Humor sometimes can be very personal. One joke strikes you as pretty funny, another elicits only a smile. A joke can reduce a part of a gathering to hysterical guffaws, leaving others puzzled with only a smile on uncomprehending minds. Generational jokes tend to fall into this category. Also, some puns fall into this resulting response.

Good humor elicits that rich full-body laughter from everyone in ear-shot, and really good ones result in that body wracking jolt that leaves everyone gasping for air and bent over holding their sides.

Puns are another matter, another genre, another experience altogether. Puns are the mental gymnastics of the humor sport. They trade upon subtly and subterfuge, and in sly manner sneak up on you with the punch line. They require the internal leaps and twists and turns of a championship floor routine.

For the most part I believe puns are brought forth from the minds of introverts, out of that cauldron of word stew that percolates behind their frontal lobe. I believe this is the result of all the time introverts spends in that world of words. It is there introverts juggle word imagery and parse language and thought in new and often quirky, wacky ways.

Whereas an extrovert is the dictionary of the species, it is the introvert who is the thesaurus, the wordsmith.