THAT AIN’T FUNNY

October 15, 2026

by Rusty W. Mitchum

You know, I’ve noticed that a lot of people I know are careful of what they say around me, thinkin’ I might put what they say in the paper. They really don’t have to worry about that, ‘cause I’m no reporter. I don’t know the first thing about reportin’. I just tell my tales. It’s kind of like my dad used to tell me when we’d go deer huntin’. “Rusty,” he’d say, “Remember; what goes on at deer camp, stays at deer camp.” In other words, he was sayin’, don’t tell your momma what goes on up here, which I didn’t. She’d skinned us alive.

Sometimes, at other places, I’m recognized as the man who writes that stuff in the paper.

“Are you that fellow that writes that stuff in the paper?” they’ll ask.

“Yes, sir,” or “Yes, ma’am,” I’ll reply. I get to meet a lot of nice people that way.

Once, when I was in Brookshire’s grocery store, I had just grabbed a package of toilet paper, and was fixin’ to head to the checkout counter, when a man approached me.

“Hey, ain’t you that man that writes that funny stuff in the paper?”

“Well,” I said. “I write for the paper, but I don’t know if everybody thinks it’s funny or not.”

“Hey Marvin!” the guy yelled down the aisle to another man. “This here’s that man that writes that funny stuff for the paper.” The other man came up and I shook his hand and introduced myself. The man didn’t take the paper, had never read my junk, and told his friend so.

“You ain’t never read his articles? Why? He’s really funny. Aren’t you funny?” he asked me, which put me on the spot.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I try to be.”

“He is,” said the man to Marvin. “He’s funny.” Then he turned back toward me. “Say somethin’ funny.”

“Sir?” I asked.

“Say somethin’ funny here to Marvin.” Then he turned to Marvin. “Get ready Marvin. He’s fixin’ to say somethin’ funny.”

“Well,” I said, tryin’ to think of somethin’ funny to say. “I really don’t know what to say.”

“Sure you do. Go ahead. Say somethin’ funny.”

“Well…,” I said. “I’m the sexiest man alive.” They both looked at me like I was crazy.

“That ain’t funny,” he said.

“Really? Huh? When I told that to my wife, she cracked up.”

“Hah!” he said. “I get it. See there Marvin, I told you he was funny.” Then he turned back to me. “Say somethin’ else funny.” I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to seem rude, but I couldn’t think of anything funny to say.

“Man, I’m all funnied out,” I said.

“Hah!” he said. “That’s funny. Say somethin’ else.”

“Really, I have to go. My wife called and told me to bring this toilet paper home, and I need to get it there before her legs go to sleep.”

“Hah! I get it. I get it. Did you get it, Marvin?”

“I got it,” said Marvin.

“What’cha writin’ about this week?” the man asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I have a good idea.”

“Well, we’ll be lookin’ forward to it, won’t we, Marvin.”

“I ain’t buyin’ no paper just to read his stuff. He ain’t that funny,” said Marvin.

“He is too funny.”

“Ain’t neither.”

“Is too.”

“Ain’t neither.”

I slipped away while they argued.

When I got home, Janet was in the kitchen cookin’. “Am I funny?” I asked.

“You sure are,” she replied. “Just go look in the mirror.”

“No, really,” I said. “Am I funny?

“Funny, ha ha, or funny ….”

“Watch it,” I warned.

“Why,” she said. “Are you havin’ some kind of crisis or something?”

“No,” I replied. “I just ran into a couple of fellows up at Brookshire’s and they were arguin’ about whether I was funny or not, and it got me to wonderin’.”

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Two grown men were arguing about whether you are funny or not?”

“Yes.”

“Ha!” she laughed. “Now that’s funny.”

You know, she was right.