Ruminations on being mocked

Aweh, My Dearly Beloved Fellow Ruminants & Groupies

Growing Up as Mock-Bait

When I was seventeen, in a privileged all-boys’ high school, I was a 6 ft, 68 kg (150 lb) weakling and academic nerd. Definitely not one of the cool kids. Mocking people like me was a blood sport. I couldn’t choose to avoid it, but I could decide how to react.

At first, I got upset. That soon shifted to irritation, then disdain, and finally withering put-downs, before settling into indifference. Eventually, I was no fun to mock.

No trauma, no therapy bills, just resilience.

The Teacher Who Couldn’t Cope

Every teacher had a nickname: Loopy, Smoothy, Pops, PJ. None of them cared. The headmaster? He was simply “the Boss.”

But then there was poor H. He got saddled with a nickname, let’s just say “Humpty.” Unlike the others, he couldn’t shrug it off. He reacted, and the mockery snowballed.

Boys caught saying “Humpty” were hauled to the Boss for a caning. That only made it worse. Passing him in the corridor, someone in the group would yell, “Humpty!” and the whole gang would stare at their shoes, stifling laughter.

The Boss gave us solemn lectures about respect and dignity. Useless. H soon got prank calls with nothing but a voice shouting, “Humpty!” To which he’d splutter, “Damn you!”

It was cruel. It was juvenile. But it was also predictable. Indifference kills mockery. Rage fuels it.

Enter IMPOTUS

Which brings me neatly to the President of the United States, also known as POTUS. But why stop there? Let’s crown him IMPOTUS,  Imperial Majesty of Fragile Egos.

Like H, he can’t take a joke. Unlike H, his tantrums are global entertainment.

Comedy Gold, Courtesy of Ego

Before IMPOTUS, I barely watched U.S. late-night comedy. Now? I’m addicted. Kimmel, Jon Stewart, Seth Meyers, and even South Park. I’ve laughed hard enough to nearly wet myself. Pro tip: always empty your bladder before tuning in.

What makes it even funnier? IMPOTUS is trying to shut it down. Sure, it’s comical, but also chilling when he abuses power to bully comedians, networks, and critics.

The Jimmy Kimmel Saga

Case in point: Jimmy Kimmel. IMPOTUS gloated about him being fired. But the backlash was instant, and ABC reinstated Kimmel in under a week.

Did IMPOTUS win? Hardly. If anything, he looked weaker.

The Demand for Mockery

And here’s the kicker: the appetite for IMPOTUS mockery is only growing. Nothing is off-limits, not even presidential talking micro-penises. America’s sense of humour actually fattens up when told what not to laugh at. It’s like prohibition for booze: the ban only makes the party better.

Even as U.S. borders tighten and speech gets policed, comedians outside the country are piling on. Like with poor H, the angrier IMPOTUS gets, the funnier it is to poke him. Every day, he lies, boasts, and threatens, so the material never runs dry. He’s basically a one-man comedy writing room.

But let’s not kid ourselves, mocking the powerful has always been dangerous. Court jesters lived on the razor’s edge: one bad joke and their heads could literally roll. Soviet citizens whispered barbed jokes about the Party in kitchens with the radio turned up to drown out the sound because you could be jailed for laughing at the wrong punchline. Under apartheid, satire was smuggled in through protest theatre and underground press, because mocking the regime out loud could get you a visit from the security police.

The pattern is eternal: the more fragile and authoritarian the ruler, the sharper the jokes become. Mockery is kryptonite for the powerful, because it punctures the illusion of majesty. A tyrant can jail critics, censor the press, rewrite history, but once people are laughing at him, he’s already lost the aura of control.

So yes, mocking IMPOTUS carries risks. But the alternative, silence, is far worse. History shows that when laughter dies, freedom isn’t far behind.

The Streisand Effect, Schoolyard Edition

What happened to poor H was basically the Streisand Effect in short pants. The harder he fought the nickname, the more irresistible it became. The moment he dragged kids to the Boss for canings, the name was locked in forever. His fury didn’t kill the joke; it turbocharged it.

The Streisand Effect, Presidential Edition

Fast forward a few decades and swap the schoolyard corridor for Twitter, and you get IMPOTUS. The Streisand Effect in all its bloated glory. For the uninitiated: the term comes from Barbra Streisand, who once tried to suppress an aerial photo of her Malibu mansion. Hardly anyone cared about the photo until she sued. Then the whole world saw it.

That’s the game. Every time IMPOTUS throws a tantrum at a comedian, he doesn’t smother the joke, he straps it to a rocket and launches it worldwide. A weak gag might die in 24 hours, but once he rages about it, boom, front-page news, viral memes, late-night monologues. He’s not shutting down mockery; he’s moonlighting as its publicist.

Where Does This End?

The scary possibility: IMPOTUS might one day muzzle dissent. The hopeful reality: Americans (and plenty of others) don’t bow that easily. The Kimmel backlash is proof.

So yes, it may be juvenile, it may be cruel, but the world’s biggest tantrum-thrower is also its juiciest target. And the more he rages, the better the punchlines.

So let him rage, let him flail the more IMPOTUS spray his spittle, the louder we’ll laugh.

Yours in mockery, always

Bruce