TM 362 - Tell a Joke
"What do you get when you cross the Atlantic with the Titanic? Half-way."
It got a good enough reaction - polite giggles, some loud snickering.
"A certain dashing villain takes a boy sidekick out into the woods one night. They go further and further - it gets darker, all kinds of noises. The kid says "Gee, Mister, it's awfully scary out here. I don't like it." I say, "YOU? What about ME? I gotta walk out of here alone!"
That one was more popular. Almost everyone in the room burst into hysterics. In fact, whether out of respect for the teller or genuine amusement, a series of shrieking, howling laughter followed the punchline.
The resident in charge of the session turned to the only patient still scowling. "Your turn, Jonathan."
"It's Doctor Crane to you," the man who'd been the Scarecrow sneered. "And I object to this so-called therapy. Besides the fact that it's utterly puerile, it's obviously skewed towards certain members of the group. "Joke?" I'll give you a joke - your methods. They're the biggest joke in this hellhole."
"That's not helpful, Jo - Dr. Crane. You do understand that we're not removing the straitjacket until you're more cooperative, don't you?" They'd warned him about the special group. The patients would test you, push to control sessions. Especially Crane - the man acted like he still ran the asylum.
Crane shrugged, or tried to. "I'm perfectly comfortable. When I'm not, I'll attend to it myself."
With a sigh, the resident looked around. "Well, then we'll just wait for you. Until Jona- Dr. Crane decides to share, we'll sit here. All of us."
The patients began to mutter. Crane looked unconcerned. "It's unproductive. And if you're looking for approval, it's pointless. Listen: The Bat-man walks into a bar - and gets a concussion. That's completely pathetic, and yet - " The laughter started again.
One more large sigh. Pick your battles, they told him. "All right. Now, Harvey, your turn..."
It got a good enough reaction - polite giggles, some loud snickering.
"A certain dashing villain takes a boy sidekick out into the woods one night. They go further and further - it gets darker, all kinds of noises. The kid says "Gee, Mister, it's awfully scary out here. I don't like it." I say, "YOU? What about ME? I gotta walk out of here alone!"
That one was more popular. Almost everyone in the room burst into hysterics. In fact, whether out of respect for the teller or genuine amusement, a series of shrieking, howling laughter followed the punchline.
The resident in charge of the session turned to the only patient still scowling. "Your turn, Jonathan."
"It's Doctor Crane to you," the man who'd been the Scarecrow sneered. "And I object to this so-called therapy. Besides the fact that it's utterly puerile, it's obviously skewed towards certain members of the group. "Joke?" I'll give you a joke - your methods. They're the biggest joke in this hellhole."
"That's not helpful, Jo - Dr. Crane. You do understand that we're not removing the straitjacket until you're more cooperative, don't you?" They'd warned him about the special group. The patients would test you, push to control sessions. Especially Crane - the man acted like he still ran the asylum.
Crane shrugged, or tried to. "I'm perfectly comfortable. When I'm not, I'll attend to it myself."
With a sigh, the resident looked around. "Well, then we'll just wait for you. Until Jona- Dr. Crane decides to share, we'll sit here. All of us."
The patients began to mutter. Crane looked unconcerned. "It's unproductive. And if you're looking for approval, it's pointless. Listen: The Bat-man walks into a bar - and gets a concussion. That's completely pathetic, and yet - " The laughter started again.
One more large sigh. Pick your battles, they told him. "All right. Now, Harvey, your turn..."