"There is nothing quite as wonderful as money.
There is nothing like the newly minted pound.
Everyone must hanker for the butchness of a banker,
It's accountancy that makes the world go round."
--Eric Idle
___________________________
There’s nothing particularly funny about money.
Well, except that the portraits are often pretty silly.
And the fact that a penny costs the government more than one cent is worth a grin.
And the idea that in order to make American currency harder to counterfeit they made it look exactly like Monopoly money is frankly hysterical.
IN GENERAL, money isn’t funny.
But the PURSUIT of money is one of the most consistently funny things in the world.
Cash is, after all, nothing more than the bookkeeping tokens of an elaborate bartering system. This way, you don’t have to ask your neighbor if he’s got change for a goat.
Since money is a medium of exchange, the pursuit of money (the root of all evil, as we know) can be a sublimated pursuit of power or sex—and those are pretty funny, too.
______________________
A newly married couple has fallen upon hard times. The husband has fallen ill and needs expensive medicine. The wife, although good-hearted and beautiful, has no marketable skills, and her job as a waitress doesn’t bring in nearly enough money for the couple to live on.
So, after many tears and much anger, the wife determines that she will turn to streetwalking to earn the money the family needs for food and medicine.
The wife departs at 8 pm, and returns at 2 am. She rushes to her husband, who embraces her with tears in his eyes.
“Darling, I did it!” says the wife.
“You made money, then?” the husband asks.
“Yes,” says the wife. “I made three hundred and fifty dollars and twenty-five cents!”
The husband stares. “Twenty-five cents?” he demands. “Who gave you twenty-five cents?”
The wife smiles brightly: “EVERYBODY!” she says.
___________________________________
There IS a fictional character who loves money, not for what it can buy, but for its own sake. That character is Walt Disney’s Scrooge McDuck, created by writer/artist Carl Barks in the middle of the last century. Looking for all the world like Donald Duck dressed for a road show production of A Christmas Carol, Scrooge is the richest duck in a world of anthropomorphic animals.
Now, I never found Scrooge to be the “richly comic character” described by his fans. But his exploits WERE pretty funny, especially as it became clear that Scrooge really didn’t care about WEALTH, he cared about MONEY…he kept huge stacks of the stuff, including his giant money bin. It was several stories tall, full of coins and paper money, and Scrooge would literally dive into, while chanting this litany:
“I like to dive around in my money like a porpoise, and burrow through it like a gopher…and toss it up and let it hit me on the head!”
At one point, someone tried to imitate Scrooge and dive headlong into the cash pile himself. The character ended up—not surprisingly—with a busted noggin. He demanded an explanation from Scrooge, who admitted: “It’s a trick.”
______________________________
A long time ago in Europe, there lived a wily peddler by the name of Igor. One day, Igor heard of a far away land where spices and herbs were unknown. Why, this place had didn’t even have onions!
Well, this was an opportunity too good to go to waste! Igor gathered all the funds he could, selling his possessions and borrowing from friends and family, and bought an entire wagonload of onions. He took his pack animal and made his way, over many weeks, to the faraway land.
Igor presented himself to the royal palace, and to the king of this drab kingdom. He said to the king, “I have with me a remarkable vegetable—it will improve the taste of almost any food, and although strong, can even be eaten by itself.”
Well, the king was as tired of dull food as everyone else in the kingdom, so Igor was granted access to the royal kitchens. Igor worked an entire day, making stews, salads, sandwiches and other dishes (not all of which began with “s”) with his onions. At the end of the day, he brought all the dishes before the king.
The king was no fool, of course. He insisted that others try the food first. First Igor himself ate a bit of each dish, then the servants, then the nobles, and then the Queen. Each declared the food delicious. (It was lucky that he didn’t give the food to the notoriously picky Prince Louis, or this joke might have a different ending.)
Finally, the king himself took a bite of a simple salad garnished with onion. A smile of joy spread over his face. “This is the most miraculous vegetable of all time! We will reward you!”
And indeed, after taking possession of the wagon-load of onions, the king cast about for the riches of the land. Ultimately, Igor was rewarded with a wagon-load of silver.
Igor returned to his home land in triumph. He repaid his debts, bought a beautiful home for himself and his family, and settled down to a privileged existence.
It wasn’t long before the news of Igor’s fortune reached the ears of another wily peddler named Fritz. Fritz thought there must be a way that he could get a piece of this action, and it occurred to him that, if onions were so valuable, garlic would be even more so. After all, it was smaller, could be carried dried, and didn’t make you cry when you cut it.
So Fritz gathered all the funds he could, selling his possessions and borrowing from friends and family. He bought ten sacks of garlic and made his way to the faraway land.
Like Igor before him, Fritz presented himself to the royal palace and to the king of the faraway kingdom. He said to the king, “I have brought a remarkable vegetable. It, too, improves the taste of almost any food!”
Fritz was granted access to the royal kitchens and prepared several dishes featuring garlic. At the end of the day, he brought the dishes before the king. Once again, the king insisted that others taste the food first, but eventually the king tried garlic. He almost wept in delight. “THIS, he said,” is the most remarkable vegetable of all time!”
So the king cast about for the riches of the land to give Fritz in return for his ten sacks of garlic. After much discussion, the peddler received the most valuable gift they could conceive of: Ten sacks of onions.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
L is for Lawyer
Q: What do you do if you’re in the jungle, and you’re attacked by a lion, a hippopotamus and a lawyer, and you’ve only got two bullets in your rifle?
A: Shoot the lawyer twice.
____________________________
Ahhh, nobody likes lawyers. Oh, we may like individual lawyers (especially if we happen to be, ahem, married to one). But as a class, I think they’re about as maligned as any group in the world.
For one thing, lawyers are perceived as being rich and powerful. They have high status. And, as discussed in previous blog entries, high-status people are ripe for being taken down a peg. The epitome of slapstick may still be a rich man getting a pie in the face.
(Hey, I wonder if throwing pies is simply sublimating the urge to hurl – um, other stuff -- the way our primate relatives do? And why am I wasting thoughts like that in a parenthetical remark when I could stretch it into an entire column?)
______________________________
A billionaire needs to hire a personal assistant. His search team eventually narrows the applicants down to three choices: a mathematician, an economist and a lawyer. The billionaire decides to conduct the final interview himself. He invites the mathematician into his office and asks:
“How much is two plus two?”
The mathematician whips out his calculator, punches numbers furiously for a good forty-five seconds and announces triumphantly: “Four!”
The billionaire kicks out the mathematician and calls in the economist. He asks her:
“How much is two plus two?”
The economist whips out a book of charts and statistical tables, looks in the index, flips to the proper page and proclaims, “according to our latest surveys, somewhere between three and five!”
The billionaire kicks her out and calls in the lawyer. He asks him:
“How much is two plus two?”
The lawyer closes the office door. He pulls the shades. He takes the phone off the hook and turns up a radio very loudly. He tiptoes up to the billionaire and whispers in his ear:
“How much do you want it to be?”
___________________________
So there’s the whole position of power thing about lawyers. There’s this, too. The work that they do seems ever more necessary in the 21st century, and the work that they do is ever more opaque to the non-attorney.
Lawyers are taught to look for loopholes. That’s the way they work. It is not enough for something a document to appear to say something—the document has to say something exactly, precisely, and without any possibility of misinterpretation.
(This is why the disclaimers at the bottom of your TV screen are 10 paragraphs long. Every sentence is the result of a lawsuit claiming that something was unclear.)
Lawyers therefore become skilled in what’s called arguing in the alternative—something that makes perfect sense to attorneys, but can cause other people’s head to explode. Because lawyers want to cover every possible permutation, they can write sentences like the following and not crack a smile: “I never borrowed that, it was broken when I got it, and I returned it in perfect working condition.”
No wonder other people can’t stand them!
_____________________________
A doctor, a civil engineer and a lawyer are traveling on vacation when their car breaks down. They are forced to spend the night at a small farm. The farmer informs them that, while there is room for two of the travelers, the third will have to stay in the barn with the pigs and cows. And the barn, the farmer warns, hasn’t been cleaned in quite some time.
The doctor says, “Listen, I’m a doctor. I’m used to blood and excrement, and just about anything unpleasant that the body can produce. I’ll stay in the barn.” So the doctor goes out to the barn.
About two hours later, there’s a knock on the farm door. There’s the doctor, standing there looking terribly unhappy. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I just can’t stay out there with all those pigs and cows.”
The civil engineer says, “Heck, I build sewers for a living. There isn’t a smell I haven’t dealt with. I’ll stay in the barn.” So the civil engineer goes out to the barn.
About an hour later, there’s a knock on the farm door. There’s the civil engineer standing there, looking terribly unhappy. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I just can’t stay out there with all those pigs and cows.”
The lawyer says, “Well, you guys have given it a shot, I suppose it’s my turn. I’ll stay in the barn.” So the lawyer goes out to the barn.
About a half hour later, there’s a knock on the farm door. There’s a bunch of pigs and cows standing there.
_________________________
When my wife the attorney was younger, she made it a practice to keep her passport in her office. Because, hey, you never know when you might have to make a business trip in a hurry—and the attorney with the passport gets to make the trip to some exotic locale.
Sure enough, when she was still quite a fledging attorney, there arose a need for someone to fly to Zurich, Switzerland to witness a transaction. My wife, happily waving her passport, volunteered for the job, and before you can you can say “Transatlantic Flight” was winging her way to the land of cuckoo clocks.
Well, my wife arrived in Zurich, checked into a hotel, and made her way to the office building where she signed off on the multimillion dollar transaction she’d helped negotiate. The whole deal took about 18 hours, including the time my wife spent buying every bar of chocolate within a 5 mile radius to fulfill the orders of her colleagues in the office and her friends and family at home.
Exhausted, my wife booked a flight back to New York the day after she arrived. She soon found herself on the receiving end of a suspicious look from a Swiss Customs Officer.
Here was a young woman—looking much younger than the 25 years on her passport—with dark circles under her eyes and vague expression. Not only that, but her only suitcase was packed with what appeared to be dozens of bars of chocolate.
“I see you’ve only been in Switzerland for a single day,” said the suspicious guard. “What brought you here?”
“Business,” my wife replied shortly.
“Business, eh?” said the Customs Official. “What is your business?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” said the guard, a note of disbelief in his voice. “Why didn’t the shark eat the lawyer?”
“Professional courtesy!” snapped my wife.
The guard laughed. “I guess you are a lawyer at that!” and waved her through.
A: Shoot the lawyer twice.
____________________________
Ahhh, nobody likes lawyers. Oh, we may like individual lawyers (especially if we happen to be, ahem, married to one). But as a class, I think they’re about as maligned as any group in the world.
For one thing, lawyers are perceived as being rich and powerful. They have high status. And, as discussed in previous blog entries, high-status people are ripe for being taken down a peg. The epitome of slapstick may still be a rich man getting a pie in the face.
(Hey, I wonder if throwing pies is simply sublimating the urge to hurl – um, other stuff -- the way our primate relatives do? And why am I wasting thoughts like that in a parenthetical remark when I could stretch it into an entire column?)
______________________________
A billionaire needs to hire a personal assistant. His search team eventually narrows the applicants down to three choices: a mathematician, an economist and a lawyer. The billionaire decides to conduct the final interview himself. He invites the mathematician into his office and asks:
“How much is two plus two?”
The mathematician whips out his calculator, punches numbers furiously for a good forty-five seconds and announces triumphantly: “Four!”
The billionaire kicks out the mathematician and calls in the economist. He asks her:
“How much is two plus two?”
The economist whips out a book of charts and statistical tables, looks in the index, flips to the proper page and proclaims, “according to our latest surveys, somewhere between three and five!”
The billionaire kicks her out and calls in the lawyer. He asks him:
“How much is two plus two?”
The lawyer closes the office door. He pulls the shades. He takes the phone off the hook and turns up a radio very loudly. He tiptoes up to the billionaire and whispers in his ear:
“How much do you want it to be?”
___________________________
So there’s the whole position of power thing about lawyers. There’s this, too. The work that they do seems ever more necessary in the 21st century, and the work that they do is ever more opaque to the non-attorney.
Lawyers are taught to look for loopholes. That’s the way they work. It is not enough for something a document to appear to say something—the document has to say something exactly, precisely, and without any possibility of misinterpretation.
(This is why the disclaimers at the bottom of your TV screen are 10 paragraphs long. Every sentence is the result of a lawsuit claiming that something was unclear.)
Lawyers therefore become skilled in what’s called arguing in the alternative—something that makes perfect sense to attorneys, but can cause other people’s head to explode. Because lawyers want to cover every possible permutation, they can write sentences like the following and not crack a smile: “I never borrowed that, it was broken when I got it, and I returned it in perfect working condition.”
No wonder other people can’t stand them!
_____________________________
A doctor, a civil engineer and a lawyer are traveling on vacation when their car breaks down. They are forced to spend the night at a small farm. The farmer informs them that, while there is room for two of the travelers, the third will have to stay in the barn with the pigs and cows. And the barn, the farmer warns, hasn’t been cleaned in quite some time.
The doctor says, “Listen, I’m a doctor. I’m used to blood and excrement, and just about anything unpleasant that the body can produce. I’ll stay in the barn.” So the doctor goes out to the barn.
About two hours later, there’s a knock on the farm door. There’s the doctor, standing there looking terribly unhappy. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I just can’t stay out there with all those pigs and cows.”
The civil engineer says, “Heck, I build sewers for a living. There isn’t a smell I haven’t dealt with. I’ll stay in the barn.” So the civil engineer goes out to the barn.
About an hour later, there’s a knock on the farm door. There’s the civil engineer standing there, looking terribly unhappy. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I just can’t stay out there with all those pigs and cows.”
The lawyer says, “Well, you guys have given it a shot, I suppose it’s my turn. I’ll stay in the barn.” So the lawyer goes out to the barn.
About a half hour later, there’s a knock on the farm door. There’s a bunch of pigs and cows standing there.
_________________________
When my wife the attorney was younger, she made it a practice to keep her passport in her office. Because, hey, you never know when you might have to make a business trip in a hurry—and the attorney with the passport gets to make the trip to some exotic locale.
Sure enough, when she was still quite a fledging attorney, there arose a need for someone to fly to Zurich, Switzerland to witness a transaction. My wife, happily waving her passport, volunteered for the job, and before you can you can say “Transatlantic Flight” was winging her way to the land of cuckoo clocks.
Well, my wife arrived in Zurich, checked into a hotel, and made her way to the office building where she signed off on the multimillion dollar transaction she’d helped negotiate. The whole deal took about 18 hours, including the time my wife spent buying every bar of chocolate within a 5 mile radius to fulfill the orders of her colleagues in the office and her friends and family at home.
Exhausted, my wife booked a flight back to New York the day after she arrived. She soon found herself on the receiving end of a suspicious look from a Swiss Customs Officer.
Here was a young woman—looking much younger than the 25 years on her passport—with dark circles under her eyes and vague expression. Not only that, but her only suitcase was packed with what appeared to be dozens of bars of chocolate.
“I see you’ve only been in Switzerland for a single day,” said the suspicious guard. “What brought you here?”
“Business,” my wife replied shortly.
“Business, eh?” said the Customs Official. “What is your business?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” said the guard, a note of disbelief in his voice. “Why didn’t the shark eat the lawyer?”
“Professional courtesy!” snapped my wife.
The guard laughed. “I guess you are a lawyer at that!” and waved her through.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
K as in Kangaroo and Koala
We’ve all heard about the baby kangaroo who got into trouble with his mother. He kept eating crackers in bed…
____________________________
Of course the word “kangaroo” is funny: it’s got a K in it! Neil Simon had this to say about the K sound in “The Sunshine Boys”:
"Words with ‘k’ in them are funny. Casey Stengel, that's a funny name. Robert Taylor is not funny. Cupcake is funny. Tomato is not funny. Cookie is funny. Cucumber is funny. Car keys. Cleveland . . . Cleveland is funny. Maryland is not funny. Then, there's chicken. Chicken is funny. Pickle is funny."
Not only is Kangaroo funny, but so is Koala and Kookaburra. Most of the animals in and around Australia look pretty funny, regardless of how they’re named. I think it’s because they evolved separately from the standard Asian/European/North American models.
But all those “k”s in their names? That’s just kookoo!
___________________________
The Koala Bear is the creation of somebody with a sense of humor. It isn’t a bear, of course, nor is it as cute and cuddly as it appears.
For the most part, it’s a slow and stupid beast. Unless, of course, someone approaches it as it hands there on a eucalyptus tree. Get too close, and the koala will lash out with inches long claws. Or sink its teeth into your arm—teeth which, although evolved to shred leaves, do a damned good job on flesh. And then, to add insult to injury, it will urinate on you with a particularly strong smelling substance that (despite the koala’s diet) smells less like eucalyptus than it does like, well, urine.
Now, that’s comedy.
___________________________
Stolen for a book title, but still worth repeating:
One day, a koala bear sits down in a small outdoor café. He orders a large hamburger and fries, which he devours with obvious pleasure. When the waiter brings the bill however, the koala whips out a pistol and fires. The waiter falls dead.
The café manager comes rushing out and demands, “what’s the matter with you? Why did you do that?”
The animal responds, “I’m a koala bear. Look it up in the dictionary” and departs.
The manger goes to the dictionary and looks up Koala Bear in the dictionary, and there he finds the following entry: “Koala Bear: Eats shoots and leaves.”
____________________
Monday, August 16, 2010
J as in Jail
______________________________
A friend will bail you out of jail at three in the morning. A true friend will be sitting next to you saying, “Boy, that was fun!”
_____________________________
Jail’s another topic that isn’t particularly funny: generally somone’s in jail because they deserve it (in which case they are bad people) or they don’t (in which case it’s a sad or unjust situation). Either way, it isn’t really something to laugh at.
On the other hand, confinement is certain to raise tensions—and as has been observed, raising the stakes has the potential to make something much funnier.
_____________________________
Waldo always had an artistic streak, and was always good with his hands. That’s why his fake $10 bills were so good. It took the Treasury department the better part of a year to track him down. But catch him they did, and Waldo was sentenced to 20 years in jail.
In prison, Waldo learned woodworking skills, and became an excellent cabinet maker and general carpenter. His work was in great demand among his fellow prisoners, and even the guards had him working for them. After a year or so, word of his skill reached the warden, who summoned Waldo into his office.
“Waldo,” he said, “I’ve seen your work, and I’d like you to do some work for me. My wife is having the kitchen redesigned, and we’d like you to build a couple of new cabinets, and maybe squeeze in a couple of extra counters near the stove.”
“No way!” said Waldo.
“But why not?” objected the warden
“Do you think I’m crazy?” said Waldo. “Counter fitting is why I’m in here in the first place!”
_____________________________
Jail’s are also the source of much black comedy. Below is a literal example of “gallows humor” that I first heard from Groucho Marx:
____________________________
The engineer had been convicted of murder in a small Western town. The townspeople erected a rickety gallows overnight outside the jail cell as the prisoner watched.
The next day, the condemned man was lead up the thirteen shaky steps to his doom. He stood on the wobbly platform as the noose was put around his neck.
“Have you any last words?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes,” said the prisoner. “I don’t think this damn thing is safe!”
____________________________
The following joke is unique, to my knowledge, in that it has four different punch lines:
The new chaplain of a jail is being shown around the facility. At lights out, voices start singing out from the cells.
“Forty-five!” says one voice. All of the prisoners laugh uproariously.
“Seventy-two!” yells another. Again, there are gales of laughter.
The chaplain is baffled. He turns to the warden. “What’s going on?” he demands.
“Oh, it’s simple,” replies the warden. “All the prisoners have been in jail for so long that they all know the same jokes. So they’ve numbered them all. Instead of
telling the whole joke, they just yell the number. And everybody laughs.”
“That’s amazing,” says the chaplain. “Do you mind if I try?”
“Go ahead!” says the warden.
The chaplain yells: “Thirty-two!”
The cells erupt in appreciative laughter, which eventually dies down. Except for one cell, where the occupant is doubled over with laughter. It goes on and on.
“I don’t get it,” says the chaplain. “’Why is he still laughing?’
“Oh,” the warden. “I guess he never heard that joke before.”
OR
The chaplain yells: “Thirty-two!”
There is total silence.
“Why aren’t they laughing?” demands the chaplain.
“Heck,” says the warden. “You told it wrong!”
OR
The chaplain yells: “Thirty-two!”
There is total silence.
“Why aren’t they laughing?” demands the chaplain.
“Heck,” says the warden. “I guess they didn’t expect to hear that kind of a joke from a man of God!”
OR
The chaplain yells: “Thirty-two!”
There is total silence.
Why aren’t they laughing?” demands the chaplain.
“Heck,” says the warden. “If you can’t do accents, you shouldn’t tell dialect jokes!”
A friend will bail you out of jail at three in the morning. A true friend will be sitting next to you saying, “Boy, that was fun!”
_____________________________
Jail’s another topic that isn’t particularly funny: generally somone’s in jail because they deserve it (in which case they are bad people) or they don’t (in which case it’s a sad or unjust situation). Either way, it isn’t really something to laugh at.
On the other hand, confinement is certain to raise tensions—and as has been observed, raising the stakes has the potential to make something much funnier.
_____________________________
Waldo always had an artistic streak, and was always good with his hands. That’s why his fake $10 bills were so good. It took the Treasury department the better part of a year to track him down. But catch him they did, and Waldo was sentenced to 20 years in jail.
In prison, Waldo learned woodworking skills, and became an excellent cabinet maker and general carpenter. His work was in great demand among his fellow prisoners, and even the guards had him working for them. After a year or so, word of his skill reached the warden, who summoned Waldo into his office.
“Waldo,” he said, “I’ve seen your work, and I’d like you to do some work for me. My wife is having the kitchen redesigned, and we’d like you to build a couple of new cabinets, and maybe squeeze in a couple of extra counters near the stove.”
“No way!” said Waldo.
“But why not?” objected the warden
“Do you think I’m crazy?” said Waldo. “Counter fitting is why I’m in here in the first place!”
_____________________________
Jail’s are also the source of much black comedy. Below is a literal example of “gallows humor” that I first heard from Groucho Marx:
____________________________
The engineer had been convicted of murder in a small Western town. The townspeople erected a rickety gallows overnight outside the jail cell as the prisoner watched.
The next day, the condemned man was lead up the thirteen shaky steps to his doom. He stood on the wobbly platform as the noose was put around his neck.
“Have you any last words?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes,” said the prisoner. “I don’t think this damn thing is safe!”
____________________________
The following joke is unique, to my knowledge, in that it has four different punch lines:
The new chaplain of a jail is being shown around the facility. At lights out, voices start singing out from the cells.
“Forty-five!” says one voice. All of the prisoners laugh uproariously.
“Seventy-two!” yells another. Again, there are gales of laughter.
The chaplain is baffled. He turns to the warden. “What’s going on?” he demands.
“Oh, it’s simple,” replies the warden. “All the prisoners have been in jail for so long that they all know the same jokes. So they’ve numbered them all. Instead of
telling the whole joke, they just yell the number. And everybody laughs.”
“That’s amazing,” says the chaplain. “Do you mind if I try?”
“Go ahead!” says the warden.
The chaplain yells: “Thirty-two!”
The cells erupt in appreciative laughter, which eventually dies down. Except for one cell, where the occupant is doubled over with laughter. It goes on and on.
“I don’t get it,” says the chaplain. “’Why is he still laughing?’
“Oh,” the warden. “I guess he never heard that joke before.”
OR
The chaplain yells: “Thirty-two!”
There is total silence.
“Why aren’t they laughing?” demands the chaplain.
“Heck,” says the warden. “You told it wrong!”
OR
The chaplain yells: “Thirty-two!”
There is total silence.
“Why aren’t they laughing?” demands the chaplain.
“Heck,” says the warden. “I guess they didn’t expect to hear that kind of a joke from a man of God!”
OR
The chaplain yells: “Thirty-two!”
There is total silence.
Why aren’t they laughing?” demands the chaplain.
“Heck,” says the warden. “If you can’t do accents, you shouldn’t tell dialect jokes!”
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
I is for Intelligence
_______________________
The Theory of Relativity? From this Einstein makes a living?
________________________
There ARE smart jokes, you know. Nowhere near as many as there are dumb jokes, but they do exist. They’re often not laugh out loud funny—we smile with appreciation at the cleverness of our protagonist, but the jokes rarely generate a true guffaw.
_________________________
I’ve seen this story set in a lot of locations—but for the purposes of this story, we’ll place it in Germany, back in the early 60s, when it was divided into democratic Western Germany (yay!) and Communist Eastern Germany (boo!)
It happened that there was a poor man in Eastern Germany who had found employment in Western Germany. So every morning, the man would cross from East Berlin to West, and every evening, he would return from West Berlin to East. And every day he would be pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure.
Eventually, a guard became suspicious. Sure, people were paid better in West Berlin, but this man was showing signs of prosperity. He was getting rounder! He was even wearing better clothes.
Something was going on. The guard took to stopping the man on his way home. He searched the man, searched his clothes, and then searched the manure. Nothing. Every day for nearly 20 years, the guard would search the man, his clothes and the manure. Even with the aid of a microscope, he found nothing.
Eventually, the Cold War ended, the Berlin Wall came down, and the guard retired. A few months later, the guard was in a bar having a beer. He looked up to see his old nemesis entering the bar. He called the man over and bought him a drink.
“Listen,” he said, “The Cold War is over now, and we’re all Germans together. You can tell me the truth. You were stealing something, weren’t you?”
“That’s right,” admitted the man.
“I knew it!” said the old guard. “After all this time, tell me: What were you stealing.”
The man grinned. “Wheelbarrows!”
_____________________________
Somewhat more common are the jokes that exploit the intelligence of the protagonist—but only to prove that deep down, he’s no brighter than the rest of us. Nerd jokes fall into this category, but usually if the protagonist of the joke is any kind of scientist, you can bet the laugh is going to be on him:
______________________________
At the town’s most popular ice cream parlor, the owner noticed that a fellow would come in every Thursday evening and order TWO ice cream sundaes. The man would carefully place one at an empty place at his table, and eat the other as he watched the first one melt. After a month or so, the owner couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Listen,” he told the man. “I’ve watched you come in every Thursday and order an ice cream sundae you never eat. What gives?”
“Well,” the customer explained. “I’m a physicist. And I know that, according to quantum mechanics, there is a small but measurable chance that a beautiful woman will spontaneously generate in the chair next to me. I figure that, if that woman likes ice cream, she’ll appreciate the ice cream sundae. And then I might be able to talk to her.”
“But look,” said the owner, “there are dozens of beautiful women in here. Why don’t you buy one of THEM an ice cream sundae—then maybe SHE would talk to you.”
“Sure,” says the physicist. “But what are the chances of THAT happening?”
________________________
Most often, thought, smart jokes actually reflect the idea that the smart people are in really pretty dumb. If you’ve ever played Dungeons and Dragons, the protagonists have high intelligence but low wisdom. Or, to put it a bit more ethnically: They’re lacking a yidishe kopf.
_________________________
The family’s son was a dolt. There was no doubt about it. No matter how life slapped him in the face, he never gained an ounce of sense. Finally, the desperate family sent the son to Harvard, in the hopes that the great University could knock some sense into his head.
At the end of four years, the son finally returned.
“So tell me, my son,” says his father. “Have you learned?”
“Yes, father,” he said. “I have learned.”
The father goes into the next room and takes off his wedding ring. He holds it in his clenched fist, and goes back to his son. “Tell me, my son,” he says. “What do I have in my hand?”
His son ponders. “Well,” he says. “Let’s see. I can tell by my studies of anatomy that you’re holding something round.”
His father is quite impressed by this. “Go on,” he says.
The son continues. “Furthermore, from my studies of geometry, I can tell that it has a hole in the middle.”
His father is beside himself with joy. “Yes!”
“Therefore,” concludes the son, “I deduce that you are holding a wagon wheel.”
The Theory of Relativity? From this Einstein makes a living?
________________________
There ARE smart jokes, you know. Nowhere near as many as there are dumb jokes, but they do exist. They’re often not laugh out loud funny—we smile with appreciation at the cleverness of our protagonist, but the jokes rarely generate a true guffaw.
_________________________
I’ve seen this story set in a lot of locations—but for the purposes of this story, we’ll place it in Germany, back in the early 60s, when it was divided into democratic Western Germany (yay!) and Communist Eastern Germany (boo!)
It happened that there was a poor man in Eastern Germany who had found employment in Western Germany. So every morning, the man would cross from East Berlin to West, and every evening, he would return from West Berlin to East. And every day he would be pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure.
Eventually, a guard became suspicious. Sure, people were paid better in West Berlin, but this man was showing signs of prosperity. He was getting rounder! He was even wearing better clothes.
Something was going on. The guard took to stopping the man on his way home. He searched the man, searched his clothes, and then searched the manure. Nothing. Every day for nearly 20 years, the guard would search the man, his clothes and the manure. Even with the aid of a microscope, he found nothing.
Eventually, the Cold War ended, the Berlin Wall came down, and the guard retired. A few months later, the guard was in a bar having a beer. He looked up to see his old nemesis entering the bar. He called the man over and bought him a drink.
“Listen,” he said, “The Cold War is over now, and we’re all Germans together. You can tell me the truth. You were stealing something, weren’t you?”
“That’s right,” admitted the man.
“I knew it!” said the old guard. “After all this time, tell me: What were you stealing.”
The man grinned. “Wheelbarrows!”
_____________________________
Somewhat more common are the jokes that exploit the intelligence of the protagonist—but only to prove that deep down, he’s no brighter than the rest of us. Nerd jokes fall into this category, but usually if the protagonist of the joke is any kind of scientist, you can bet the laugh is going to be on him:
______________________________
At the town’s most popular ice cream parlor, the owner noticed that a fellow would come in every Thursday evening and order TWO ice cream sundaes. The man would carefully place one at an empty place at his table, and eat the other as he watched the first one melt. After a month or so, the owner couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Listen,” he told the man. “I’ve watched you come in every Thursday and order an ice cream sundae you never eat. What gives?”
“Well,” the customer explained. “I’m a physicist. And I know that, according to quantum mechanics, there is a small but measurable chance that a beautiful woman will spontaneously generate in the chair next to me. I figure that, if that woman likes ice cream, she’ll appreciate the ice cream sundae. And then I might be able to talk to her.”
“But look,” said the owner, “there are dozens of beautiful women in here. Why don’t you buy one of THEM an ice cream sundae—then maybe SHE would talk to you.”
“Sure,” says the physicist. “But what are the chances of THAT happening?”
________________________
Most often, thought, smart jokes actually reflect the idea that the smart people are in really pretty dumb. If you’ve ever played Dungeons and Dragons, the protagonists have high intelligence but low wisdom. Or, to put it a bit more ethnically: They’re lacking a yidishe kopf.
_________________________
The family’s son was a dolt. There was no doubt about it. No matter how life slapped him in the face, he never gained an ounce of sense. Finally, the desperate family sent the son to Harvard, in the hopes that the great University could knock some sense into his head.
At the end of four years, the son finally returned.
“So tell me, my son,” says his father. “Have you learned?”
“Yes, father,” he said. “I have learned.”
The father goes into the next room and takes off his wedding ring. He holds it in his clenched fist, and goes back to his son. “Tell me, my son,” he says. “What do I have in my hand?”
His son ponders. “Well,” he says. “Let’s see. I can tell by my studies of anatomy that you’re holding something round.”
His father is quite impressed by this. “Go on,” he says.
The son continues. “Furthermore, from my studies of geometry, I can tell that it has a hole in the middle.”
His father is beside himself with joy. “Yes!”
“Therefore,” concludes the son, “I deduce that you are holding a wagon wheel.”
Monday, August 9, 2010
H as in Heaven and Hell
This is the eighth of 26 columns I will be writing in August. It’s a kind of challenge to myself, to see if I can still meet a daily deadline. It’s been a long time since my CSN days!
______________________________
Heaven for the climate, hell for the conversation.
- Mark Twain
_______________________________
I suppose if I really wanted to, I could get in a great deal of trouble trying to be funny about Heaven and Hell.
It is pretty safe to point out that the standard versions of Heaven as portrayed in the popular media seem pretty dull—I mean, harp playing choruses of chubby babies? I would pay good money to avoid that.
Similarly, the Devil has been turned into a comic opera personality that nobody is really afraid of. And as for Hell itself—any spelunker with a tube of sunscreen is in pretty good shape.
Of course, these have nothing to do with the “real” Heaven and Hell of the various Western religions. I guess any approach to the Afterlife is bound to make people uncomfortable: which is why there are so many jokes about it.
__________________________________
A minister, a social worker and a lawyer die at about the same time, and find themselves in Heaven. They’re greeted by the Admitting Angel, who turns to the minister first.
“We’re very happy to have you with us,” says the Angel. He hands the minister a plain white robe and a silver halo, and shows him to a small, neatly appointed cottage where the minister is to stay.
“And you, too, are welcome,” the Angel says to the social worker. He hands the social worker a plain white robe and a silver halo, and shows her her own cottage where she is to stay.
“And you, too, are most welcome,” says the Angel to the lawyer. The Angel gives the lawyer a glistening white robe of the purest silk and a glowing golden halo. The Angel leads the lawyer to a luxurious 25 room mansion, with swimming pool, tennis court and gloriously tended garden.
“Listen,” says the lawyer, “I’m not complaining, but you gave the minister and social worker such plain accommodations, and you’re treating me like a king. What gives?”
“Well,” says the Angel, “ministers and social workers we got loads of. But you’re the first lawyer we’ve had up here in years!”
___________________________________
In one of his last novels, Robert Heinlein (no fan of organized religion, apparently) brings in Jehovah as a teeth-grating cliché of a little old Jewish man. Jehovah is accused of making it too hard to get into heaven. He responds that as far as HE is concerned, 12.5 percent of mankind getting into heaven is just fine. He never promised it would be easy!
___________________________________
A fellow from Chicago dies and goes to Hell. Knowing how tough Chicagoans are supposed to be, the Devil decides to take a personal interest in breaking the man’s spirit.
“First thing we’ll do is make things a little HOT for you,” chuckles the Devil. He turns the thermostat in Hell up a couple of notches. Before long the temperature has risen to well over 120 degrees.
The Devil pops in to check out his new visitor. The guy has taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. “Boy,” he says. “This is just like a spring afternoon, with the hot air blowin’ off the lake.”
The Devil turns up the thermostat again, and hurries back to his victim. The new guy has rolled up his sleeves. “Now this is real summer weather!” he yells. “All I need is a beach chair!”
At last, the Devil has had enough. He decides to change tactics. Instead of turning up Hell’s thermostat, he turns it all the way down. The fires of Hell go out. Icicles form everywhere. Snow begins to fall. From the next room, a joyous cry is heard from the new guy.
The Devil hurries down the hall, and spies the new guy leaping up and down in ecstasy, bellowing at the top of his lungs: “The Cubs have won the World Series! The Cubs have won the World Series!”
(Yes, another baseball joke. Sue me.)
______________________________
Heaven for the climate, hell for the conversation.
- Mark Twain
_______________________________
I suppose if I really wanted to, I could get in a great deal of trouble trying to be funny about Heaven and Hell.
It is pretty safe to point out that the standard versions of Heaven as portrayed in the popular media seem pretty dull—I mean, harp playing choruses of chubby babies? I would pay good money to avoid that.
Similarly, the Devil has been turned into a comic opera personality that nobody is really afraid of. And as for Hell itself—any spelunker with a tube of sunscreen is in pretty good shape.
Of course, these have nothing to do with the “real” Heaven and Hell of the various Western religions. I guess any approach to the Afterlife is bound to make people uncomfortable: which is why there are so many jokes about it.
__________________________________
A minister, a social worker and a lawyer die at about the same time, and find themselves in Heaven. They’re greeted by the Admitting Angel, who turns to the minister first.
“We’re very happy to have you with us,” says the Angel. He hands the minister a plain white robe and a silver halo, and shows him to a small, neatly appointed cottage where the minister is to stay.
“And you, too, are welcome,” the Angel says to the social worker. He hands the social worker a plain white robe and a silver halo, and shows her her own cottage where she is to stay.
“And you, too, are most welcome,” says the Angel to the lawyer. The Angel gives the lawyer a glistening white robe of the purest silk and a glowing golden halo. The Angel leads the lawyer to a luxurious 25 room mansion, with swimming pool, tennis court and gloriously tended garden.
“Listen,” says the lawyer, “I’m not complaining, but you gave the minister and social worker such plain accommodations, and you’re treating me like a king. What gives?”
“Well,” says the Angel, “ministers and social workers we got loads of. But you’re the first lawyer we’ve had up here in years!”
___________________________________
In one of his last novels, Robert Heinlein (no fan of organized religion, apparently) brings in Jehovah as a teeth-grating cliché of a little old Jewish man. Jehovah is accused of making it too hard to get into heaven. He responds that as far as HE is concerned, 12.5 percent of mankind getting into heaven is just fine. He never promised it would be easy!
___________________________________
A fellow from Chicago dies and goes to Hell. Knowing how tough Chicagoans are supposed to be, the Devil decides to take a personal interest in breaking the man’s spirit.
“First thing we’ll do is make things a little HOT for you,” chuckles the Devil. He turns the thermostat in Hell up a couple of notches. Before long the temperature has risen to well over 120 degrees.
The Devil pops in to check out his new visitor. The guy has taken off his jacket and loosened his tie. “Boy,” he says. “This is just like a spring afternoon, with the hot air blowin’ off the lake.”
The Devil turns up the thermostat again, and hurries back to his victim. The new guy has rolled up his sleeves. “Now this is real summer weather!” he yells. “All I need is a beach chair!”
At last, the Devil has had enough. He decides to change tactics. Instead of turning up Hell’s thermostat, he turns it all the way down. The fires of Hell go out. Icicles form everywhere. Snow begins to fall. From the next room, a joyous cry is heard from the new guy.
The Devil hurries down the hall, and spies the new guy leaping up and down in ecstasy, bellowing at the top of his lungs: “The Cubs have won the World Series! The Cubs have won the World Series!”
(Yes, another baseball joke. Sue me.)
Sunday, August 8, 2010
G as in Gorilla
This is the seventh of 26 columns I will be writing in August. It’s a kind of challenge to myself, to see if I can still meet a daily deadline. It’s been a long time since my CSN days!
__________________________________
Q: Where does a 1200 pound gorilla sit?
A: Anywhere it wants to!
___________________________________
For decades, I have been fascinated by gorillas. (Some folks say that there’s a family resemblance, but I think I’ve got somewhat more hair.) (Except on top.)
Monkeys aren’t all that interesting: they wander around in gangs and throw crap at each other—acting for all the world like a typical bunch of teenage boys.
But gorillas, on the other hand, are a little more sedate. They’re far more likely to sit around, picking fleas off each other and having sex. Unless, of course, something makes them angry, in which case they become a murderous, raging mob.
Rather like the typical viewers of FOX News.
__________________________________________
Q: Why do gorillas have such big noses?
A: Because they’ve got such big fingers!
__________________________________________
Koko was a gorilla taught to use American Sign Language by scientists. There was a hotly debated question about whether animals could really “use language,” whatever that means. Koko pretty much settled the issue when she learned to curse.
Even the great apes can’t be toilet trained, so many of the gorillas studied in the US wear, well, diapers. The ASL sign for “soiled” or “dirty” is (as modified for Koko in any case) is to tap one’s chin with the back of one’s hand. (Rather like an Italian American salute, only rotate 90 degrees).
One day, a visitor came into Koko’s lab, only to accidentally stand on the gorilla’s doll. Koko was infuriated, especially when the visitor didn’t move. She finally signed (as translated by one of her trainers): “Get off of dolly, you dirty man.”
(There’s also film of Koko, one evening after everyone had gone home, swinging in a bored manner from her favorite tire swing, and idly tapping her chin. She was spending a lonely evening at home cursing to herself: “Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty….”)
_______________________________________
I don’t think much of this joke myself, but it seems to be the most popular gorilla joke on the Internet:
One day, a man comes home from work to find a gorilla perched in the tree outside his house. Naturally, he calls animal control.
Within the hour, an animal trainer arrives in a big, white-panel truck. He unloads his equipment, including a long stick, a pit bull, a net, and a shotgun.
“What’s all that stuff for?” demands the man.
“It’s simple,” the trainer explains. “I climb the tree and poke the gorilla with the stick. This will tickle the gorilla until it laughs and loses its grip. When it falls to the ground, the pit bull will grab the gorilla where it counts. While the gorilla is thus immobilized, I jump down from the tree, throw the net over the great ape and the problem is solved.”
“That makes sense,” says the man. “But what’s the gun for?”
“That’s for you,” says the trainer. “If I should fall out of the tree first—SHOOT THE DOG!”
__________________________________
Q: Where does a 1200 pound gorilla sit?
A: Anywhere it wants to!
___________________________________
For decades, I have been fascinated by gorillas. (Some folks say that there’s a family resemblance, but I think I’ve got somewhat more hair.) (Except on top.)
Monkeys aren’t all that interesting: they wander around in gangs and throw crap at each other—acting for all the world like a typical bunch of teenage boys.
But gorillas, on the other hand, are a little more sedate. They’re far more likely to sit around, picking fleas off each other and having sex. Unless, of course, something makes them angry, in which case they become a murderous, raging mob.
Rather like the typical viewers of FOX News.
__________________________________________
Q: Why do gorillas have such big noses?
A: Because they’ve got such big fingers!
__________________________________________
Koko was a gorilla taught to use American Sign Language by scientists. There was a hotly debated question about whether animals could really “use language,” whatever that means. Koko pretty much settled the issue when she learned to curse.
Even the great apes can’t be toilet trained, so many of the gorillas studied in the US wear, well, diapers. The ASL sign for “soiled” or “dirty” is (as modified for Koko in any case) is to tap one’s chin with the back of one’s hand. (Rather like an Italian American salute, only rotate 90 degrees).
One day, a visitor came into Koko’s lab, only to accidentally stand on the gorilla’s doll. Koko was infuriated, especially when the visitor didn’t move. She finally signed (as translated by one of her trainers): “Get off of dolly, you dirty man.”
(There’s also film of Koko, one evening after everyone had gone home, swinging in a bored manner from her favorite tire swing, and idly tapping her chin. She was spending a lonely evening at home cursing to herself: “Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty. Dirty….”)
_______________________________________
I don’t think much of this joke myself, but it seems to be the most popular gorilla joke on the Internet:
One day, a man comes home from work to find a gorilla perched in the tree outside his house. Naturally, he calls animal control.
Within the hour, an animal trainer arrives in a big, white-panel truck. He unloads his equipment, including a long stick, a pit bull, a net, and a shotgun.
“What’s all that stuff for?” demands the man.
“It’s simple,” the trainer explains. “I climb the tree and poke the gorilla with the stick. This will tickle the gorilla until it laughs and loses its grip. When it falls to the ground, the pit bull will grab the gorilla where it counts. While the gorilla is thus immobilized, I jump down from the tree, throw the net over the great ape and the problem is solved.”
“That makes sense,” says the man. “But what’s the gun for?”
“That’s for you,” says the trainer. “If I should fall out of the tree first—SHOOT THE DOG!”
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