A CASE OF BAD GAS

Brain Fart Number 2

I’ve never been any good at telling jokes.

No. That’s not quite right.

What I should say is: I am REALLY good at ruining jokes.

I mangle the setup. I forget the punchline or I tell it too soon or I just get it wrong. My most common offense: I laugh so hard when it comes to the punchline, I can’t spit it out – then when I finally do – it’s not nearly as funny as I’ve led my audience to believe it’s going to be, and they’re just disappointed by why the chicken crossed the road.

And to make matters worse, I love to tell – and ruin – jokes.

Then to make matters even worser, my Brain Candy fog means I often don’t understand said jokes.

“Ha-ha-ha,” people smile at me, patting me on the shoulder and exchanging subtle glances as they realize how off-track I’m running. “That’s funny Deirdre. Good for you …” 

So when Rachel sent a card the other day (thanks sweetie, loves!), I don’t think she knew what fire she was fanning when she included a couple of jokes in the card.

And this is what went down when I repeated one of the jokes for Rose.

Me: What did the egg say to the pot of boiling water?

Rose: I don’t know.

Me: I can’t get hard. I just got laid by a chick.

Then we laughed. I nailed the setup. I didn’t mangle or forget or over-laugh at the punchline. I told a joke with the finesse of Jon Stewart.

But wait, Chicken Lady. Don’t count your eggs before they hatch! I Because I can’t leave a successful joke well enough alone, I add …

Me: Though, I don’t know why an egg would be talking to a pot of boiling water.

Then, Rose and I burst out laughing for reals. I got the delivery right. I got the punchline. I just didn’t get the joke.