Oh, sure, there are men who truly make us laugh. None come to mind at the moment, but I know history has provided us with a few. Euripides was sort of a jokester. English poet John Donnegot off a corker every once in a while. But in general, the male species’ sense of humor seldom rises above the enjoyment of watching one of their own take a swift shot to the testicles.
It makes sense. Men are genetically programmed to hunt and gather. It is they who must impregnate the herd and protect the collective. And so it’s only logical that their brains would need to possess lower humor standards in order to pass the hours entertainingly with their cohorts while stalking that night’s dinner or standing guard against the enemy. Imagine if they had to amuse their fellow warriors with jokes and banter that were actually funny. That impossibly high standard would leave them in such despair that they would become easy prey. Imagine the despondent hero, now tribeless, wandering the wastelands and muttering in tragic self-awareness, “I can’t believe I thought those limericks about that guy from Nantucket were funny.”