Week 1 - Jayus
"I'm starting to worry that you may be perceived as lacking a sense of humor, Stephen."
"John, that's utter rubbish. My rapier wit is surely evident to anyone who's ever heard one of our songs."
"If they're into Wilde and view him as the cutting edge of comedy, perhaps. Otherwise, Stephen, I'm not too sure you've got much of a funny bone myself."
Stephen grew quiet. His look of mild pain slowly morphed into one of determination.
"I'll show you, John. I'm a right cheeky bastard. I can tell a contemporary joke with the best of the lot."
"Alright, Stephen." Johnny made himself comfortable in his chair. "Do your worst."
"OK, John. Here's one I learned a few years ago waiting in queue whilst on the dole."
Johnny rolled his eyes as Stephen stood before him and shook himself off at length, presumably to get into a posture more appropriate for standup comedy.
"Oh, and John... stop me, oh-ho-ho, stop me if you think that you've heard this one before."
Johnny laughed while slapping his forehead.
"See, John? I'm already knocking you stone dead. ...Alright, a ripe old poofter, a ******, and Ganesh himself walk into a pub..."
"Crikey, Stephen, stop this instant."
"What's wrong, John?"
"Christ on his cross, Stephen, are you really living in the 19th century? We're in the biggest band in England. You can't go 'round bein' a bleedin' racist gobshite now."
"I'm not racist, and I'm certainly not homophobic. I swear it's a good one. Just give it a go, would you..."
"No, Stephen. Trust me. That joke isn't funny any more."
Stephen furrowed his brow, trying desperately to access an alternative to his chosen repartee. "Alright, then let's try this one."
"No more racist claptrap, Stephen. Promise?"
"I promise, John. ...OK, so an old maid goes to the doctor. She says to the doctor, 'I...'" Stephen paused to mutter to himself. "How did this go again? ...Oh! 'I can't sleep at night wot with the voices in me head.' 'What kind of voices?' he says. 'Well,' she says, 'it's not so much like voices as...'" Stephen paused again. "'I mean, it's more like me husband.' No, no, no... 'It's more like one voice, it's me husband.'"
Johnny waited as Stephen balked through another pregnant pause. "Go on, Stephen."
"'I forgot, doctor, my husband is dead six months. So I know it's not like I'm hearing me husband in the flesh, you know, it's all in my head...'"
"...Just like she already advised us, Stephen, what with the voices being in her head."
"Right, she did say that didn't she? So the doctor says, 'What does your husband who is dead say to you in your head all night long?' And she says, 'He just says one word over and over. He says ENOUGH.'"
"...Stephen, there isn't much more to this one, is there? The studio engineer will be back with our tea any minute."
"Just let me finish, John. I'm just trying to remember why he says 'ENOUGH.' Let's see... hrm... I think it went..."
"...Stephen!"
"Erm, so the doctor says, 'What is your diet?' and she says 'Mostly teabiscuits and scones and fish and chips,' and the doctor says 'I think I know what the problem is,' and he goes and gets his stethoscope, and he listens to this bit and that bit of her, and he says 'Right, nothing else for it, you need to go in straight away for emergency surgery.'"
Johnny stared unblinkingly at the once-again-silent Stephen.
"So the old bint goes in and she wakes up from surgery and her husband's voice is gone, but something is wrong. Now she hears another voice. It sounds like the doctor. So she says, 'Doctor, what did you do to me? ...During the surgery?'"
"Well, obviously, Stephen." The engineer had just popped in the door with the tea tray. "I presume the punchline is next. For the love of all that's holy, what is it?"
"The doctor says, '...'... I mean, he says, 'It's very simple, ma'am, I... simply...' ...Oh, now, what was the doctor's voice saying in her head? I think that's..."
"Stephen," Johnny offered while sipping his tea, "you might as well face facts. First, you're no comedian. And second, you've obviously... started something you couldn't finish."
This has been my Week 1 LiveJournal Idol entry for the prompt "jayus." Gosh, it was a tough one! This piece is inspired by / dedicated to Morrissey aka Stephen Morrissey and Johnny Marr of the Smiths. If you love them like I do, you've probably just slapped your forehead a few times yourself... :)
"John, that's utter rubbish. My rapier wit is surely evident to anyone who's ever heard one of our songs."
"If they're into Wilde and view him as the cutting edge of comedy, perhaps. Otherwise, Stephen, I'm not too sure you've got much of a funny bone myself."
Stephen grew quiet. His look of mild pain slowly morphed into one of determination.
"I'll show you, John. I'm a right cheeky bastard. I can tell a contemporary joke with the best of the lot."
"Alright, Stephen." Johnny made himself comfortable in his chair. "Do your worst."
"OK, John. Here's one I learned a few years ago waiting in queue whilst on the dole."
Johnny rolled his eyes as Stephen stood before him and shook himself off at length, presumably to get into a posture more appropriate for standup comedy.
"Oh, and John... stop me, oh-ho-ho, stop me if you think that you've heard this one before."
Johnny laughed while slapping his forehead.
"See, John? I'm already knocking you stone dead. ...Alright, a ripe old poofter, a ******, and Ganesh himself walk into a pub..."
"Crikey, Stephen, stop this instant."
"What's wrong, John?"
"Christ on his cross, Stephen, are you really living in the 19th century? We're in the biggest band in England. You can't go 'round bein' a bleedin' racist gobshite now."
"I'm not racist, and I'm certainly not homophobic. I swear it's a good one. Just give it a go, would you..."
"No, Stephen. Trust me. That joke isn't funny any more."
Stephen furrowed his brow, trying desperately to access an alternative to his chosen repartee. "Alright, then let's try this one."
"No more racist claptrap, Stephen. Promise?"
"I promise, John. ...OK, so an old maid goes to the doctor. She says to the doctor, 'I...'" Stephen paused to mutter to himself. "How did this go again? ...Oh! 'I can't sleep at night wot with the voices in me head.' 'What kind of voices?' he says. 'Well,' she says, 'it's not so much like voices as...'" Stephen paused again. "'I mean, it's more like me husband.' No, no, no... 'It's more like one voice, it's me husband.'"
Johnny waited as Stephen balked through another pregnant pause. "Go on, Stephen."
"'I forgot, doctor, my husband is dead six months. So I know it's not like I'm hearing me husband in the flesh, you know, it's all in my head...'"
"...Just like she already advised us, Stephen, what with the voices being in her head."
"Right, she did say that didn't she? So the doctor says, 'What does your husband who is dead say to you in your head all night long?' And she says, 'He just says one word over and over. He says ENOUGH.'"
"...Stephen, there isn't much more to this one, is there? The studio engineer will be back with our tea any minute."
"Just let me finish, John. I'm just trying to remember why he says 'ENOUGH.' Let's see... hrm... I think it went..."
"...Stephen!"
"Erm, so the doctor says, 'What is your diet?' and she says 'Mostly teabiscuits and scones and fish and chips,' and the doctor says 'I think I know what the problem is,' and he goes and gets his stethoscope, and he listens to this bit and that bit of her, and he says 'Right, nothing else for it, you need to go in straight away for emergency surgery.'"
Johnny stared unblinkingly at the once-again-silent Stephen.
"So the old bint goes in and she wakes up from surgery and her husband's voice is gone, but something is wrong. Now she hears another voice. It sounds like the doctor. So she says, 'Doctor, what did you do to me? ...During the surgery?'"
"Well, obviously, Stephen." The engineer had just popped in the door with the tea tray. "I presume the punchline is next. For the love of all that's holy, what is it?"
"The doctor says, '...'... I mean, he says, 'It's very simple, ma'am, I... simply...' ...Oh, now, what was the doctor's voice saying in her head? I think that's..."
"Stephen," Johnny offered while sipping his tea, "you might as well face facts. First, you're no comedian. And second, you've obviously... started something you couldn't finish."
This has been my Week 1 LiveJournal Idol entry for the prompt "jayus." Gosh, it was a tough one! This piece is inspired by / dedicated to Morrissey aka Stephen Morrissey and Johnny Marr of the Smiths. If you love them like I do, you've probably just slapped your forehead a few times yourself... :)