I Remember Jokes

But most people don’t. They should. Then they’d be more like me. Strike that–I don’t want a bunch of me’s out there.

Remembering jokes is like remembering dreams for most people; it just slips through. Because they’re slimy. Jokes slither where few else dare to tread, leaving no tracks in the memory.

I was looking at this pack of incense sticks in the hippie heath food store when I noticed one with a very strange name. “Virgin of Guadalupe?!” I asked aloud. “What would the Virgin of Guadalupe smell like?”

“Fresh,” answered the passing hippie store clerk.

See, I remember that. It’s a good memory. Jokes make for good memories if you just take the time to grab ’em by the tail before they slither off. You should always be able to make yourself laugh just by recollecting funny shit.

Because if you can do that then–then–then you’d be more like me… Strike that, keep yourself laugh-deprived.

People who make jokes need to start a tradition of occasional allusions to other jokes. All the other art forms do it. They keep each other relevant that way, like academics who quote other academics who quote them. It’s part of the inherent circle-jerk nature of culture.

Here, let me show you–look into this microscope:`Microscope1See?

Now that was a Python joke, from the Scottish UFO skit. Relevant once again thanks to me. And you were going to let that joke die!

Great jokes shouldn’t die. Not right away. They should last as long as great poems, which is like what, 100 years? Something like that.

When great jokes live on within you then you live on within their greatness. And you become more…more…more like me.

Strike that, let ’em die. You don’t want to be like me and laugh out loud by yourself in the supermarket. You can get hauled off for that. And for good reason too–out of context laughter is a threat to any decent social order.

Here, let me show you:`Microscope2

They say that if our memories were too distinct we’d die from all the recollected pain. So if we could remember all the laughs all at once we’d get hauled off.

And then you’d really be like me. And that’s no good.

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