Too much humour

I would like to warn the world of the following fact: too much humour can seriously affect the way you speak. And in just a profound way as too much logic affects the way you think, judge and articulate ideas. Words in speech, now more than ever, are critical (once you get used to editing on emacs, for instance) - for there seldom exist 'inverse' phrases that neutralize the effects of ill-chosen words.

But the choice of words is scarcely what I want to talk about. I want to indicate the existence of the principle and practice of redundance. For most, it should be an useful concept to close-eyedly accept and apply in everyday speech, for good - even if one is a logician, and has a natal, guttural urge to complete analyses on all counts, or to rationalize every word exchanged in context. To ignore some words, for one will need the favour from the other side (in time) too. To ignore some cases, for one might not be able to do justice to them once one embarks on the path, not in the least because one is incompetent or handicapped to do so, but simply because no such path exists. Some things cannot, and therefore should not be said, because there isn't enough language to describe them satisfactorially. What is dangerous in speech is that choices are committed; there is seldom the scope for "forfeit", even if caused by eventual enlightenment. Therefore, inviting holes in reason are often better ignored, at the solace of being safe from hidden volcanos and flash-floods.

But I've been talking about logic, while I set out to talk about humour. Humour is, perhaps, even more delicate, because it is by it's very nature based on multifarious interpretations, and derives a kick out of implied contradictions - holes in reason are the saucepans which cook humour best - it is only modest to assume that these holes, these contradictions can thorn out unexpected conclusions. What makes this worse is that humour can be tempting, perhaps even habitually so - the practice of taking a dig at everything imperfect is often a pathological mania with those who nurture it (propelled, no doubt, by frequent buttery chocolaty oohs and wows). Once again, because spoken words are by nature committed, a nonchalant humourous arrow might spawn electric loops of arguments one would, desperately, hope to trade for the mere (im)possibility of backtracking into silence. For oftentimes humour is redundant, it is a spice that might liven up the sauce while carefully used, but might easily burn the tongue when fooled around with, in foolery.