced, almost TOO advanced.

Meanwhile, Box-O/King Boxer continues to remark on his various positive attributes:

"Duh-Da-Dah--I'm a champion! No one can hit this puncher bag as fast as me, I am also a lightning bolt! Do you dare challenge me? Who is it that challenges me?"

2nd voice (softly, wearily): "No one's challenging you, Christopher".

This response, to what I thought was a fairly humorous (and potentially valid) question, struck me as odd. So I got up and went into the other room, to ascertain the identity of spunky adolescent's grumpy companion, and maybe congratulate the young man on his comedic talent. It was then I realized that not only was he afflicted with the same sense of humor I was, he was also afflicted with Down's syndrome. Yes, I'm being serious.

Now there are a few ways to deal with this type of realization. The first is to question yourself, and your IQ. I had always assumed it was above 40, but now my childhood nickname "little 40" started to make more sense. But then I thought, you know what? It doesn't matter if people think I'm mentally disabled, as long as they laugh. They don't even have to laugh with me, even pointing and jeering derisively is okay. Laughter is what's important, not whether or not I know how to wipe myself.