I have in the past been called ‘insensitive’.
Actually?
I’m quite quick. Especially when it concerns those I have little or no connection with.
From the fires of tragedy, loss, pain and anguish rises the phoenix of humour in all it’s glory.
My brain is wired weirdly. Humour helps me modulate my emotions. Especially during times of intensity. This isn’t neurotic. This is functional and freeing.
There’s nothing quite like human tragedy to inspire dark, naughty, impolite, gallows humour.
The thrill of gallows humour comes from just how quickly one can make a joke about something terrible in the world. Will I get away with this one? Who will I offend?
For my brain, this edge provides a direct hit of glorious dopamine.
For some, those quick to laugh at tragedy become a scapegoat, a lightning rod for the bereaved and offended to direct their anger. This is healthy. Anger is a part of grief. Making ‘seven up’ jokes after the space shuttle exploded was a service to humanity.
Ditto the dead baby jok…
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