Creepy Dolls and the Hardest You've Ever Laughed
Tell me the last time you peed your pants in hysterics
This week, I’m chasing your stories.
In honour of being foolish on April 1st, I encourage you to fill up the comment section with your stories, because this question deserves to snowball into a contagious collection of the ridiculous sides we all possess.
When’s the last time you laughed so hard, you couldn’t breathe?
You’ll always remember that rare otherworldly, uncontrollable laugh. It’s usually over something so minor, completely inane, and rarely shared by those around you. You’re doubled over, stomach in agony, snorting, crying, rip-roaring, hoping it will stop, but loving the hurt all the same.
It’s a question comedian Pete Holmes asks his guests at the end of his marathon-long podcasts too. And you can’t help but laugh along at the categorical dumbness of the funny source. Like when Zach Galifiankis explains going into hysterics during church when his dad’s crooked candle wick finally lit, just as the congregation blew out their flames. That’s all it took, and he off to the races.
We all know laughter is great for the body and mind. A good dose of funny releases endorphins, decreases anxiety, and even burns calories. But laughing so hard you think you’re going to die is a whole other echelon of euphoric pain (history says the Greek philosopher Chrysippus died from laughing…at his own joke).
A ceaseless attack of laughter hits us like lightening, while others stand around waiting; mildly amused at first, then annoyed, then full of hate, and finally begging you to stop. A bloated 2016 study on laughter concluded that only 10-15% of laughing comes from anything even remotely funny.
Which makes sense, if I think of the last time I thought my spine would snap from something (maybe only) I found so funny.
The House of Dolls
My biggest bout of uncontrollable laughter took place around 2015 near Portland, Oregon on the way to meet Stephanie’s parents. We were early in our relationship—our first romantic road trip, our first family function, our first test of travelling as a couple.
And the very first time either of us stayed at an Airbnb.
Lodging in stranger’s home was awkward enough, but when the lovely older lady showed us our room down the hall from hers, it turned out we weren’t the only ones staying there.
Surrounding us from all sides were dozens of old-time, glassy-eyed dolls staring off into the middle distance.
Frankly, it was terrifying. We couldn’t sleep knowing they were among us. And when we turned on the lights to see if they were still looking, I swear some had swapped positions. Vacation love was hijacked by the uneasy feeling of pioneer-dressed children watching us.
The next morning, when our host left to run some errands, we took “make yourself at home” as an invitation to liberally look around.
Every room—dolls and more dolls. Hundreds of dolls. Dolls grouped in tea party scenes, dolls huddled on shelves, dolls on top of toilet tanks, dolls piled high like dead bodies in the spare room. Curly-haired, tiny-handed, spiritless dolls everywhere.
What to do in such a situation? Only one thing. Pick a doll to love as your own. Then ask your new partner to take pictures of you caring for him.
It quickly escalated as I became attached to my little guy. And I wanted to capture the bond we were forming with more and more photos.
Ignoring the risk of our host returning home any minute, I wanted to spend quality time with my son (who I lovingly named “Liam”), even gambling time to put on a swimsuit for our first hot tub as father and son.
You don’t want to see the rest of the shots. They just get screwier, and some are just personal, between me and Liam.
That evening, with the dolls replaced and our host asleep, Stephanie and I looked through the rows of photos on my phone, and it hit hard. I laughed, wheezed, and cried for an hour straight—my belly killing me, my lungs gasping for air, my nose pouring snot, my feet kicking the air above the bed. And just as the eruptions would wane and the household sigh with relief, the convulsions would return, stronger each time.
Days later on the drive, we received notice of our host’s online Airbnb review.
It simply said: “Nice couple. Clean. Very happy and love to laugh.”
When was the last time you laughed uncontrollably? Please tell your story in the comment section and share your hilarity—we might not understand why it was that funny, but that’s the best part.
Don took Jonathan and Michael to a garage sale which was run by a man Don knew. So he told the boys do not look at his hair piece, he is very sensitive to it. When the boys made their choices, Michael said to the man:
Where do I go toupee for this?”
Oh my GAWD!! That's the best!