Ask for the confession of O 'Henry humorist in Chinese.

A painless incubation period lasted for 25 years, and then suddenly broke out. People say I have this disease.

But they don't call it measles, they call it humor.

The employees of the company clubbed together to buy a silver ink table to congratulate the manager on his fiftieth birthday. We squeezed into his private office and gave it to him.

I was chosen as the spokesperson and delivered a short congratulatory message that I had prepared for a week.

The speech was very successful, full of epigrams, puns and ridiculous far-fetched words. Laughter almost knocked this company down-it's quite solid in the hardware wholesale industry. In fact, Luo himself spoke, and the staff immediately laughed.

My reputation as a humorist began at 9: 30 that morning.

After a few weeks, my colleagues have been stirring up my complacency. One after another, they told me how witty my words were, man, and explained every humor in them to me.

I gradually found that they expected me to continue. Others can talk seriously about business transactions and the events of the day, but they ask me to say something interesting and relaxing.

People expect me to joke about pottery and enamel. I am a bookkeeper. If I make a balance sheet without making some interesting comments on the total amount, or if I can't find anything interesting on the invoice of a plow, other employees will be disappointed.

My reputation spread gradually and I became a local "celebrity". Our town is small, so anything is possible. The local daily newspaper often quotes me. I am an indispensable person in social gatherings.

I believe I do have a little cleverness and resourcefulness. I intend to cultivate this talent and develop it through practice. The jokes I tell are essentially kind and friendly, and I will never make others angry with cynicism. People will laugh when they see me from a distance, and I probably came up with a quip when I got closer, which turned his smile into a smile.

I got married very early. We have a lovely three-year-old boy and a five-year-old girl. Of course, we live in a small house full of vines and live a happy life. I work as a bookkeeper in a hardware company. My salary is not very rich, but I can get rid of those evil servants who follow excess wealth.

I occasionally write some jokes and random thoughts that I think are particularly interesting and send them to publications that publish such works. They were adopted immediately. Several editors also wrote to encourage me to continue to contribute.

One day, the editor of a famous weekly sent me a letter. He suggested that I write a humorous article to fill a column position; He also hinted that if the effect was satisfactory, he would publish a column every issue. I did it. Two weeks later, he offered to sign a contract with me, and the salary was much higher than that given by the hardware company.

I am very happy. My wife crowned me with her immortal literary achievements. We had fried shrimp cakes and a bottle of blackberry wine for dinner that night. This is my chance to get rid of the monotonous work. I studied this matter with Louisa seriously. We all agree that we should resign from the company and specialize in humor.

I resigned. My colleague held a farewell party for me. My speech at the banquet was wonderful. The newspaper was published in full. Next morning, I woke up and looked at the clock.

"Oh, it's late!" I shouted for clothes. Louisa reminded me that I am no longer a slave to hardware and building materials, but a professional humorist.

After breakfast, she proudly took me to a small room next to the kitchen. Lovely woman! My desk, chair, manuscript paper, ink and ashtray are all ready. There is also the writer's complete set of equipment-a vase filled with fresh roses and honeysuckle, last year's calendar on the wall, a dictionary, and a small bag of chocolate chewed when inspired. Lovely woman!

I sat down to work. The pattern of wallpaper is Arabic mosaic, or Sultan maid-in-waiting, or-maybe quadrangle. My eyes were fixed on one of the patterns. I thought of humor.

A voice woke me up-it was Louisa's voice.

"If you are not too busy, dear," said the voice, "come and have dinner."

Let me see my watch. Hey, the old man has brought it back for five hours. I'm going to eat.

"At first, you shouldn't work too hard." Louisa said. "Goethe-or Napoleon? Some people say that five hours of mental work every day is enough. Can you take me and the children to play in the Woods this afternoon? "

"I'm really a little tired." I admit it. So we went to the Woods.

Soon after, I was successful. Within a month, my product is like hardware.

I am still very successful. My column in the weekly magazine attracted attention, and critics privately said that I was a novice in humor. I contributed to other publications, which greatly increased my income.

I found the knack of this industry. I can catch an interesting idea, write two lines of jokes and earn a dollar. With a little modification, it can be pulled into four lines and the output value will double. If you look through the wardrobe and add a little rhyming decoration, a beautiful illustration will become a humorous irony, and you can't recognize its true colors at all.

I began to have extra money, and we bought new carpets and organs. People in the town also respect me very much and regard me as a person with status; Unlike when I used to be a clerk in a hardware company, I was only regarded as a funny character with little meaning.

After five or six months, my humor seems to have dried up. Puns and meaningful words are no longer blurted out. Sometimes my materials panic. I began to pay attention to my friends' conversations, hoping to learn something useful from them. Sometimes, I bite a pencil and stare at the wallpaper for hours, trying to find some uncut, humorous bubbles.

To my friends, I became a greedy man, a Vulcan, Jonah and a vampire. I was exhausted and greedy among them, which really ruined their fun. As long as they reveal an alert word, a witty metaphor or some wisecracks, I will pounce on them like a dog scratching at a bone. I couldn't believe my memory, so I turned around secretly and shamefully tricked it into writing it in that notebook that never leaves me, or on the sleeve of a starched shirt for later use.

【 Molok was a Vulcan believed by ancient Phoenicians, offering children as sacrifices; Jonah is a Hebrew prophet who brings bad luck. ]

My friends all looked at me with pity and surprise. I am a different person. I used to provide them with entertainment and joy, but now I am exploiting them. I have no more jokes to amuse them. Jokes are so precious that I can't give away my livelihood for nothing.

I became a sad fox in a fable, always praising the songs of my friends-crows, hoping that the humorous crumbs I coveted would fall out of their mouths.

Almost everyone started to avoid me. I even forgot how to smile. Even when I heard what I wanted to steal for myself, I didn't smile back.

When I collect materials, there is no one, no place, no time, no topic to escape. Even in church, my degenerate imagination chased prey between solemn corridors and colonnades.

When the priest read a long poem, I immediately thought:

"Poetry and Ode-Litigant-Litigation-Long Rhyme-Long Win-Less Lose and More Win."

Preaching passes through the sieve of my thoughts. As long as I can find a wisecrack or a wisecrack, the priest's warning will not be ignored. The solemn hymn of the chorus has also become the accompaniment of my thoughts, because all I can remember is how to turn the old antics into new variations, just like turning treble into bass and bass into alto.

My own family has become a hunting ground. My wife is very gentle, frank, compassionate and excitable. Her conversation used to be my pleasure, and her thoughts were an endless source of happiness. Now I use her. She contains ridiculous and lovely contradictory ideas peculiar to women.

These simple and humorous treasures should only be used to enrich the sacred family life, but I sold them publicly. I cunningly urged her to talk, but she didn't doubt anything, and she took out all her heart. I printed it mercilessly, mediocre and exposed, and made it public.

I kissed her and betrayed her at the same time, and I became Judas of literature. For a few silver dollars, I put her lovely frankness in boring culottes and let them dance in the market.

Dear Louisa! At night, I am like a cruel wolf peeking at a gentle lamb, listening to her mumbling dreams, hoping to find some inspiration for my efforts tomorrow. But worse things are yet to come.

Oh, my God. Next, my long teeth bit into the neck of my child's childish language.

Guy and Viola are two sources of childish and lovely thoughts and languages. I found this kind of humor sold well, so I provided a column of "Childhood Memories" for a magazine. I attacked them like Indians attacked antelopes. I hide behind the sofa or door, or lie among the trees in the garden, eavesdropping on their play and laughter. I became an out-and-out ruthless and greedy person.

Once, I was at the end of my rope, and my manuscript had to be sent in the next mail, so I hid under a pile of fallen leaves in the garden, knowing that they would go there to play. I don't believe Guy will find out where I am hiding. Even if he did, I don't want to blame him for setting a fire on that pile of dead leaves and ruining my new suit, and a few Jane killed me.

My own children began to avoid me like the plague. When I avoid them like a terrible ghoul, I always hear them say, "Dad is here." They immediately put away their toys and hid in a safer place. What a pathetic role I have become!

My financial situation is not bad. In less than a year, I saved 1000 yuan, and we lived very comfortably.

But what a price to pay! I don't know what untouchables are like in India, but I seem to be no different from them. I have no friends, no entertainment, no fun in life. My family happiness has also been ruined. I am like a bee, greedily sucking the most beautiful flowers in my life, but flower of life is afraid to avoid my sting.

One day, someone greeted me with a pleasant and friendly smile. I haven't had such a thing for months. I passed by Peter Hufbauer's funeral home the other day. Peter stood at the door to meet me. I felt a strange sadness and stopped. He invited me in.

It was cold and rainy that day. We went into the back room and a small stove caught fire. A customer came and Peter left me alone for a while. I immediately had a new feeling-a wonderful feeling of peace and satisfaction. I looked around, rows of shiny ebony coffins, black coffins, coffin racks, dusters for hearses, coffins, and all the equipment of this solemn industry. The atmosphere here is peaceful, orderly and quiet, and contains solemn thoughts. This place is on the edge of life, a secret place shrouded in eternal silence.

As soon as I walked in here, worldly stupidity broke up with me at the door. In this gloomy and solemn environment, I have no interest in thinking humorous things. My heart seems to lie comfortably on a sofa covered with meditation.

A quarter of an hour ago, I was a humorous writer. Now I am a contented philosopher. I have found a refuge from humor. I don't have to rack my brains to search for a mocking joke, sweep the floor politely, or try my best to find amazing quips.

I didn't know much about Hufbauer before. When he came back, I asked him to speak first, lest his speech be out of proportion to the tragic harmony here.

But, no. He has never destroyed this harmony. I'm relieved. I've never met such a straightforward person as Peter in my life. Compared with him, even the Dead Sea can be regarded as a fountain. No trace of humor will damage his language. What he spit out in his pocket is as ordinary as air, as rich as blackberry, and as inconspicuous as the note on the stock market spit out by the stock market automatic recorder a week ago. I trembled slightly with excitement and tested him with my favorite joke. It bounced back silently and lost its edge. I've loved this man ever since.

I always sneak into Havre Bauer's bar two or three nights a week and indulge in his back room. This has become my only pleasure. I started to get up early and finish my work quickly, so as to have more time in my resting place. I can't get rid of the habit of extorting humor from my surroundings anywhere else. Peter's talk is different. No matter how hard I besieged him, I couldn't open a gap.

Under this influence, my spirit began to improve. Everyone needs a little entertainment to relieve the fatigue of work. Now, when I meet my former friends in the street, I even smile at them or say a happy word, which makes them feel very surprised; Sometimes when you are in a good mood, you actually joke with your family and make them dumbfounded.

I have been tortured by the humorous devil for so long, and now I am lost in my rest day like a primary school student.

My work has been affected. For me, work is no longer as painful and heavy a burden as before. I often whistle at work, and my mind is much more relaxed than before. The reason is that I want to finish my work early, and I am eager to go to a hiding place that is beneficial to me like an alcoholic going to a hotel.

My wife is so preoccupied that she can't guess where I will spend the afternoon. I think it's best not to tell her; Women don't understand such things. Poor woman! -once she was really taken aback.

One day, I brought home a silver coffin handle and a fluffy hearse duster, which I planned to use as a paperweight and feather duster.

I like to put them on the table, which reminds me of the lovely back room in Hefflebauer's shop. But Louisa saw it. She screamed with fear. I had to find some excuses to comfort her. But I can see from her eyes that she has not eliminated her prejudice. I have to get rid of these two things quickly.

Once, Peter Havre Bauer gave me a suggestion, which made me overjoyed. He showed me his account book with a consistent and down-to-earth attitude and explained to me that his income and career have developed rapidly. He intends to find a shareholder who is willing to invest. Of all the people he knows, he thinks I am the most ideal. When I broke up with Peter that afternoon, Peter had got a check for 1000 yuan from my savings bank, and I became a shareholder in his funeral home.

I came home smugly, but at the same time I was a little worried. I dare not tell my wife about it. But I can't tell you how happy I am. Because I can give up humorous creation and enjoy the apple of life again without squeezing it into powder and squeezing out a few drops of funny apple juice-what fun it would be!

At dinner, Louisa gave me some letters that I received while I was away. Some letters are rejection letters. As I often go to Wrba fishery products, my rejection letter is simply frightening. Finally, I write jokes and articles quickly and think quickly. Before, I pieced it together slowly and painfully like a brick.

One of them is from the editor of a weekly magazine who has a long-term contract with me. At present, the main income of our family is the manuscript fee of that weekly magazine. I'll open the letter first, and the content is this:

Pathfinder:

Our annual contract with you expires this month. We feel it necessary to inform you that we are not going to renew the contract with you next year, and we are deeply sorry. Your previous humorous style satisfied us and was welcomed by our readers. However, in the last two months, we think the quality of the manuscript has obviously declined.

Your previous works showed humor and wit, but recently it seems that you are struggling to conceive and deal with it, which makes it difficult to understand.

We apologize again and inform you that we will not accept your manuscript. I hope you can forgive me.

editorial comment/note

I gave this letter to my wife. After reading it, her face was particularly long and her eyes were full of tears.

"mean guy!" She cried angrily. "I dare say that your writing is as good as in the past. And you spend less than half the time. " At that time, I guess Louisa thought of a check that she would never send again. "Oh, John," she sobbed, "what are you going to do now?"

I didn't answer, but I stood up and danced the Polka dance around the dining table. I'm sure Louisa thinks this unfortunate news drives me crazy; I think the children want to drive me crazy because they are dragging their feet behind me and learning my dance steps. Now I look like their old playmate again.

"Let's go to the theatre tonight!" I cried, "Be sure to go. After the play, everyone will have a big meal at the Royal Hotel. Long Puti-Didel-Di-Di-Di-Deng! "

So I explained why I was happy and announced that I was a partner in a developed funeral home. Fuck jokes and humor.

My wife has an editor's letter in her hand. Of course, I can't say that I did anything wrong, and I can't give any reason to object, except that women can't appreciate what a wonderful place the small room behind Peter Havre's funeral home is-no, it's Havre Bauer Co., Ltd.

Finally, let me add one more thing. In our town today, you can't find anyone more popular, happier and more jokes than me. I can't find anyone who is more popular, happier and has more jokes than me. My jokes spread everywhere and were quoted; Once again, I listened to my wife's confidence with relish, which was of no benefit; Guy and Viola are playing at my knees, spreading the treasure of childlike humor. I am no longer afraid to hold a booklet and stare at them like an evil ghost.

Our business is very developed. I keep accounts, look after the store, and Peter manages the field. He said that my lightness and liveliness were enough to turn any funeral into an Irish memorial banquet.