I don’t think I know one single woman who can tell a joke. Most men can’t tell them either but they don’t seem to realize it. In my earlier days, I remember standing mute, drink in hand, while some fool monopolized the conversation with a long drawn out story beginning with “Did you hear the one about…?” That doesn’t seem to happen to me any more, but I don’t think it’s because men have stopped telling jokes. Instead, it seems to be based on a confluence of two things: one, I no longer frequent cocktail parties, and two, I no longer hang out with all that many men.
To me, the funniest stories are the true ones about real people doing stupid things, especially when I know the people doing the stupid things. For example, I love the story about my friend, Cindy, who, when she saw an errant shopping cart heading down the street toward her car, she honked at it. Or the one my ex tells about visiting a small-town doctor’s office as a pharmaceutical rep and sitting for quite a while in the waiting room, being eyed by the patients as they all viewed Jerry Springer via their peripheral vision on the mounted TV in the corner. That was until one of the patients asked the other patient sitting next to him on the naugahyde couch, “Hey Myrtle, didn’t this used to be a doctor’s office before we moved in here?”
I also like the stories where I’m the one doing the stupid things. For example, there was the time my daughter, Melissa, who was about eight, talked me into taking her to the only movie Rick Springfield ever made. As we were walking down the aisle of the theater, I spotted the cute little blond who was our dental hygienist. Since I was a busy multi-tasking mom with little time to spare, I dragged poor Melissa down to the cute little blond dental hygienist and then stuck my fingers into poor Melissa’s mouth so I could show the hygienist the weird things Melissa’s teeth were doing. It turned out the cute blond dental hygienist was, instead, the cute blond lifeguard at our neighborhood pool, a girl who knew nothing about teeth and wasn’t all that interested in looking in my daughter's mouth. She was, instead, quite interested in backing up as I came honed in on her, dragging my slobbering child teeth first with my soggy fingers.
Back to jokes, which I generally don't like and can't remember. I do, however, recall a few jokes and they are all dirty. The first joke I remember was from Junior High. I won't relate the joke itself as it's enough to know that the main character was someone named Johnny F^*kerfaster.
Then there's the joke my father-in-law told me just after I married his son. My father-in-law was a small-town doctor, esteemed, no, I should say beloved, by all who knew him. So it would have to be said that he was a stand up guy in all ways, but that didn't stop him from telling me this joke about the female Hell's Angel who was being interviewed by a newscaster. The joke goes like this:
Newscaster: Have you ever been picked up by the fuzz?
Hell's Angel woman: No, but I've been thrown around by the tits a few times.
And then there's this one about when Tarzan first met Jane.
Tarzan: What name?
Jane: Name Jane
Tarzan: What whole name?
Jane: Hole name Pussy.
And here's my last joke. No, don't walk away to refill your glass. This one is really good.
What do you call a blind deer? No eye deer.
What do you call a paralyzed blind deer? Still no eye deer.
What do you call a paralyzed blind deer with no sexual organs? Still no f^*king eye deer.