If I was told that I had to tell a joke or be killed, there would be no contest; I’d be killed.
I always remember the punchline and forget the joke, or tell the joke and forget the punchline.
A couple of years ago I was buying a pen in a very pricey stationary store on Broadway. It’s the kind of store where everybody speaks in hushed tones, and they very reverently take out the pen you would buy anywhere else for 99 cents.
As they take it out, they call you Madam, and ask if the gentleman who just left your side would be interested in seeing a fountain pen. Nothing in this store makes sense. It’s a throw back to a 1940’s’ movie.
A store clerk told me a joke. It’s so bad I cat forget it. It was hard to believe that a worker in this store would tell any joke.
“What’s the difference between snow men and snow women?”
I almost fell down laughing, and felt as if I ruined the decorum in the store. My friend was very ashamed to have been seen with me and walked out of the store so that nobody else would know we were together.
All the other workers looked at the one who told me the joke as if he were about to be fired. I don’t know why he picked me to tell this joke to, why he told it in the first place, or if he did get fired.
But I’ll always be grateful to him for there is one joke in the world I can tell.
However, if people were going to kill me for not being able to tell a joke, and I told this one they most probably would still kill me.
So what good is it?