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(Prompt: Jayus
I’ll even provide the definition, for those not familiar with it: “From Indonesian, meaning a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.”)
**************
My father, Roger, (Which is what all his children call him, BTW) is actually the King of Joke Telling. He actively collects jokes, even subscribing to various magazines and online sources in order to collect them. He remembers every detail of every element. He tells them well, and with relish.
The thing is, he's 87 years old. His memory is pretty much shot. But whenever we polish off the Thanksgiving bird, or the summer barbecue, he'll drop a good joke in the chamber, ready for launch. He'll introduce it with the time honored, "Did you hear the one about...X?"
To this I will respond, "I forget, how does it go?"
Then he starts in.
After one sentence I am probably saying, "Oh yes, we've heard that. But tell us again." Truthfully, I usually have forgotten the "every detail." Sometimes I remember the punchline, but forget the details leading up to it. It never hurts to hear it again; maybe this time I'll better remember the nuanced details. Maybe I will somehow remember how to tell it properly. I myself am far more prone to Jayus, that is telling a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.” (Though my sons usually go straight to the groan.)
So Roger tells the joke, and those gathered laugh partly out of courtesy and partly because we are enjoying ourselves and it was, after all, a good joke. After we then inevitably fall to discussing how this was already a time-honored joke, something we've all heard before, my father then volunteers to tell the joke about the parakeet. We all groan and forbid him to tell it. It is so time-worn and unseemly that my mother forbade him to ever tell that story again, so he feels particularly rebellious whenever he unfurls it one more time. (My mother passed away several years ago, so maybe he's honoring her memory in some slightly ironic way. I'm quite sure he can vividly picture her reaction upon hearing it one more awful time. I certainly can.)
At this point somebody, most likely my dad, will bring up the most familiar story of all.
You see, there's this guy...who we'll call Elroy. It has been his misfortune to be busted for some illegal act and has now found himself locked up in the slammer. He sits in that cold, gray cell morosely contemplating his interminable fate. This is Hour One of a twenty-five year sentence. As such, he is acutely aware of the unfamiliar sounds of jail life. For starters, his cell mate, who has already introduced himself as "Stinky," has an annoying habit of clearing his throat , wheezing, and, God forbid, farting. Despondently he peers out from between the bars of his spartan cell and wonders how he will survive. There is unremitting clanging, stomping, and the general hum of voices. "Crap!" he thinks.
By and by he becomes aware of a give and take among the prisoners.
"34!" shouts one inmate. Some of the other residents chuckle in appreciation.
"25!" calls out another. More snickering ensues.
"32!" is offered from across the walkway. This really sends the entire cellblock into paroxisms of hilarity.
Elroy turns to his cellmate and asks, "What's up with the numbers?"
"They're telling jokes, Mate. They've been together so long that they've numbered them all. Saves time."
Elroy thinks this is brilliant and decides to try this out for himself. He timidly calls out to the hallway, "87."
Nothing. He hears a little groaning and a little swearing. Maybe it just wasn't a very funny joke. He tries again, "32."
More groaning, More swearing, though a little louder this time.
He turns to his cellmate again, "What's up with that?" he asks.
Scratching his hairy belly, he sourly he responds,"I guess it's all in how you tell it."
*************************************
And now I guess I have to tell you the parakeet groaner:
There was this guy...(Let's call him Ned, shall we?) who walked into a pet shop.
"Can I help you?" asked the proprietor.
"I'd like to buy a canary," said Ned. "I want to hear its beautiful songs."
"Ah, but I don't have any canaries today, Sir. However I have this parakeet that will sing for you like a canary."
"Really? How does it do that?"
The shop keeper leaned in conspiratorily. He confided in Ned, "You see, all you have to do is clip off the end of its beak. Then it will sing like a canary."
Ned was intrigued. "Really, it works?"
Oh yes. Just be sure you slap a bandage over the bird's beak immediately after you clip it, or the bird will die."
Fairly warned, Ned said, "I'll take it!" Thanks!" He paid for the parakeet and left the shop, happily carrying the bird out in a little cardboard box. "Thanks!" he called back to the proprietor as the screen door banged shut behind him.
Several days later, Ned returned to the pet shop.
The pet shop owner recognized Ned, and said, "Hey, How you doing? How's your bird?"
"Aw, that bird died," grumbled Ned.
"Really? What happened? Didn't you remember to slap that bandage on real quick?"
Gloomily, Ned reponded, "Well all was going well. I clipped the beak, and quickly applied the bandage. But then I found the bird was already dead when I removed it from the vise."
*********
For those not in the know, the #32 referenced in the title is a family code word for "Hey, your zipper is down!"
I’ll even provide the definition, for those not familiar with it: “From Indonesian, meaning a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.”)
**************
My father, Roger, (Which is what all his children call him, BTW) is actually the King of Joke Telling. He actively collects jokes, even subscribing to various magazines and online sources in order to collect them. He remembers every detail of every element. He tells them well, and with relish.
The thing is, he's 87 years old. His memory is pretty much shot. But whenever we polish off the Thanksgiving bird, or the summer barbecue, he'll drop a good joke in the chamber, ready for launch. He'll introduce it with the time honored, "Did you hear the one about...X?"
To this I will respond, "I forget, how does it go?"
Then he starts in.
After one sentence I am probably saying, "Oh yes, we've heard that. But tell us again." Truthfully, I usually have forgotten the "every detail." Sometimes I remember the punchline, but forget the details leading up to it. It never hurts to hear it again; maybe this time I'll better remember the nuanced details. Maybe I will somehow remember how to tell it properly. I myself am far more prone to Jayus, that is telling a joke so poorly told and so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh.” (Though my sons usually go straight to the groan.)
So Roger tells the joke, and those gathered laugh partly out of courtesy and partly because we are enjoying ourselves and it was, after all, a good joke. After we then inevitably fall to discussing how this was already a time-honored joke, something we've all heard before, my father then volunteers to tell the joke about the parakeet. We all groan and forbid him to tell it. It is so time-worn and unseemly that my mother forbade him to ever tell that story again, so he feels particularly rebellious whenever he unfurls it one more time. (My mother passed away several years ago, so maybe he's honoring her memory in some slightly ironic way. I'm quite sure he can vividly picture her reaction upon hearing it one more awful time. I certainly can.)
At this point somebody, most likely my dad, will bring up the most familiar story of all.
You see, there's this guy...who we'll call Elroy. It has been his misfortune to be busted for some illegal act and has now found himself locked up in the slammer. He sits in that cold, gray cell morosely contemplating his interminable fate. This is Hour One of a twenty-five year sentence. As such, he is acutely aware of the unfamiliar sounds of jail life. For starters, his cell mate, who has already introduced himself as "Stinky," has an annoying habit of clearing his throat , wheezing, and, God forbid, farting. Despondently he peers out from between the bars of his spartan cell and wonders how he will survive. There is unremitting clanging, stomping, and the general hum of voices. "Crap!" he thinks.
By and by he becomes aware of a give and take among the prisoners.
"34!" shouts one inmate. Some of the other residents chuckle in appreciation.
"25!" calls out another. More snickering ensues.
"32!" is offered from across the walkway. This really sends the entire cellblock into paroxisms of hilarity.
Elroy turns to his cellmate and asks, "What's up with the numbers?"
"They're telling jokes, Mate. They've been together so long that they've numbered them all. Saves time."
Elroy thinks this is brilliant and decides to try this out for himself. He timidly calls out to the hallway, "87."
Nothing. He hears a little groaning and a little swearing. Maybe it just wasn't a very funny joke. He tries again, "32."
More groaning, More swearing, though a little louder this time.
He turns to his cellmate again, "What's up with that?" he asks.
Scratching his hairy belly, he sourly he responds,"I guess it's all in how you tell it."
*************************************
And now I guess I have to tell you the parakeet groaner:
There was this guy...(Let's call him Ned, shall we?) who walked into a pet shop.
"Can I help you?" asked the proprietor.
"I'd like to buy a canary," said Ned. "I want to hear its beautiful songs."
"Ah, but I don't have any canaries today, Sir. However I have this parakeet that will sing for you like a canary."
"Really? How does it do that?"
The shop keeper leaned in conspiratorily. He confided in Ned, "You see, all you have to do is clip off the end of its beak. Then it will sing like a canary."
Ned was intrigued. "Really, it works?"
Oh yes. Just be sure you slap a bandage over the bird's beak immediately after you clip it, or the bird will die."
Fairly warned, Ned said, "I'll take it!" Thanks!" He paid for the parakeet and left the shop, happily carrying the bird out in a little cardboard box. "Thanks!" he called back to the proprietor as the screen door banged shut behind him.
Several days later, Ned returned to the pet shop.
The pet shop owner recognized Ned, and said, "Hey, How you doing? How's your bird?"
"Aw, that bird died," grumbled Ned.
"Really? What happened? Didn't you remember to slap that bandage on real quick?"
Gloomily, Ned reponded, "Well all was going well. I clipped the beak, and quickly applied the bandage. But then I found the bird was already dead when I removed it from the vise."
*********
For those not in the know, the #32 referenced in the title is a family code word for "Hey, your zipper is down!"
