It’s hard to be racist when you’re busy laughing at yourself.

Racism requires seriousness.

A tight jaw.

A rigid worldview.

A belief that you — by some cosmic lottery — ended up on the “right” side of the human hierarchy.

Humor ruins that.

You can’t cling to superiority when you know how ridiculous you are.

You can’t look down on anyone when half your life is spent tripping over your own feet, saying the wrong thing, misreading a room, or realizing you’ve been pronouncing a word wrong for two decades.

A real sense of humor is self-erosion.

It chips away at ego.

It makes you softer, rounder, more human.

When you can laugh at yourself, you stop needing an “other” to push down.

You realize we’re all idiots in our own charming ways — and suddenly the idea of ranking people feels embarrassing.

And here’s the truth:

to laugh with someone is to know pure joy.

It’s one of the purest forms of connection we have.

Two people cracking up at the same absurd moment — all the walls drop.

Differences dissolve.

It builds relationships faster than anything else on earth.

Because laughter leads to love.

And where love lives, hate can’t dwell — I’m sure some smart person said that before, but who am I besides the village idiot?

So love me or hate me…

share a laugh with me

and we’ll be lovers soon enough.

And I’m sure there’s some psychological bullshit in all this —

so go on, fact check me.