Is there any greater pain to endure in life, than sitting in a room with people, when one of them tries to tell a joke, and the person has no delivery style?.
Everyone starts to squirm (in my case, doubling over in agony), you can hear in their voice they know they are failing, they lose their train of tenuous though, and then deliver a punchline that makes no sense.
“Oh, I stuffed that up”.
People are at first silent, and then offer lame comfort, ‘I sorta understood it’.
But nay, not I, I will glower at you for the rest of the time I’m in your company.
Unless you can really tell a joke, DON’T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.
I couldn’t tell one to save my life, but I have a mechanism in my brain that tilts, and stops me from ever trying.
As soon as this guy started to tell the joke an instant pall fell upon the room, everyone knew this was going to be agony. If I were more of a compassionate man, I would have risen and said ‘STOP!!, you don’t want to do this, WE don’t want you to do this, don’t make me silence you’, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry.
Unless your name is Gilbert Gottfried, shut up, zip it!, shoosh!, don’t do it, don’t consider it, a whole lot of hush.
Photo courtesy of the Lost Wollongong Facebook group.
How better to watch John Waters Polyester than with fellow filth friends. ‘Robert the Vatican photographer’ thought we should all have pencil line mustaches, so with an ill begotten eyeliner pencil, he drew them on us. I haplessly flinched at a bad moment, so my Mo was a bit wonky, it actually made me look as if i’d had a grand mal stroke.
Any evening involving scratch and sniff is a good evening.
