Paraprosdokian: “A figure of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase [or series = anticlimax] is surprising or unexpected in a way that causes the reader or listener to reframe the first part. . . . For this reason, it is extremely popular among comedians and satirists. An especially clever paraprosdokian not only changes the meaning of an early phrase, but also plays on the double meaning of a particular word.” (1)
“Give me a break, but not my leg! He was head over heels. His brother had decapitated him! I’m on a roll. Pass the ketchup! I raised my hand and farted. My science teacher told the class it was a gas! I was like a grain of sand on the beach, gritty and hot! My girlfriend bit my neck. The next time we went out, I insisted that we go out for a stake. I thought time had run out, but my watch’s battery was dead. How many beagles can dance on the head of a pin? None. Beagles don’t dance.” Me
I was addicted to two- or three-liner jokes. I was in a rehab group named “Ha. Ha,” said with a sarcastic tone of voice. At meetings we affected the Homo Seriosus demeanor described by Stanley Fish in Down the Anti-Foundationalist Road.
We were all failed comedians or plain everyday annoying people who had alienated their friends, families, and basically, everybody they met, with streams of one liners not even fit for a toilet.
The group’s only rule was “Don’t crack any of your stupid ass jokes.” If you cracked a joke you had to read the “Declaration of Independence” to the group in a solemn tone. Eventually, I got sick of reading it after 67 times, and quit the group.
I refashioned myself as the “Hokey Paradoky: Street Corner Funnyman.” I blurted one-liners at passersby while I held out a styrofoam cup that said “Deposit $1” on it. Usually, people would just keep going. But every once-in-awhile, somebody who was as warped as me would stop and deposit a dollar. One day, the owner of “Warpo’s Comedy Club” asked me to perform at his club.
The club specialized in dead baby jokes, a genre of humor popular in the 60’s. I was ok with that—I would’ve joked about old ladies falling down flights of stairs naked if I had to. My mind wasn’t wired to make up dead baby jokes, so I plagiarized my Schlick from the web. I managed to make up one though: “How dead babies does it take to screw in a lightbulb? None. They’re dead.” My stolen ones weren’t much better. For example: “How do you fit ten dead babies into a bowl? With a blender.” “What’s the difference between a dead baby and a granola bar? About 500 calories.” “What’s the difference between a dead baby and a moose. I don’t have a moose head mounted above my fireplace.” “What’s the difference between a dead baby and peanut butter? A dead baby won’t stick to the roof of your mouth.”
As soon as I did the peanut butter joke, a woman in the audience stood up and yelled, “Robber, thief, plagiarist. I wrote that!” I was screwed. It was Marmy Ridex, the famous “Dead Baby” lady. Her act was revered among dead baby aficionados. Everybody recognized her. I ran out the fire exit and almost made it to my car when Marmy caught up with me. She hurled what looked like a dead baby at me, but, thank God, it was one of those anatomically correct CPR dolls. Then, she hurled a yellow liquid- filled plastic ba-ba at me and yelled, “What’s the difference between a bucket of baby guts and gravel?” I freaked out. I didn’t know the answer. She yelled and held up jar full of something: “You can’t gargle gravel.” I applauded and she dropped the jar. It had some kind of disgusting goo leaked out of it when it shattered on the pavement.
Trying lighten things up, I said “Hey baby, let’s get a drink.” Marmy laughed and nodded her head. When we got to the bar, she ordered a “Rosemary Baby” and I ordered a “Baby Stout.”
We fell in love.
1. “Paraprosdokian.” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. 4 Jan 2008, 03:30 UTC. Wikimedia Foundation, Inc. 9 Jan 2008 <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paraprosdokian>
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