My brother and I once got in a fight—honest-to-God backyard fisticuffs—about whether or not he invented the joke "Where do sheep go to get their fleece cut? The baa-baa shop."
I'd read it in a joke book and couldn't believe someone three years younger than me could possibly have the genius to spontaneously generate such comedy gold. Sorry, Kevin.
I've known a lot of jokey people, in the vein of "How's the weather up there?" (Get it? Get it? Cause I'm tall.) But nobody over the age of 6 seems to tell a joke with a setup/punchline format anymore. I can't tell you the last time a request was put out for a joke, so much so that the one and only one I can produce on command has expired.
This one is also from my brother, but there's no way his wordplay is sparkling enough to make it up:
What do Saddam Hussein and Little Miss Muffet have in common?
They both have Kurds in their way.
Ba-dum-dum-CHING! Also, ethnic cleansing? Always appropriate. Always hilarious.
I can just picture myself trying to tell this joke to my grandkids someday and being pelted with nursing-home Jell-O before they teleport themselves out of there.
Kate in 2052: "Well, there used to be this dictator of that country, Iraq, that we'’ve been liberating for three generations now..."
Grandkid of the future: "Shut it, Grandma. I have to go clean my silver jumpsuit."
It kinda cuts down on the humor if you have to give historical context.
It's almost like:
What's a Cypriot's least favorite food?
Turkey!
(Seriously, I'm available for weddings and bar mitvahs.)
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2 comments:
I have only one joke-on-command too. I'll tell it next week! Glad you're coming to the party.
Awesome. I'll set you up by going: "Say, does anyone know a good joke?"
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