Bonnie McFarlane

I still don’t really know what my style is. I like a lot of different kinds of comedy, I like watching it and I like being inventive and original. That’s the problem with doing a longer set – you can’t do every joke that you have because some stuff contradicts other stuff. Even when you know that the audience knows that you’re joking and it’s not true, you still can’t do a joke about your family dying and then later talk about your Mom. I mean you want to keep some kind of cohesive order going.

One of my favorite sketches, and a popular comedy formula, is to put someone with a mental handicap in some kind of unlikely situation. For example: The retarded gynecologist, the retarded Jesus, the retarded Osama Bin Laden. It works. It’s funny. Inappropriate? I dunno. I feel like I’m a pretty good judge of what crosses the line of good taste being that I am retarded. Socially perhaps, but severly retarded.

My sister is also retarded. Across the board. She’s a one hundred per cent, honest to goodness, born that way retard. I learned a long time ago that if you’re going to tell a story about your retarded sister, you need to mention she’s retarded right off the bat or inevitably, at the end of the story, someone will say, What… is she, retarded? And then you have to go, Uh… yeah, she is. Followed by a lengthy, awkward silence.

It’s interesting, once I have convinced people that, yes, I have a sister with a mental disability, the retard jokes really dry up, so I’m not sure how much retard humor is really going on out there, but I imagine there’s a lot because it’s a pretty safe group to make fun of. It’s not like the Retards of America are gonna rise up and organize a protest. They’re not gonna write letters. They only just recently got the Supreme Court to stop executing them.

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