Steve Martaindale

Author of the JP Weiscarver Mystery Series

Wait for it

As much as we may groan, something inside us takes pleasure in a bad joke.

Don’t confuse this with a dirty joke.

Boy 1: “Wanna hear a dirty joke?”

Boy 2: “Sure.”

Boy 1: “A white horse rolled in a mud puddle.”

Yeah, that’s what I mean by a bad joke.

Girl 1: “Wanna hear a knock-knock joke?”

Girl 2: “Sure.”

Girl 1: “OK, you start.”

Girl 2: “Knock-knock.”

Girl 1: “Who’s there?”

Girl 2: “Uh…”

My wife and I caught up with an old friend last week, a woman we haven’t seen in more than 15 years. This woman is incredibly intelligent and so good at her work that she was able, a few years ago, to tell her employers she would begin working from home online instead of driving into the city and they were glad to agree to anything to keep her happy. (May not be an exact portrayal of how events played out, but I’m sure it’s close.)

Friend: “You wanna hear my favorite joke?”

Me: “Sure.”

It may help to know she was giggling so much she was having trouble talking.

Friend: “What do you call a fish with no eye?”

Me: “Uh, it doesn’t matter what you call it, the fish won’t come to you.”

Friend: “No,” followed by more giggling.

Me: “I give up. What do you call a fish with no eye?”

Friend: “Fsh!”

That’s your cue, dear reader. Tell us a bad joke.

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