John John is almost 6 and the world of knock-knock jokes has arrived unceremoniously on our door step. I vaguely remember some David Cross bit that had to do with hating family gatherings because of all the knock-knock jokes he had to endure from his nieces and nephews, and I only am thinking about it for the first time because we are literally under assault.
The thing is, knock-knock jokes are by nature totally lame. How could they become even less tolerable? By kids thinking that the structure of the joke is the joke, so as the adult we are forced to part-take in meaningless set ups like, “Knock knock,” “Who’s there?” “Truck.” “Truck who?” “Truckee,” (then child laughs maniacally) or whathaveyou. I made that one up to represent because the actual versions I’ve been told, which have been so so many, are so unmemorable I cannot even recall a single one. I believe that today alone I have endured dozens. Literally zero made the recall grade. I really tried but, nothing.
However! There can be a silver lining to such inanity. Especially if you are married to John Hoppin! At breakfast today, we were both indulging John John as he was bandying about his new found craft. We even told him some vintage knock-knock jokes of the “orange you glad I didn’t say banana” variety. But it went on so long and knock-knock patience was wearing thin….when John turned to John John and said:
“Who’s there?” said John John, delighted that Papa was playing the game.
“Your father who?”
“It’s your father,” said John, “Open the door.”
I immediately started crying from laughter, which made John start crying from laughter. For minutes we were laughing so hard no sound came out, wiping our eyes in a feedback loop of hysteria. John John got so mad at us, partly because he didn’t understand what was so funny, but mostly because we were no longer being his knock-knock pawns.
It’s been hours and I still can hardly write this out because it is cracking me up so hard. Either it was hilarious or my brain has been cracked by too much child humor; I can’t tell.
My pee smelled like an old library book. #shucks
People my age shouldn’t take nude selfies.
My junk looks like half eaten nachos.
Saggy chips. Coagulated cheese.
Mess with it and you’ll hate yourself afterwards.
My mom used to tell me that women didn’t fart. I believed her. I was naive.
Then I got lucky.
When I woke up in the morning she ripped a fart.
I thought, “Good Lord, I’ve lost my virginity to a man.”
People say, “I was so happy, I was on cloud nine.”
Meanwhile, I’m on cliff nine.
When I lived in New York city, I had season tickets for the opera. To take girls. It was expensive to get those tickets, but it was a great date.
I’d buy a couple glasses of champagne and we’d drink it on the balcony overlooking the fountains.
I sat way up on top where you could see the gold leaf peeling off of the ceiling. It was what I could afford.
I asked my date, “Baby, have you ever been to the opera?”
She said, “Yes I have. But I never sat so far away.”
Somewhere, there’s a sold-out arena full of people jostling to tell me that I stink. And the promoter skips town without paying me.
A kid’s parents take a break from screaming at each other just long enough to tell her, “Get a real job.” And then they go back to banging pots and pans.
Only what you see here is real, there is nothing else. There are infinite dimensions, all of them are infinitely exactly like this one. All of them have bad jokes, just like these.
Why would I ever take advice? Isn’t the person giving advice saying: hey, you should copy me and do what I did so that the best you’ll turn out is a second-rate copy of me. Or, that you should do this thing that I don’t know anything about because I haven’t done it myself.
I’m not really into politics,
I’m into drugs.
I wish they had a national rifle association for drug users. They could lobby to have open carry drug laws. Making the connection would be a lot easier.
When you have a gun, you can pull the trigger and kill somebody. But if you have drugs, you can only kill yourself. What are you doing messing around with jokes anyways, you have better stuff to do.
I’m into soft drugs, not hard drugs. So I would never use rock cocaine. Only the soft kind.
If you buy Stoned Wheat Thins at the store, the cashier knows right?
You’d have to be on drugs to be into politics.
What if they called it, Don’t Kill Your Family Thursday? The Indians and the Pilgrims might have done better.
Scheduling medical appointments is difficult.
If you get one detail wrong you are likely to get everything screwed up.
You can be on the phone with them and say, Hello, my name is John I’ve talked to you every day since last Friday, this is Rudy right? I’m still trying to get that appointment for next Monday the 30th at the office in San Francisco. Excuse me, I misspoke, the 30th is a Tuesday.
Okay, no problem, Rudy says, I can schedule you now.
Great you say, I’ve been calling you about this appointment since last week, great, I am glad to get this taken care of.
No problem, I’m scheduling you for your appointment Tuesday the 30th in Egypt.
In Egypt?? you say.
Yes, in Cairo– Oh, I’m sorry I thought you said Monday, Rudy says.
You’ll have to call back tomorrow.