Sunday, July 1, 2012

103. Jokes

“There once was a man from Falloonia … let’s see, petunia, cartoonia? Hmmm. Oh hi, Big Dope, come to see my new act?”

It goes without saying that I was stunned. It seems that C.W.’s latest career effort is that of a standup comedian. He wanted my opinion. Sure.

“How’s this for an opener?” he said, waving an arm draped in a blue silk shirt. His form was somewhere between Dick Cheney on steroids and Elvis on carbohydrates. Before I could respond, he began.

“It’s good to see you folks,” he said. “I know it’s tough being away from your cousins for a night to come see the show, but I see some of you just brung them along.” Then he paused in case someone laughed. “In case one gets restless, the ushers are standing by to toss them a treat.”

He grinned.

Until that point, I don’t think I had ever judged his recklessness, and told him so.

“Wait ‘till we get to the political segment,” he said. Then he lit out.

“What is it with these conservatives and job creation? Talk about obsessions. Why, you could be the devil’s own stepbrother but say ‘I create jobs, yeah jobs, whores, pimps, and drug dealers’ and they would say ‘sign right here brother. You’re okay.’”

He waited for effect and then continued.

And these pledges not to vote for Texas. What’s with that? Those people can’t help it. Why pick on …”

I interrupted at this point. “C.W., I think the pledge is not to vote for taxes, not Texas."


“Yes, taxes.”

“Why that don’t make no sense. How you gonna pay for things without taxes? They must treat credit card debt like my wife treats makeup. Pile it on and forget about it until it starts scaring the children or making the horses bolt.”

“Your wife?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of poetic license?”

What was the use?

“So take my wife. She’s the only one I know that buys Hamburger Helper in five-gallon buckets. The Alka-Seltzer truck makes home deliveries for us. I ain’t saying she’s a bad cook but she is on Southern Living’s Ten Most Wanted List.” He paused. “She’s the one with the fish symbol tattooed on her forehead and the nose so big you can see Russia from it.”

He looked at me. I shrugged.

“The only person who will eat her food is my friend Big Dope,” he said. “And he would eat road-kill casserole if someone put it in front of him. You ought to see them planning a meal. It looks like two pigs trying to write poetry.”

I just watched.

“Here’s my bang-up ending,” he said. The he leaned forward.

“But seriously folks,” he said. “Have you ever wondered why a dog licks his …”

“Stop it,” I yelled. “There may be children around.”

“Master’s hand?” he said, ignoring me. “It ain’t love,” he continued. “It’s a taste test.”

I waited.

“As I wander among you people,” he said. “People say to me, ‘C.W. what chew doing?’ We don’t need no alien.”

Did you folks hear the one about the conservative
who was so dumb the other conservatives
started noticing it? - C.W.
 He leaned farther forward.

“I just tell them,” he said. “That you ain’t halleluiah’n if you ain’t tried Falloonian.”

I grimaced.

“You folks have been great. I know it’s hard to go this long without a Mountain Dew.” he said, then looked at me. “How’s that for a wrap-up?”

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