***THE OFFICIAL FRIDAY SILLINESS THREAD***

LOL (also written lol or Lol) is a common element of Internet slang used, historically, on Usenet but now widespread to other forms of computer-mediated communication, and even spread to face-to-face communication. It is an abbreviation for "laughing out loud" or "laugh out loud". "LOL" is one of many initialisms for expressing bodily reactions, in particular laughter, as text, including initialisms such as "ROTFL" ("roll(ing) on the floor laughing"), a more emphatic expression of laughter, and "BWL" ("bursting with laughter"), above which there is "no greater compliment" according to Magid. (Other unrelated expansions include the less common "lots of luck" or "lots of love".)

The list of initialisms "grows by the month" and they are collected along with emoticonss and smileys into folk dictionaries which are circulated informally amongst users of Usenet, IRC, and other forms of (textual) computer-mediated communication. These initialisms are controversial, and several authors recommend against their use, either in general or in specific contexts such as business communications.

The use of LOL to express laughter is unrelated to other uses of the abbreviation, many of which (such as "lots of love") predate the Internet.^{[citation needed]}LOL has also superseded the more-obvious "Ha!" that letter writers used to use.^{^{[citation needed]}}

It was the French Revolution, and the "National Razor" is in constant use.

Three men are taken from the Bastille for executions.

The first is a Priest. He is taken from the cart up onto the stand to face his end. Bound, the executioner asks: "Do you have a last request?"

The Priest replies, "I wish to be lain on my back during the execution, so I may see Heaven"

He is laid on his back and slid into the guillotine. It is released and the blade drops, suddenly halting barely a whisker from his neck.

The executioner looks to his helpers. They pull the blade up and drop it again. Still it halts suddenly before the priest's neck.

"It's the will of God" someone shouts. The priest is taken out of the stock, untied, and released.

The next man, a drunk, is taken up from the cart. He is bound, and the executioner asks: "Do you have a last request?"

"I want to face heaven too! Maybe God will confuse me with the Priest."

He is laid on his back and slid into the guillotine. It is released and the blade drops, again halting barely a whisker from his neck.

"It's the will of God" the crowd now shouts. The drunk is taken out of the stock, untied, and released.

The third man, an engineer, is pulled up from the cart.

Again, "Any last request?"

"I want to die facing up. I note a trend here...."

He is laid on his back and slid into the guillotine.

The executioner reaches for the release and the engineer says "Oh, I SEE your problem!"

It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then — just to loosen up.

Inevitably, though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker.

I began to think alone — “to relax,” I told myself — but I knew it wasn’t true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time.

That was when things began to sour at home. One evening I turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother’s.

I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don’t mix, but I couldn’t help myself.

I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau, Muir, Confucius and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, “What is it exactly we are doing here?”

One day the boss called me in. He said, “Listen, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don’t stop thinking on the job, you’ll have to find another job.”

This gave me a lot to think about. I came home early after my conversation with the boss. “Honey,” I confessed, “I’ve been thinking...”

“I know you’ve been thinking,” she said, “and I want a divorce!”

“But Honey, surely it’s not that serious.” “It is serious,” she said, lower lip aquiver.

“You think as much as college professors and college professors don’t make any money, so if you keep on thinking, we won’t have any money!”

“That’s a faulty syllogism,” I said impatiently.

She exploded in tears of rage and frustration, but I was in no mood to deal with the emotional drama.

“I’m going to the library,” I snarled as I stomped out the door.

I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche. I roared into the parking lot with NPR on the radio and ran up to the big glass doors.

They didn’t open. The library was closed.

To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night. Leaning on the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye, “Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?” it asked.

You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinkers Anonymous poster.

This is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker.

I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was “Porky’s.” Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting.

I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home. Life just seemed easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking. I think the road to recovery is nearly complete for me .

Today I took the final step to stop thinking and switched to the Democratic Party.

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