Angst-Jöken: One Tired Mono-Amorist
On nothing but a dare, a professional unicyclist from Ohio plans to cross the Gobi desert. After many months of training, riding everyday and getting in great shape as he practices over bumps, gravel, sand and hills, after thousands of dollars spent on getting a special ultra-light, variable traction, high endurance tire, and fitting the seat and post with the latest in unicycle instrumentation- or uvionics, as the pros call them- he flies to China and prepares the expedition by buying a Bactrian camel named Lars to port his supplies. And so one day, he begins, setting out from Urumki in China to Dalandzadgad, Mongolia, sporting a cheery sombrero that says " Cleveland- Chili's!" and leading a reluctant Lars with a camel leash, as a small crowd of locals cheer him on.
Months later, in the chilled grip of February, Mongolian police scanning the horizon with binoculars spy a haunted, skeletal-thin Caucasian man approaching outer Dalandzadgad wearing nothing but a crude jacket made of raw camel hide, and teetering, yes, on a rusted, sand-blasted hulk of a unicycle. Quickly recognizing that this may be the American sportsman long given up for dead, they rush to his aid, but he refuses. Word spreads. Reporters gather, children run along at his feet. As he reaches the city limits, he dismounts, shaking with cold, the unicycle falling to the ground. He blinks at the crowd, and the cameras, and opens his cracked lips to speak.
"In Ohio, I loved only unicycles. Now I love nothing."
2. Blind and Balanced.
A Tic Tac corporate salesman is diagnosed with incurable halitosis. Fired, he sues. But where there is no justice to be had, none is offered.
3. I Bid You Adieu
A musician, married now and in the burbs but nostalgic for his band touring days, has been seeking a rare guitar tube amplifier he used to have. Months of looking, and no luck. One day, lo and behold, the exact year and make of the beautiful amplifier comes up on Ebay. For two days, he carefully plans his bidding, checking prices, researching everything. Then the hour comes. He gets ready with coffee and meatloaf sandwich and tells his roughhousing children to go play. Focused, he scans the situation: there are two other serous bidders, both skilled as well, the prices going up very incrementally. He has a budget though, he can't just out-bid them. The price crawls higher and higher, and he's glued to the screen -even the squealing and yelping from outside doesn't distract him- and the last 10 minutes crawl by in sweaty tension. He and two other bidders duke it out -5 minutes now, and it's not a question of money, but timing. It feels like his youth is up for auction. He wants that amp.
The bid comes down to the last moment. He waits. The timing is like hitting that effects pedal the moment before you blast that power-chord. He judges, clicks, and hopes. Success! The amp is his! He raises his hands in triumph. With perfect satisfaction, he steps outside to breathe in the fresh air, and finds that his Airedale has drowned in the pool.
posted by JAB at 9:24 PM
5 Comments:
On completing my reading of joke #1, I LOLed. Then, I felt only emptiness and pity.
Pity is a bourgeoise affectation.
I came across an honest-to-goodness joke that originated in a concentration camp during WW2:
An SS officer is lining up prisoners to be shot but notices that one of them has blond hair and blue eyes.
"You there! You have the look of an Aryan about you. I think I will spare your life if you can pass a test of your faculties for observation.
"Now few know this, but I have a glass eye. It was made especially for me and is very realistic. If you can tell the glass eye from my remaining eye, I will spare you life."
The prisoner looks at the officer for a moment and then says "the glass eye is the one on the left."
"Amazing!" says the officer, "You are correct! But tell me, how did you deduce that my left eye was glass?"
"Simple" says the prisoner "It was the one with the most gleam of humanity in it."
Here is a Russian one, from the Wikipedia article on Russian jokes:
Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, two submarines, Soviet and American, come to the surface. The Soviet one is old and rusty; the American one is new and shiny.
On the Soviet one, the crew lounges about without any order, and a drunken captain yells at them: "Who threw a valenok (traditional Russian winter footwear made of felt) on the control board? I'm asking you, who threw a valenok on the control board?!"
From the American submarine, a shaved, sober and well-dressed captain, notes sarcastically: "You know, folks, in America...".
The Russian captain interrupts him, screaming: "America? America??! There is none of your fucking America anymore!" (Turns back to the crew) "Who threw a valenok onto the control board?!"
I'm not sure these jokes are bleak enough.
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