Here’s an insight into one of my most terrible jokes:
- “The worst thing about attending a cancer party, is that you can’t complain about the food. Sure you’re chicken may be rubbery, but that guy’s dying of fucking cancer!”
I don’t mean to mock anyone’s struggle with cancer. It’s just that sometimes, it’s so hard to not to be able to do or say anything helpful or comforting, that just saying anything, even if it’s the opposite of comforting, helps me deal with such a heavy reality.