One of the bosses at my office in London is very comfortable in his position as the office clown. Which, as faithful readers will confirm, is MY job. Anyways, I did a good job being funny over a group lunch we had today (I loathe eating with people and cracking wise helps me relieve the intense boredom and disdain one feels in the company of morons) and now his resentment is becoming less and less veiled.
Bring it on, ass clown: I can entertain the troops, get shot at by insurgents, do my job AND kick your butt before lunch.
He doesn't stand a chance; everyone knows funny comes from being desperate, and he's nowhere near my level of desperation: he's Jewish, makes £70,000 a year, owns a Harley and has a girlfriend with legs that could traverse the M1 in two steps.