* One thing is clear: the blow to my head has broken my funny. It’s like I’m living the plot to Regarding Henry except I don’t get to bang Annette Bening. Now I’m just left with my beard and my affinity for expensive underwear.
* Your funny is still working.
* You’re kind, but I’m not delivering in the clutch. Like tonight, when I had nothing funny to say to the bossy parking garage attendant with Wolverine hair and werewolf eyes who insisted with almost psychotic intensity that I not forget to have the Movie Tavern validate my parking. I just meekly said “okay” and it wasn’t until later, when I was out of earshot, that I whispered to my daughter that he was a Lycan. I’m having to resort to my impression of Eddie Murphy’s impression of Bill Cosby to get laughs around here. This must be how Colin Quinn feels all the time.