Me? Take a wild guess.
For my money, the sort of person who would get crazy into April Fools is probably also the sort who thinks rubber vomit is comic brilliance, the sort of guy who finds knock-knock jokes bladder-burstingly funny, that type of gal who considers a talking birthday card witty and amusing.
I’m not begrudging anyone a desire to seem funny or a desire to join the human circus parade if only for a day. What bugs me is the odd notion that  somehow April Fools’ rates special effort and attention, and  that pretty much any effort—no matter how lame and clichéd and downright un-funny—deserves kudos. It’s as if at some point we circled the first of April on the calendar and made it a special day where non-funny people are given a free pass, and we collectively give them all the same gold star for effort as if we are in some cosmic pre-school class.
Puh-lease. It all just makes my sphincter pucker, and I think we all understand the discomfort of a white-knuckled sphincter.
Fake news headlines. Fake notice sent to friends and co-workers. The always-original “loosen the top of the salt shaker so that the next loser ruins his meal!” gag. That last one surely got old while pterodactyls still darkened the skies, and likely gave rise to the “crotch-shot” as a comedic chestnut:
SCENE: A CAVE IN THE PLEISTOCENE
Two Neanderthals hunker together. FIRST NEANDERTHAL readies to eat a drumstick the size of collie. He produces a small silver-topped SALT SHAKER to season his meal. As he sprinkles, the top falls off, dumping a quarter cup of salt onto the meat.
SECOND NEANDERTHAL points and laughs, clearly the mastermind of this brilliant gag.
First Neanderthal looks at the salt, dismayed, then glares at his laughing friend, pissed as hell. First Neanderthal fumes for only a moment before he jams the huge drumstick right into laughing Second Neanderthal’s private bits. Hard.
Second Neanderthal gasps, gags, rolls into a fetal ball and whimpers, suddering and shivering at the echoing aftershocks of History's first great intentional ball-shot.
First Neanderthal chuckles once, then starts laughing. He points at his suffering cavemate and absolutely convulses with laughter.
Still fetal-balled, second Neanderthal starts giggling, too, then ramps his laughter into wild convulsive fits, too.
First Neanderthal gathers himself, still laughing, again rams the huge meaty leg-bone into his pal’s nuggets, and howls with even louder laughter. Second Neanderthal yelps with pain but also laughs at the undeniable brilliance of this amazing new joke.
Later that day, these two geniuses discover fire only to immediately burn down the Sahara Forest as they take turns lighting each other’s farts.
The date? April 1, 1 million BC.
I like gags and jokes and childish dirty tricks as much as anyone (OK—a lot more than most), but where and when did we decide to reserve a special day upon which to lower the bar to such a pathetic and sad low level that “Pull My Finger” now seems like a Noel Coward bit?
For the next day or so we’ll have to hopscotch around the internet to avoid those freshly-dropped turds of supposed comedy and wit all the assclowns, dimwits, and booger-eating morons have left for us like unwanted casseroles on the occasion of a dead relative.
Uh... thanks. You shouldn’t have. Really.
April 2 is always one of my favorite days of the year, as it means that April Fools’ day is now another full year away, and we can get back to the serious business of pie fights and pratfalls.
So watch out for the mouth-breathers... they're out roaming in great slobbering dull-eyed herds today.
a tough crowd of one B