How to make a perfectly reasonable situation significantly less reasonable.
There is a dangerous little phrase capable of turning an ordinary conversation into complete nonsense.
It is:
“Yes, and...”
The rules are simple.
Someone says something ridiculous.
Instead of correcting them...
you accept the premise.
Then make it worse.
😂
For example:
“I think the squirrel is watching us.”
You could say:
"No, it isn't."
Conversation over.
Or:
“Yes, and I think he's reporting to someone.”
Oh.
Now we have something.
This is our first rule.
Metaphorically speaking.
Please don't kill actual squirrels either.
We needn't be jerks.
🤣
Suppose someone looks out the window and says:
“That squirrel has been sitting there for ten minutes.”
You reply:
“He's probably waiting for the signal.”
Someone else joins:
“Yes, and the blue jay is his supervisor.”
Another:
“That's why he's carrying the clipboard.”
There is no clipboard.
Everyone knows there is no clipboard.
The clipboard is now canon.
This is how nonsense grows.
Someone enters wearing a particularly large hat.
You say:
“Excellent. The new mayor has arrived.”
They could respond:
"I'm not the mayor."
Tragic.
Game over.
Or:
“Yes, and my first official act is to outlaw raisins in cookies.”
Now we have municipal government.
Someone else objects:
“What about oatmeal raisin?”
The mayor is firm.
“Especially oatmeal raisin.”
Tuesday quietly removes something from its lunch bag.
🤣🤣🤣
I'M SORRY.
Apparently Tuesday has entered this piece without authorization.
Again.
Pick an object.
Anything.
A spoon.
Someone announces:
“This spoon once belonged to royalty.”
Next person:
“Yes, and it disappeared under mysterious circumstances in 1847.”
Next:
“Yes, and anyone who uses it can suddenly speak fluent goose.”
Next:
“Yes, and unfortunately there are no geese nearby, so nobody has been able to verify this.”
You are now holding an artifact.
Five minutes ago it was in the silverware drawer.
The goal is not to be clever.
This matters.
If everyone is trying to produce the funniest answer, play becomes performance.
Nobody needs to perform here.
Say the first ridiculous thing that arrives.
“The toaster is angry.”
Yes, and...
“It has retained counsel.”
Yes, and...
“The attorney is Thursday.”
Wait.
Thursday already represents Tuesday.
Conflict of interest.
We may need another attorney.
😂
Give a child a cardboard box.
It is not a box.
It is a boat.
Then a spaceship.
Then a castle.
Then apparently a veterinary hospital for dragons.
Adults sometimes look at the box and think:
box.
We have become alarmingly efficient.
So perhaps once in a while, when a child says:
“This is the dragon hospital.”
we shouldn't immediately ask where the dragons are.
We should knock on the box and say:
“Excuse me. I have a dragon with a terrible case of hiccups.”
Watch what happens.
This one belongs in families, gatherings, classrooms, Letter Society meetups someday—anywhere people are willing to be slightly ridiculous together.
One person begins:
“Yesterday, I found a very small door behind the refrigerator.”
Next person adds one sentence.
Only one.
Then the next.
Nobody gets to erase what came before.
If somebody introduces a talking cabbage—
the cabbage stays.
If the grandmother becomes an international jewel thief—
we have questions, but we proceed.
If the story suddenly moves to Neptune—
pack accordingly.
Eventually someone ends it.
Preferably badly.
“And that is why we no longer buy mayonnaise on Thursdays.”
Perfect.
No notes.
🤣
This may be my favorite.
Choose something completely ordinary.
Then explain why it exists.
Incorrect answers only.
Why do socks disappear in the dryer?
They are paying a toll.
Why do dogs turn around before lying down?
Calibrating.
Why does toast land butter-side down?
Gravity is petty.
Why do we have eyebrows?
Forehead mustaches were considered too powerful.
Why does the moon change shape?
Budget cuts.
😂
No research.
No facts.
No educational value whatsoever.
Finally, a program adequately funded for our purposes.
Someone says something so completely unexpected that the whole room stops.
There is one second of silence.
Then—
collapse.
Those are the best ones.
Not because anyone planned them.
Because somebody's imagination took a strange little left turn...
and everyone else followed.
The next time someone you love says something mildly ridiculous—
don't correct it.
Don't explain it.
Don't improve it.
Just try:
“Yes, and...”
Then see where you end up.
Perhaps nowhere.
Perhaps somewhere astonishingly stupid.
Both outcomes are acceptable.
Because delight doesn't always need to be discovered.
Sometimes—
we make it up as we go.