I went out with a starry lass who became upset by my exaggerations and fabrications. For example, I drove her clear across Albuquerque to a specific emergency room at a very speedy clip. The velocity was well over the posted speed limit and the resultant elapsed time was much shorter than typical.
The true velocity was roughly 85 mph. The time was roughly 15 minutes.
The next time I told the story it was 100 mph and ten minutes.
The next time I told the story it was redlined the speedometer and in the blink of a hummingbird’s eye.
The next time I told the story it was broke the speedometer cable, warped space time, and a grumpy hemorrhoidal dragon chased us the whole way.
And that’s what stand up comics do. We exaggerate, we fabricate, we flat out lie to tell an engaging story. Truth told, I consider stand up comics the modern purveyors of the cherished American tall tales. Comics carry on the American tradition of spinning shaggy yarns.
If Paul Bunyan was alive today (because Paul was a real man with an intense thyroid imbalance as I would tell it) it would be the pronouns that became increasingly further from the source material and Babe the Blue Ox would be an emotional support companion. And Paul Bunyan would hug old growth forests and not murder the elder trees with a murderous axe. And all the woodland animals would join wings and paws and hug Paul back.
This is how I would spin the tall tale of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, because those who know me best know I’m the wokeiest man in the land.
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