I think my funny bone broke this week. Be careful as you read this. At any moment a paragraph could end mid-sentence.

There are no words left in my body. Apparently, there has to be some unwritten rule by God that we’re all granted only like a total usage of 10,000 words a week. Maybe it’s 100,000 characters. I don’t want to get into specifics, but whatever the count is, I’m reaching critical mass as I write this.

It’s tough really. I tried reading a book. I scanned the tube for a while. My roommate Grant even offered his services.

GRANT: You have nothing to write about this week for your column?

ME: Nothing. It’s like I’ve lost the passion to slander people.

GRANT: You want me to bring over a couple of sorority girls? Tri-Delts, perhaps?

ME: No, I’m getting tired of that. They’re only good for one thing anyway, and I’m not in the mood for that.

GRANT: Yeah … did you try reading up on how they’re raising tuition again?

ME: Yeah, but I don’t have to make fun of that. If you read the crap the administration was saying, it’s like they have their own joke. No intelligent person would think the phrase “too early to tell at this time” would pacify a human being.

GRANT: Really. It’s like telling someone to wait five minutes before you mug them. “It’s too early to tell lady, but I’m probably going to slap you and take your pearls.”

ME: Hey, not bad. Maybe you should right the column this week.

GRANT: Glenn … did you just see what you did?

ME: What?

GRANT: You said “right” instead of “write.” This really is getting bad. Maybe you should go to the doctor.

A noble suggestion by Grant I believe. He’s a caring roommate. It’s a good thing he doesn’t know that I steal his food, and when he’s at work I like to sleep in his bed naked because his sheets are more comfortable than mine. I don’t sleep naked in my bed, but with his it’s better than having a hamburger at Gus’s while drunk. But I decided to take his prescription and visit the M.D.

DOC: So if I understand you correctly, Mr. LaFollette …

ME: Call me Bill.

DOC: OK, but I thought your first name was Glenn?

ME: It is. Just call me Bill. It’s funnier, and that is what we’re trying to do here.

DOC: Um … sure. So, Bill, I hate to tell you this but you don’t have a funny bone.

ME: Dear God! It’s worse than I thought. Can I get another? Do they do transplants? I mean, hell, I’ll take anything. Give me Pauly Shore’s. I know he sucks, but he’s not using it and I’ll take anything.

DOC: No, no. It’s not that. Humans don’t actually have a “funny bone.” I think your problem is a psychological one.

ME: What … what are you trying to day, Doc? Am I crazy? Did I recently join SGA or something?

DOC: No, thank God. What I’m saying is there must be some stress keeping you from being funny. I took the liberty to read your last few columns.

ME: What’d you think?

DOC: Well, I too hate West Virginia. I mean really … what are these people trying to prove? There are only two things to do in a small, rural area and one involves drinking. They should rename the state “West —ia.”

ME: Agreed. So what about my problems?

DOC: I don’t know. Just get really wasted this weekend and right about that.

ME: Oh, God! It’s spreading. You said “right” instead of “right.” Damn, someone get me a thesaurus.

I don’t know that there are any immediate cures to this ailment. I’ve had writer’s block before. It was before my last philosophy class.

PROFESSOR: Mr. LaFollette, could you come up here.

ME: Yes. What do you need?

PROFESSOR: Glenn, when I asked you to turn in a paper outlining the greatest philosophic question facing man in the human condition, I expected more than a piece of paper with “Why?” written on it.

ME: Well, I did put my name at the top.

PROFESSOR: Your name is not Bill.

I suppose the only thing to do is to rest my funny bone in hopes of a cure. From now on I will only write about politics and quote “Napoleon Dynamite” because neither is anywhere near funny — not even close.

I would like to thank my readers for sticking with me during this difficult time. To compensate for my lack of humor I would like to encourage all of you to listen to my friends Bailey and Andrew tearing the early airwaves on the Torch (90.3 FM) on Fridays from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m. (I think). They don’t know what they hell they’re doing so it should be pretty good. Those are good people down at the campus radio station, so give them some love.

Also, on a special note to my dearest friend Vaughn: It’s good to hear that you have come out of the closet. Now your dad can give you that boob job that you’ve always wanted.

Hope everyone has a beautiful week. Thanks for the support.

— Glenn LaFollette is a super-senior in journalism and electronic media. He can be reached at [email protected].