Humor is a choice. It’s not a talent, as some people believe, or even a state of being. To be funny, one must ignore their better angels and dive balls-first into insanity.

Here’s an example: Two weeks ago, my roommate Carson waited more than an hour for a Chinese food delivery order. After checking up on his food and calling the restaurant to complain, someone finally knocked on our door with the long-awaited lo mein.

A normal human being would take his food and send the deliveryman packing with little or no tip. Carson is not a normal human being.

‘OK, now I’ve got to take off my clothes,’ he said.

My roommate removed the shirt and pants from his beefy, 200-pound frame, stripping all the way down to his boxer-briefs. He walked down the stairs, opened our front door and greeted the visitor, who immediately looked away, horrified.

As Carson stood spread-eagle at the door and paid for his meal, my roommates and I realized he had just invented an ingenious game. From that point on, every time we ordered in, we’d do everything we could to shock and appall whoever brought us our food.

Imagine ringing a stranger’s doorbell and seeing a man answer the door in just his underwear. Imagine that same man coming to the door completely naked. Imagine his friend joining him at the door wearing all leather. Imagine delivering food to a man duct-taped to a chair, holding exact change in his mouth. Imagine delivering food into the middle of an amateur pornography set.

That’s what our food deliverers witnessed in the days and weeks that followed Carson’s impromptu striptease.

Was it smart for us to mess with the people who handle our food? Probably not. Will our stunts help our food to arrive more promptly in the future? I doubt it. Was it awkward paying for chicken wings in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform? Hell no, I’m comfortable with my body.

But it was funny, and in the end, that’s all we care about.

With that set of priorities in mind, my roommates and I set out last week to find a group Halloween getup to wear at Chuck’s annual costume contest.

Now, most people spend All Hallows’ Eve dressed as something scary, sexy or both. We figured it would be funnier to go as something unattractive and mildly disturbing. We had many options to choose from: The Backstreet Boys, the postmortem Jackson 5, the cast of ‘Full House,’ the Palins — to name a few. But one costume stood out above the rest.

We bought some wigs, strapped on dresses and went to the bar as everybody’s favorite group of sassy women: the ladies from ‘The View.’

Throughout the night, Barbara Walters, Whoopi Goldberg, Rosie O’Donnell, Elizabeth Hasselbeck and I, Star Jones, discussed women’s issues du jour. We rocked the latest fashion trends, voiced our strong female voices and walked gracefully in heels.

Normally, our humor-driven choices end up costing us either academically, professionally or in legal expenses. This time, we made a profit.

Our costumes won us second prize in the contest, which came with $250 in cash; endless respect from every guy at the bar; and what I can only assume was jealousy from all their skanked-out girlfriends.

It turned out to be one of the best nights of my college career, and it was all because my roommates and I took a dead sprint past ‘sensible,’ below ‘dignified,’ beyond ‘stupid’ and straight to ‘ridiculous.’

If there’s anything for you to learn from my experience, it’s this: To be funny, sometimes you have to stop thinking, do something crazy or even strap on a dress.

And, every once in a while, slip off that dress and answer the door completely naked.

Danny Fersh is a senior broadcast journalism major and his column appears every Wednesday. He would like to give a shout-out to Liz Eney and the Mare Nasties. If you enjoy nudity and delivery food, you should vote for Anna Stolzenburg for Homecoming queen. If not, vote for her anyway. Email Star at dafersh@syr.edu