Stop me if you’ve heard this one, all right? So, yeah, Imanottasyupid, who’s just as charasmatic as a hot pink begonia sentence to a chain gang, she walks into a bar and she says to the barkeep, “What’s the best one you got?”
You’ve heard it before? No way—I’m improvving here. Shut up and listen.
“Well,” says the barkeep, his breath like a titanic cat burping up a smell of cardboard, “I’d recommend our vodka-scotch cocktail.”
No, I’ve never been in a bar. So what if a vodka-scotch cocktail is as enigmatic as an ADD garbage can reciting Animal Farm? Whose joke is this, anyway?
So Imanottasyupid, who asked what the best one was, she says, “No, I meant what’s the strongest man you got? I need a man who’s really and truly strong, like ostentatious rum drooling at 67.2 mph.”
“Then you’ll want Ceeuvgrene,” says the barkeep, and, since Imanottasyupid isn’t stupid, she figgers out that Ceeuvgrene is the one wearing green. He’s over in the corner, hunching like a miniscule pirate raising weredingos over his vodka-scotch cocktail. And he really is the best one they’ve got.
Imanottasyupid walks up to him like a voluptious bottle ramming it down his throat. “Hey,” she says.
Ceeuvgrene looks up, and he’s got a really bad black eye and his lip’s bleeding. “Hey,” he says.
“I can’t really help you,” she says, “but I hope you win and I’m praying for you.”
“Thanks,” he says.
No, that wasn’t really a punchline and I guess it wasn’t a joke after all, but it works. Shalom, Salaam, Peace.