The man’s skinny as a Halloween skeleton and bald and going to be dead by six weeks so it don’t matter what he says, folks are going to hee-haw like donkeys just out of their genuine affection for him.īut, seriously, I’m not doing him justice. It’s my fault if this doesn’t come across, but my old man is funnier than he sounds.
Maybe his sense of humor is a talent I didn’t inherit. Back when I was his little Charlie McCarthy, the whole time I was growing up, he used to ask me, “Knock-knock?”Īnd he’d say, “Wow, I didn’t know you could yodel!” I was so stupid, I was seven years old and still stuck in the first grade. I didn’t know Switzerland from Shinola, but I want for my old man to love me so I learned to laugh. By “Old Lady” my guess is he means my mom who ran away and left us. He used to ask me, “When that Vinnie van Gogh cut off his ear and sent it to the whore he was so crazy about, how’d he send it?” All’s my old man will say about her is how she was a “Real Looker” who just couldn’t take a joke. The punch line is “He sent it by ‘ear mail,’ ” but being seven years old, I was still stuck back on not knowing who van Gogh is or what’s a whore, and nothing kills a joke faster than asking my old man to explain himself. So when my old man says, “What do you get when you cross a pig with Count Dracula?”…I knew to never ask, “What’s a ‘Count Dracula’?” I’d just get a big laugh ready for when he tells me, “A ‘Ham-pire’!”Īnd I say, “Who’s there?” And he says, “Radio.”Īnd I say, “Radio who?” And he’s ALREADY started to bust a gut when he says, “Radio not I’m going to cum in your mouth…” Then-what the hell-I just keep laughing. Me, my teachers still haven’t covered long division and all the multiple-cation tables so it’s not my old man’s fault I don’t know what’s “cum.” My whole growing up I figure I’m just too ignorant to appreciate a good joke. My old lady, who abandoned us, he says she hated that joke so maybe I inherited her lack of humor. But love…I mean you have to love your old man. I mean, after you’re born it’s not like you get a choice. Nobody wants to see their old man breathing out of some tank and going into the hospital to die sky-high on morphine and he’s not eating a bite of the red-flavored Jell-O they serve for dinner.
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