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Transgressive Jokes and Western Civilization
The day that the Challenger blew up, I was sitting in a lounge area adjacent to the cafeteria with some friends when another friend came up.
He said in an obviously joking tone, “Hey, do you know what NASA stands for?”
I bit, “No, what does it stand for?”
“Need Another Seven Astronauts?”
Talk about going from disaster to humor in nothing flat, he had it down to a few hours. These days, I’m sure he would have followed up with, “Too soon?” Of course, that joke had probably been a variant of one from Apollo 1, where it might have been, “Need Another Set of Astronauts,” so the speed came through recycling.
When the subject of the Challenger explosion came up recently, I thought about that moment. If someone today, especially a university student, cracked a tasteless joke like that on the day of a disaster, the authorities would lock him up, clear the building, and provide psychological counseling for all who had been triggered by his obtuseness towards the feelings of the snowflakes around him.
Back at that time, I had a job at the university, and my boss’ boss was a black man with an Irish last name. One day, he announced he had gotten an invitation to attend the World (his surname) Gathering in Ireland.
“Can you see me strutting in there?” he asked while acting out the strut. He imagined he would say, “‘Hi! I’m just here to add a little color to the gathering!’”
Then he looked over at me, “Hey, Charley! You know why white men dress as they do on the golf course?”
“No, Doc, why do they?”
He waved at his outfit, which included bright colors and plaid pants, “So they can dress as cool as black men do every day.”
Can you imagine anyone doing that today? Yes, the target of the humor might be construed as white men, or the target might be seen as black fashion choices.
I grew up with all sorts of transgressive jokes. We learned to laugh. We learned to have humor in horrible situations.
Q. What is Al Qaeda’s favorite football team?
A. The New York Jets.
We were not brittle. Like iron, we were worked hard with a bit of carbon (or manure) thrown our way to make us tough and flexible steel.
Some of that manure thrown our way was in the form of ethnic jokes:
Q. How does a Polack tie his shoe?
A. *The guy puts one foot up on a chair and bends down to tie the shoe on the other foot, which is on the ground.*
Q: How can you tell if a WASP is sexually excited?
A: The stiff upper lip.
Q. How can you tell when a Scotsman is dead?
A. He lets go of his wallet.
We learned to tell dirty jokes without being offended or offensive:
Q. What’s black and white, black and white, black and white, black and white, and green?
A. Four nuns fighting over a pickle.
In many ways, these jokes which would be considered offensive today were the glue that held us together. They were the hammers we were forged with. They were the naughty coals that warmed our hearts. These jokes were the building bricks of a cohesive civilization.
Sure, they could be sick and cruel or even gross:
Q. What’s red and white and hangs from the ceiling?
A. A baby on a meat hook.
Q. What’s green and hangs from the ceiling?
A. Same baby three weeks later.
Or they might make fun of people with disabilities:
Q. What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs when he’s on your porch?
A. Matt.
Q. What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs when he’s in the ocean?
A. Bob.
Hey, did you hear about the hockey game at the leper colony? There was a face off in the corner.
And they certainly made fun of professions:
Q. What do you call a lawyer with an IQ of 100?
A. Your Honor.
Q. What do you call a lawyer with an IQ of 50
A. Senator.
Q. What’s the difference between an accountant and a lawyer?
A. Accountants know they’re boring.
Q. How do you know you’re talking to an extroverted actuary?
A. He looks at your shoes when he talks.
The only way for us to preserve Western Civilization is to get back to joking without worrying about who might be offended. So, give us your best. Disaster jokes? Go for it! Nun jokes? Dead baby jokes? Mommy, mommy jokes? Leper jokes? Quadruple-amputee jokes? Rude limericks? Bring ’em on.
Just remember that we still have a CoC on Ricochet, so clean up your language, you etaoin shrdlus.
Published in Group Writing
Prison rape.
If you are into classical music, it would be a violist.
It all depends on what follows.
Jesus on the cross calls out for Peter. Peter fights his way to Jesus through the Romans, getting beaten and stabbed along the way. Barely alive, he finally drags himself to the foot of the cross.
“Peter…”
“Yes, Lord?”
“I can see your house from up here!”
I believe they were called “Personnel” back then.
Surely you can rectify that?
I believe it Lenny Bruce who walked on stage the night after the JFK assassination and opened his show with “Man, poor Vaughn Meader”.
A group of violists heard that another violist was able to play hemi-demi-demi-quavers*. So they gathered around him, “Is it true?” they asked.
He picked up his viola and played one very short note, “Would you like to hear another?”
* A quaver is an eighth note, so the hemi-demi-semi-quaver is a sixty-fourth note.
Steve Martin: “A banjo has a steel frame with a stretched skin covering and four strings, whereas a guitar will get you laid”.
(Not the exact quote, at least about the description of banjo, but you get the idea)
You mean like the difference between a truckload of bowling balls and a truckload of dead babies?
What’s red and white and spins around very fast?
A baby in a blender.
That’s actually one of the only two I know, and the other is a sight gag.
I read that he, for some reason, almost idolized JFK. Everyone in the audience was wondering what he would say.
Sometimes, you gotta go with your gut. I read that when Chet Baker was touring Europe, he played with Benito Mussolini’s son. He didn’t know what to say and came up with, “Gee, it’s a drag about your old man.”
What’s blue and crawls half-way across the floor?
A baby in a plastic bag.
I’ll bite. What’s the difference?
Don’t … don’t … just don’t ask …
Too late.
My favorite joke of all time; one in which I didn’t have to redact my language in front of my mom (she loved it too). Although I do regret the time I told it when my parish priest was right behind me in the bar line …
The three stages of marriage:
Kitchen sex. You’re so hot for each other you’re knocking it out on the kitchen table.
Bedroom sex. Still hot, but now confined to the bed.
Hallway sex. When you walk past each other in the hall and say: **** you.
I knew there had to be a purpose for those things
Oh. You mean oral sex.
I know… You can use a pitchfork to unload dead babies.
From jokes too hot or tasteless to handle, to “stuff” too hot or ….
Folks, please, please, do your part to elevate the tone of the June group writing theme, “Hot Stuff!” We still have several open days as the summer season starts. Please stop by and sign up to share your own angle on the topic, however loosely construed.
Don’t let another disco inferno flare up.
I’m late to the party, but…
What do you call 3 lepers in a hot tub?
Soup
Why did the leper fail his driving exam?
Kept leaving his foot on the brake
When are we going to start a stream on Dad Jokes?
Feel free to start your own thread, although these things work best on Friday afternoon. Next Friday could be yours.
I prefer the punchline “You can’t unload a truck full of bowling balls with a pitchfork”.
That’s no longer a joke in Virginia, NY, and Illinois.
Then there’s the story about the Indian who arrived at the trading post and said his squaw and his papoose were very tired and footsore from walking many miles.
Man at trading center to whom the Indian was speaking: “Well why is the kid tired and footsore. Doesn’t your wife have one of those baskets on her back ?”
Indian: “No room for both of us in basket.”
Why was Helen Keller unable to drive?
…
…
She was a woman.
That one deserves a Hey-o.