Most of my friends know that I don't take myself too seriously; for that matter I don't view much of anything in a totally somber manner-it tends to take the enjoyment out of life. Of course my idea of enjoying life may differ greatly with someone else's, but that's pretty much a subjective thing.

Scary as the thought may be, my wife claims to understand me. (This is the only major mental flaw I've found in her thus far.) She has, however, pointed out that I've nearly laughed my way into bankruptcy a few times.

One of the most direct routes to the "on" button of my laughing apparatus is pomposity. Pompous people, pompous situations, pompous anything and I'm off to Guffaw City.

Way up there in the Meah Laugh meter are people or things titled "The Great." Historically there only seem to be two groupings of "The Greats," the military and show business. It's been a few centuries since we've had any military "The Greats" so I'll give you guys like Alexander the best of it and concede that they may have deserved the title, mostly because they didn't bestow it on themselves. Show business, on the other hand, is fraught with megalomania.

I guess it all boils down to this; if somebody else thinks you're sufficiently good at something that they want to call you the "The Great" it's okay-a little embarrassing but okay. If, on the other hand, you start calling yourself "The Great" you've got some problems that are going to require some considerable black couch reclining.

Randy Johnson, probably the nicest, most uncomplicated person I know, called me "The Great Johnny Meah" in the book Freaks, Geeks and Strange Girls. The minute I saw the title under my photo I knew I was in for a lot of heavy duty snickering from a lot of people. But I also knew that Randy meant it as a sincere personal compliment and I think the world of him for it.

The title so unraveled a freelance writer in St. Louis that he launched a frothing-at-the-mouth ballistic attack on me in the middle of an otherwise good review of the book. I got over a hundred calls, letters and e-mails on that one, all asking what the guy's problem was.

"Probably 'The Great 'thing," was the best answer I had since he obviously knew nothing about me. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Trying to hack out a living in a town whose only memorable landmark looks like McDonald's corporate headquarters could do that.

At any rate, from now on I'm going to insist that even my best friends call me "The Reasonably Competent Johnny Meah." No more of this, "The Great" stuff, I can't hack it. For one thing, the tape recording of the trumpet fanfare is beginning to drag and the guy who brings my props on velvet pillows has developed a drinking problem.

Besides, there are too many other silly-assed titles to beat up on-like "The Amazing." The last "The Amazing" I saw got his finger stuck in the zombie ball gaff. (If you don't know what the zombie ball gaff is, write to the guy in St. Louis. Odds are he doesn't know either, but he'll probably write an article about it anyway.)

Right next door to pompous titles are ridiculous titles, one of my favorites being "Fearless" which in many cases translates to "stupid." ("Watch now as Fearless Crankshaw ignites the stick of dynamite inserted in his rectum and begins his plunge into a boiling vat of acid.")

The best and by far the safest title is, "The Incomparable" which can go either way. (I've seen some pretty awful acts but nothing can compare with this!") "The Legendary" fits handily into this category too. ("Yeah, everybody's heard about this guy, he's bombed in every theater from Hartford to Honolulu.")

So there we have my little diatribe on the subject of titles. I do use a title for my act, "The Czar of Bizarre." Since most of my material is self-denigrating and a little on the dark side the title fits me quite well-even without swallowing a neon tube or bellowing fire.

Earlier this year, as I was heading out of a theater to load my props I passed a group of other acts who were chatting backstage. We exchanged greetings and as I reached the door I heard one of them inquire, "Where does Meah live?" "The Twilight Zone," someone replied. As I said, "The Czar of Bizarre" fits me to a tee.