Words are great ways of communicating but they are imperfect.
Some have peculiar origins, some are a little bit cross-wired. In English, in particular, there is a rich tapestry of history and misrepresentation has resulted in the constellation that is our lexicon.
If you place them together in a slightly odd order, you might become funny. Or erudite. Add a raised eyebrow and you are naughty, knowing or cheeky. Add a raised eyebrow and a wink and you're in danger of becoming unprofessional. Add more than one wink, and you are an end-of-the-pier entertainer.
There are fine lines everywhere, and we are living in a time when they are getting crossed and uncrossed faster than ever before.
On this 11–11–12, change and collision and bloodshed is everywhere and everywhence. See, that's an interesting way of putting it, isn't? I don't even know if it makes sense but it causes you to hover a little over that line and give it a little bit more thought. So the words have done their job. Focusing and misdirecting your thoughts so that the message I haven't even articulated in my own head yet creeps, poorly formed, into yours. Nothing wrong with that, I'm not telling you what to think.
It's an odd businesses isn't it?
And the one-liner distills it down to the smallest possible example of that. And it makes us laugh.
Why? Because it's a verbal left turn, a neural short-circuit. We might laugh in admiration or confusion, or just enjoy being wrongfooted. The fact is we laugh at many other things as well: pain, tragedy, and the inner guilt we feel at enjoying off-colour gags.
Human beings can and should laugh at everything. One-liners are a quick reminder that a joke is just a verbal tickle.
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