Happiness Quote by Colin Mochrie

Mochrie’s joke works because it treats a tiny, bureaucratic mishap like a career-ending scandal, then lets your brain do the dirty work of imagining what that “unfortunate typo” must have turned “Funk” into. The setup is aggressively wholesome: a high-school band with a name so squeaky-clean it sounds like a guidance counselor approved it. That priming matters. By the time he pivots to expulsion, the punishment feels wildly disproportionate, and the audience is already searching for the missing piece.

The line is a textbook example of comedic negative space. He never says the vulgar word; he doesn’t have to. The humor lives in the audience’s complicity, in that quick internal leap from innocent to obscene. It’s also a neat piece of brand management: Mochrie, the improviser famous for being mischievous but not mean, gets to flirt with profanity while keeping his hands clean. The “you know” and the casual specificity (“in the 1970’s,” “high school”) sell it as autobiography, which makes the absurd consequence land harder.

Contextually, it’s a PG-friendly way to reference how one letter can change social meaning and social punishment. A typo is mundane; expulsion is dramatic. That mismatch is the engine. Underneath, there’s a sly comment about institutions policing language more eagerly than intent, and about how adolescent identity can be derailed by something as dumb as a sign, a flyer, a program. The joke isn’t just that the band name got dirtier; it’s that everyone immediately agrees it should.