I do not think that word means what you think it means

I have the most stunning proclivity for saying inappropriate things. I mention this so that you will not judge me too harshly if you hear me say something in conversation that sounds completely wrong. I know, I heard it, and I am cringing inside.

It's got something to do with the way my brain works. While I might wish to claim Turrets Syndrome, that would be false. It's a sense of humor gone wrong, plain and simple.

Do you think in pictures? I do.
My brain flashes brightly colored images before my mind's eye as you talk. If there is any possibility of misconstruing your word order, latching onto an unintended pun, or discerning some literary tool within your sentence structure that you were unaware of, why, I shall see it in vivid display before the theatre of my mind. Then, a punch line is quite likely to spill out of my mouth. Never mind that you have no idea what I may be referring to. I completely crack myself up. Sometimes it isn't really funny, it's just inappropriate. The moment I realize that I've just said something out loud which out to have been kept to myself, is a moment too late.
I hate it when that happens.

Take, for instance the time someone was talking about a burial which was interminable. I burst into laughter, despite the fact that hilarity had no place in a somber conversation of this sort. "Interminable" means that it was taking a really long time, with no end in sight. But "Interment" means to bury someone. It struck me as super funny. Can you just see them eternally lowering a coffin? Yeah, I shouldn't laugh at a time like that.

That's not the worst of it. I will not, in fact share those illustrations which best depict the worst of it, as they cause me interminable mortification upon remembrance.

Although, I'll give you one more example.
Last night, I was talking to my sisters, one of whom is pregnant. She has an adorable little baby bump, which she carries up quite high. The appearance indicates that her womb resides in close proximity to her sternum, the baby being consequently cradled by the wings of her descending ribcage. This miracle of anatomy gave me to wonder (aloud, unfortunately) what wonder of manhood her husband must represent to have resulted in her current state. The moment that thought escaped my lips, I stood abashed and entirely unable to retract.
My very next thought was that perhaps I should seriously consider an interminable vow of silence.