Should you not find the following dissertation not to be the humorous kind — there must be an app for that — blame my good friend, I think, Lorne Gunter. Absolutely. See, now: when I found out I was going to have all kinds of free — as opposed to billable — hands and thus keyboard, Lorne suggested I fire up and account with a platform such as Medium.com and write about living with a disability — I have the cerebral palsy, don’t walk and don’t, on occasions, speak all that clearly. I was born and didn’t breathe for 17 minutes, causing brain damage. I did, however, get rid of the hiccups. And, when I drink too much of the single malt scotch, I walk in a straight line. There are, alas, more comedy bits I used in my comedy routine — like my wedding night bit, but it may be a bit too colorful to share here. But if we do have a single malt scotch and there aren’t any young ears around, I will, gladly, tell you. Lorne has heard my shtick. He judges it to be funny without — honestly — any form of payment. If I have any sense of humor, I owe it to the funniest man I will ever know: my father. Prankster was his middle name. When he was a young man he invited the boys up to the farm for coffee.

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