If you read the story in Monday's STAR about the St. Catherine woman who was found dead "with a bright blue-coloured dildo still in her grasp" - and you claim that it didn't make you laugh, chuckle or even smile, I'm prepared to accuse you of lying. Yes, I know you're going to tell me death is no laughing matter, but I'm willing to bet that a tiny voice in your brain must have been snickering and saying, 'that's not such a bad way to die.' Come on man, you can't ignore the humour hidden in that situation, no matter how hard you try!

OK. Yes, I can just hear you. You're wondering what kind of insensitive oaf I am to be talking so glibly about as serious a thing like death. But look here nuh, we all have to face that thing called death at some point. Of course, we all won't die the same way. For some, that process of transition may be accompanied by unspeakable pain and suffering. Dat name hot death. For others, it could come with peace, even pleasure. That kind of death, well you could call it sweet. And I'm speculating that the lady in that report experienced the latter. It reminds me of that ode to 'saltfish' by the Mighty Sparrow, in which he sings 'I would die a happy man, if ah close me eye wid piece in mi hand'. Hehehhee is true man, to die with a piece must feel like dying in peace.

Painful hollowness

Alright, brakes! If I'm grossing you out, offending your fragile sensibilities or disrupting your sense of political correctness, hush. I'm sorry. But hear mi out. I know the painful hollowness of loss that death brings. It's not pretty. So I'm not trying to trivialise tragedy. But I resolutely refuse to mek it overcome or overpower me. To maintain my sanity - or balance my insanity, I'm steadfast and firmly focused on the funny.

My warped mind is crazily aware all the while, that every big hell-of-frown is just an inverted smile. Yeah man, so to get the pleasant perspectives sometimes, I literally play the clown, or other times I just mentally stand upside-down. That way I end up seeing a smile instead of a frown. And I'm not so unique. Nuff a wi stay so inna di great Jamdown.

Our ability to laugh at ourselves, and our willingness to tek bad ting mek laugh, are established and celebrated aspects of our national cultural identity. When it comes to seeing the funny side of even the most sombre of situations, no person is immune and no subject is sacrosanct. We laugh 'bout anything, and laugh with anybody. And if you try force us to take you seriously you just become a sweeter joke.

More inclined

Yeah, we know the adage says 'what is joke to you is death to me', but we're usually more inclined to turn it around and observe the ways in which 'what's death to you is joke to me'. And it's not that we're lacking in compassion or insensitive to the feelings of others. No, mi friend! We just sometimes - most times, militantly resist the urge to indulge heavy emotions and take life (or death) too seriously.

I hate funerals, and I have to attend a funeral tomorrow and another in a couple days time. But as the late, great Louise Bennett reminds us, it's sometimes helpful to 'tek kin teeth kibba heart bun'. So funeral nah go stop me from mek crazy laughter run. I just haffi ignore di 'eral' and penetrate di 'fun'.

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