The Bad Joke Chronicles
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What Jokes May Come
I have reached a new low. I have begun to dream in bad
jokes. Sometime between 4 a.m. and 12 noon today I
actually had the following dream:
I am in a friend's house whom I have not seen for nearly a
year. Her family had grown in size and had also recently
become Indian - as in dots on the head, saris, their dogs
had been replaced by camels. That was strange enough.
(Although, in an unrelated but equally bizarre dream,
Woody Allen abducted me from my childhood home to assist
him in his anti-terrorism crusade via a canoe.) Anywho I
began telling this joke I had written to her family. The
thing is I had THOUGHT of the joke in my dream. I write
bad jokes all the time - awake. So this was a new
phenomenon. And, much like in my conscious hours, I
thought the joke was hilarious - we're talking funny of a
caliber unprecedented in the entire history of humor. The
joke you ask? What do you call a devout Christian with
diarrhea? Jesus Christ pooper star.
I know. Believe me, I know. It was a dream, and
therefore nearly excusable.