Last week I told my psychiatrist, "I keep thinking about suicide." He told me from now on I have to pay in advance.
I love jokes. I love telling jokes. I love hearing jokes. Dirty jokes, clean jokes, clever jokes, puns, riddles, it doesn't matter.
What do you call a monkey in a minefield ? A Baboom!
Even a really bad joke can be made good in the telling and often, an inept joke teller is more entertaining than the joke itself.
I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my grandfather. Not screaming in terror like his passengers.
Men, in my experience, like jokes more than women. I don't know why.
His motto is "Love Thy Neighbor". His neighbor just turned 18.
I started thinking about jokes this weekend, listening to an interview with comedian Carol Leifer who credited her father for her love of jokes. This is the one she said was her father's favorite:
A man takes his pet chicken to the movies and the ticket taker tells him he can't bring a chicken into the theater. So the man ducks around the corner, tucks the chicken into his pants and walks in.
Halfway through the newsreel, the chicken gets squirmy. The guy zips open his fly and lets the chicken poke its head out.
After a few minutes, the woman sitting next to him whispers to her friend, "The man next to me unzipped his pants and his thing is out."
Her friend says, "So what? You've seen one, you've seen them all."
The woman says, "Yeah, but this one is eating my popcorn."
One of my father's favorite jokes was about the boy who wanted a pony. The punchline is "With all this horse shit, I know there's got to be a pony in here somewhere."
I've always thought that this was the perfect joke for my old man. He was an optimist to his bones.
So today, I'm looking for the pony. Because there certainly is enough horse shit.
Have a joke you like? Tell it, and bring a little light into the Dark Planet.