Free The Funny Thing Is... by Ellen Degeneres

can’t let them know that.
    You just keep talking, praying that the point will come back to you. And not only does the point not come back, but now you’ve completely forgotten the subject everybody else was talking about. You really start sweating. You loosen your tie—if you’re a man or Diane Keaton or Avril Lavigne—and then you try to jump out of it by saying any sort of generic statement that comes to mind. “Well, six of one, half dozen of the other. It’s a slippery slope, my friend. Teach a man to fish. And, you know, there’s no T in team … Is there any more Merlot?”
    I don’t remember anything from school either. I don’t know where Borneo is. Or South Dakota. I mean, I have a pretty good idea where it is in relation to North and East Dakota, but otherwise I’m lost. And I wouldn’t know the difference between a sine and a cosine if they jumped in front of me naked in the middle of the street.
    Here’s all I remember of the Declaration of Independence: “When in the course of human events, bippity boppity boop.” I have no idea what a conjunction is. I don’t even know how I thought of the word “conjunction.”
    But even though I may not be book-learnin’ smart, I still consider myself to be street smart (meaning, I think, that I usually know what street I’m on). And common sensewise, I think I’m pretty smart too. Yet every single time I drive my Toyota Land Cruiser into an underground parking lot, I duck because the ceiling doesn’t seem high enough and by ducking I’m helping my car make it. Plus, if by some chance we scrape the ceiling, my head will be protected.
    Or let’s say I’m walking out of my house, and I’ve just had a banana. I have my banana peel in one hand and my car keys in the other. I throw my car keys in the trash and walk out with my banana peel. The other day I found my iron in the freezer. And the only reason I found it is that I was looking for my sunglasses.
    Sometimes I get a little down when I realize I’m never going to be as smart as I’d like to be. So I’ve come up with a few little tricks to make me feel better. You’re welcome to try them out if you feel like it. I mean, you bought this book—you deserve that much. If, however, you’re borrowing this book from a friend, I’d suggest you give your friend a few bucks first. Or, better yet, send me a few bucks.
    One way, I find, to start feeling better about myself is to take a good look at really smart people I admire—people who have really accomplished something or seem to be extremely successful in the world. I really take a hard look at them, examine them. How did they do it? What do they have that I don’t? What makes them so special? Who do they think they are? They’re stupid! They think they’re so cool. Well, they’re not! And, presto, by making somebody look worse, magically you look better.
    But even though the above method might make you look good to yourself, it’s not going to do diddly (or P. Diddly, which I believe is the current expression) as far as the rest of the world sees you. For that, you need to be the next best thing to actually being smart. Which is, of course, pretending to be smart. How do you do that, you ask, scratching your head, a quizzical expression on your face, perhaps a long blade of grass between your teeth?
    For one, big words make other people think you’re smart. Remember, long words are better than short words, even if it’s a bunch of short words. Here’s a word you can use: kitchenette— it’s a small kitchen. For instance, “Oh, you have such a nice small kitchen” is not nearly as impressive as “Oh, you’ve got a lovely kitchenette, don’t you, now?” I added “don’t you, now” to sound a little bit English. They all seem smart. If you can do a good English accent you don’t even have to use long words. It’s almost better not to—then you could just come off snobby.
    Another way to appear smarter than you actually are is to