The Joke Center

Welome.

This is weird for me, but I decided rather than embarrass my children any further with long Facebook posts about obscure (but very important) matters, I would start a blog.

Not very much of it will be serious.  Mostly crap that passes through my head.  Some of it I think about a lot.  And some of it, not-so-much. 

I hope you find it entertaining.  I hope it makes you smile, cuz chances are, I smiled and that is why I want to share it. 

The Joke Center

As an introduction to my brain world, I want you to see where my crazy notions come from — The Joke Center.  It is located in a high rise building in New York.  I have a doorman, named Marcus.  Great guy, works hard sometimes, but can be seen slacking and talking to the hookers that pass by.

I get a handful of visitors every day.  Marcus lets them in, although he never calls up to tell me who has arrived.

They knock on the door of my small apartment.  I never know who it will be, but most are welcome.

There’s the sophisticated poodle carrying lady.  Welcome, m’lady, won’t you come in and have a seat?  These jokes are usually pretty sedate.  The kind people Titter at.  The poodle lady smooths her skirt, drinks tea and makes small talk jokes.  They work in some situations.  Some days she is all that comes over. Welcome stuffy lady.

The bootie short wearlng, gum smacking, wine drinking hooker.  One knock, that’s what I get, and in she comes.  These are trashy jokes.  Usually made when a little tipsy or sleep deprived.  Can be funny, but a little risque.  Once she is in, there is no telling what I might say.  Usually my girl friends say, “ohh nooo, you shouldn’t say that” and guys laugh and then take the joke torch themselves.

Have a seat, hoochie momma.

The wild card, the clever geek. Comes in through the window cuz Marcus has been warned to send him on his way if he moseys by.  He is a smooth operator, though, and has found other ways to get in.  Wears glasses (cuz he is clever not cuz he needs them) and I let him in every time.  Why not? He’s a geek, he’s harmless. He sits, grins, drinks all my coffee, and pushes up his black glasses on his nose just waiting for the right moment.  He is the best of all visitors, but also the worst.  His timing is impeccable.

He watches all the others with amusement, they are all so plebeian. 

Bam! His delivery can be virtually flawless.  Some of my best clever jokes come from him.  And some of them are bombs, 5 steps ahead of the conversation, and no one gets them.  I still like him though, glasses and all.

Get in here, sit down and be quiet.  (He won’t be quiet, but I like to be bossy.)

The secret visitor.  Always clever, but not so appropriate.  I let him in (who wouldn’t, he is hot) and I do not always share him.  I have been caught enjoying a joke with him on the sly– the telltale sign is that I am smiling to myself.  My friend Jervis is always on the lookout for him. He will ask me why I am smiling. He knows.  Come in my secret friend, sit yo sexy bum on the couch.

De bomb.  He stinks.  And he waits until Marcus is slacking, and sneaks on up.  He comes on days when I am clearly out of sorts.  He knocks  politely, looks good on the outside, but once he is in, he lets it rip.  Bad jokes, all day, all the time, in the back of my head.  I frequently “sssttt” him, like the dog whisperer.  Stinky man, why do you come to my apartment? Oh God help me, have a seat, but not on the furniture.

There are other visitors (the Cowboy, the Punster), but I think this is enough for now.

So, that is it.  I really am not Sybil. These people do not rattle around in my head/apartment.  Just the essence of them.  Those that know me have met some of these visitors. 

But,  I do like to think of my jokes as a knock on the door.  I always open it.  Why hello, why don’t you come on in?  Most of the time, it is a great visit.

Moses Dat (I will explain this at a later date).