Anyway, it all started out innocently enough the other day. The Queen and I were on our way to one of her seemingly endless doctor's appointments when I tried to make her laugh with a lame joke. I don't recall which one it was, but it might have been the one about the pregnant prostitute and the can of beans. I've been telling that one a lot lately.
The Queen rewarded my feeble attempts at humor with a small smile and then started riffing off an old joke that I had told her years ago. It's a stupid bar joke that goes: "Three guys walk into a bar. The fourth one ducked."
Most people, when you tell them that joke, look at you and say either "I don't get it." or "What's the rest of the joke?" I tell it more for the reactions I get out of people than any humor value to the joke itself. What can I say? I have to find ways to amuse myself sometimes.
Back to our story, the Queen starts off the laugh in with: "Three ducks walk into a bar. The fourth on ducked." Subtle, yet refined.
Needless to say, we started beating that horse to death for the next half hour of being stuck in traffic. Some of the better ones were:
Three hamburgers walked into a bar. The fourth one had to catsup.
Three hotdogs walked into a bar. The fourth one relished it.
Three rabbits walked into a bar. The fourth one had a wild hare up his butt.
There were others, but I can't remember some of them and some of them should probably be forgotten.
Ooh. I just remembered the joke I told The Queen. An acquaintance posted this as his Facebook status:
A wealthy man, a cowboy and a drunkard go into a bar. All three order a beer. When the bartender returns with their drinks, all three beers had a fly floating in the brew. The rich man politely asks the bartender for a replacement, and politely begins sipping from the new mug. The cowboy pours out just enough beer to get rid of the fly and calmly begins quaffing the remainder of the beer. The drunkard plucks the fly from his beer, holds it by the wings and starts yelling "SPIT IT OUT! SPIT IT OUT!".