I’ll be performing a little bit of stand-up comedy on April 10th at Carrabec High School in North Anson. A neighbor is battling cancer, and as often happens in Maine’s small rural communities, friends and family are gathering ‘round to offer emotional and financial support. When the folks organizing this benefit supper called and asked me if I would entertain the troops after the meal, I said ‘yes’. Of course I did.
I was calm, cool and collected. I had no worries. They were only asking for a half-hour’s worth of humor. No prob! Surely, that would be a piece of cake!
And then, it hit me. This was a community dinner. An event that families were coming out for. And families most often include… children.
Holy smokes. Children. Kids. Rug-rats, ankle-biters! Oh, no!!!
Please understand, it’s not that I don’t like kids: I do! I speak to tweens and teens in schools all the time, and I’ve raised three children of my own. Kids don’t intimidate me in the least, and I occasionally even enjoy their company. Really! Honest! I mean, I can, if I have to... But I am being asked to perform my particular brand of comedy at a benefit supper, and I’ve got to tell you… I am not ‘G’ rated!
This is a catastrophe in the making! You may just witness me self-destruct!
Oh, I have no doubt that children are sophisticated, nowadays, and probably anything I could say would be less offensive than what they hear on television or say themselves when amongst their peers. But the problem is, their parents will be in the audience, too! And I certainly do not want to get on the wrong side of some righteously indignant mothers and fathers!
So, I can’t relate the tale of the wet t-shirt contest gone dry. I can’t tell the story about the horny moose. Or the horny Corgi. Or the naked customer. I can’t relive the bonehead moment about my cleavage, or the one about my pantyhose and the errant bit of toilet tissue. Gone is the story about the Jehovah’s Witnesses, and the tale of the x-rated tool belt. I must keep silent concerning the f-bomb and the accidental pot plant. No one will be regaled by the tale of my encounter with strippers, or of broken dungaree zippers.
Help…
Seriously... HELP!!!
I need some ideas, here! I need people with minds uncorrupted by the earthiness that seems to have invaded my own to give me some clean material. I know it exists. I mean, I couldn’t have always had a bawdy sense of humor, right? Clearly, there must have been a time when I told jokes that were as pure as the new fallen snow. Funny stories which were inoffensive and mild? Surely, I wasn’t always this…this…
Damn. I’ve got nothing.
Okay. Desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s time for another contest. Readers of Grumbles and Grins have never let me down, yet!
Calling all purveyors of jolly jokes, innocent idioms, witty witticisms and quirky quips! I’ll even entertain some amusing anecdotes! Some tall tales! Anything, as long as the telling of it will not get me run out of town on a rail by irate parents!
How about this idea? For every innocuous joke or inoffensive narrative I receive that I deem useable in my performance, I will donate $2.00 to the fund for the family we are benefitting. I have to put a cap on it of 25 jokes or $50.00, but I would dearly love to reach that goal!
What do you say, my friends? It’s for a good cause—none better—and you will be helping to spread laughter and hope. Just write your ditties in the ‘comments’ sections below, and I’ll see what I can do with them. Does that sound like a plan? Yeah?? All right!!
Now the questions is… do I have any friends who aren’t bawdy and lewd? Heh… Come on, folks. Dig deep!
And thanks, from the bottom of my heart.
