I Was Assaulted Because Of My Bad Jokes


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I Was Assaulted Because Of My Bad Jokes

Everyone has that one trait about them that is uniquely ~them.~ Not little quirks, but rather something that you’ve grown to expect from them. Like it would almost be weird if they don’t do it. For me, my unique trait is that I make absolutely terrible jokes at absolutely horrifying times. And while a select few appreciate my sense of humor, most people despise me for it. I get thrown shade every day. “You’re really not that funny,” they’ll snarl. “Can you be serious for one second of your fucking life?” they’ll question, trying to breathe through their frustration. “Please… Please just stop,” they’ll beg me for mercy. But I just keep going.

It’s not that I enjoy being obnoxious. In fact, I cringe as much as my reluctant audience. So why don’t I hang up the towel of my comedic career? Because it’s completely involuntary. It’s my tick. It’s not like *sometimes* I take it too far, it’s every single fucking time. Sentimental graduation speech? Yeah, there were puns involved. During sex? You better believe it. Cheering up my friend after she was cheated on? I’m ashamed, but of course I joked about it. AT MY GRANDFATHER’S FUNERAL? This is too far, you’re thinking , she did not turn her own grandfather’s memorial service into a fucking standup routine, right? Right?! Well, I did. And I have been asked by my family to literally never, ever speak at a funeral again.

I have accepted the fact that most of my friends have grown resentful of me over the years. Without fail, every time I am writing an article in the common area, snickering to myself over my own jokes, my friends feel the need to tell me that whatever I am writing is not as funny as I think it is. They’re right. I can say, without a doubt, NO ONE thinks I am as funny as I do. So I brace myself for the insults and the eye rolls. I don’t even flinch anymore when someone screams at me to shut up. But never could I have anticipated that my humor would cause someone to become violent.

A few months ago, when my coworker and I first started hooking up, I was hanging out with our friend and all of her friends. My coworker was still at work so I was getting drunk while waiting for him. The situation was a little strange to me- hanging out with his friends without him, especially because that was the first night I had met them. But I as I drank (chugged) my wine, I decided not to sweat it. I was social (almost too social), charming, and funny. They’re going to love me! I told myself based on nothing other than my completely delusional narcissism.

At this point, my coworker and I were still under wraps about our regularly scheduled coitus. Partly because we would be fired if our boss ever found out and partly because it was more fun to fuck with people about it. Everyone was able to catch on pretty quickly, because we’re so obvious it hurt, but we were insistent that we would never, ever do the dirty deed.

Well, one small detail he forgot to mention about the friends I was thrown to like a sacrificial lamb, was that they were all good friends with his very recent ex-girlfriend. As you could imagine, things went downhill pretty quickly. “Is that the new girl he’s fucking?” they began to whisper to each other between pointed glares at me.

Most sane people would take this as a cue to leave, as they had obviously decided I wasn’t welcome, and certainly could not be trusted. But if I was an emotionally stable person, well, I would be in a lot better shape in life. Instead, I stood up for myself like any woman with self-respect.

“Hey, we’re not having sex,” I smiled at them warmly. “He goes down on me every morning, but he’s still auditioning for the role of fuckbuddy #5. He got a callback, but I haven’t committed yet. His BDSM game is pretty weak.”

“I know you want to fuck him,” one of them snarled at me.

“Nah, he’s too poor to be my type.” Cue hair flip.

“Do you think you’re funny?”

“He does.”


I was in disbelief. I thought these girls probably just wanted to fuck him and were jealous at the possibility of him plowing someone else. It was ridiculous that they would openly talk shit, but then to punch me? IN THE FACE? I’m not cute enough to still look good with some swelling. I was cute enough, however, to fuck the coworker. Zing.

The rest of the party goers separated the girls from me and I called my coworker to demand he come pick me up. Now. Trying to appear as a victim, I cradled my face and pretended like it hurt, even though the mix of cheap wine and adrenaline completely numbed it. I screamed at the bitch for going full blown Jersey Shore on my ass for literally no reason than she *thinks* I might be fucking this guy. It seemed to be working, people were comforting me and scolding her, and she looked like she might have been about to apologize. But then I lost all sense sympathy as his caller ID picture popped up on my phone. It was him naked, with the name “KenDICK Lamar *eggplant emoji* *eggplant emoji*” flashing across the screen.

I don’t regret making that his Caller ID, because I still believe it is hilarious as fuck. But it is a little tough to convince people you’ve never seen the dick of a guy when there is a picture of him dick out in your phone. I guess the lesson is that I should not sleep with my coworker. Or at least not have easily accessible evidence in my phone? Maybe it is that I REALLY need to know when to shut up. Honestly, I just need help.

Image via Shutterstock

Blondie excels at being an underachiever. She is currently trying to add an extra year onto her undergrad so she can continue to down $7 bottles of wine in an environment that encourages her erratic behavior. After graduation, she has big plans to flunk out of a prestigious law school. Email her compliments and Netflix suggestions at blue.eyed.blondie.tsm@gmail.com

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