All the experience in the world won’t help you with a new application
Practice, Practice, Practice
Old Jokes Week
This week features five of my favorite jokes from childhood, favorite being determined by the fact that at 66 I can still remember them. I thought it might be fun to see if they worked as fiction as well.
BOB THE BIBLE SALESMAN had never seen a woman more desirable than Susette, whose father owned a small farm outside of Tulsa and sprang for the deluxe Holy Bible with genealogy pages, annotations, and words of Jesus in Red. Bob’s commission paid for a week of dinners. And meeting Susette inspired prayers every night for the Good Lord Jesus to deliver him from temptation, prayers which the good Lord failed to answer because every time the wind brushed past he pictured that moment when he first saw her hanging laundry, the sun shining through her skirt and the wind pasting the cloth to the curve of her legs. And with that picture came the stirring in his jeans, the stirring that earned his mamma’s whippings whenever she spotted a bulge rising in his pants.
After months of tortured prayer and visions of Susette’s shape in the wind-swept dress, his route took him back through Tulsa. The Lord made it clear what he was to do. He called on her father and asked for Susette’s hand in marriage. To which her father replied, “I don’t speak for that girl. She speaks for herself.”
When he proposed, she asked him, “You make a good living?”
Meeting Susette inspired prayers every night for the Good Lord Jesus to deliver him from temptation, prayers which the good Lord failed to answer because every time the wind brushed past he pictured that moment when he first saw her hanging laundry, the sun shining through her skirt and the wind pasting the cloth to the curve of her legs.
“Fifty dollars in a good month.”
She pulled the corner of her lip with a finger, twisted a toe in the dirt. “Don’t know. Not sure I can handle a man unless he has sex experience. A wife needs a real man, you know, not a Bible thumper. You got sex experience?”
His blush shouted the answer. He turned, grabbed his drummer’s case, and dragged his feet through the dirt with his shoulders slumped to the middle of his chest. She cupped her mouth with her hands as a megaphone. “Tell you what. Find a tree with a knothole and practice away. Ain’t nuthin’ in the Bible saying you can’t teach yourself with nature.”
She pulled the corner of her lip with a finger, twisted a toe in the dirt. “Not sure I can handle a man unless he has sex experience. A wife needs a real man, not a Bible thumper.
During his next trip to Tulsa, he arrived at the farm with flowers in his fist. The wind was blowing, and her dress whipped past her knees. “You still make a good living?”
“They promoted me to sales manager. I make sixty a week and I’m on the road half as much.”
“Sex experience?”
This time he turned his toe in the dirt. “Lots of trees between here and the home office.”
On their wedding night, she hopped on the bed and wiggled her behind. “Well, come on, big boy. Show me what you learned.”
Bob grabbed his Bible and swatted her backside like he was swinging a baseball bat. She tumbled over the side and landed on her ass on the floor. “What the hell was that for?”
Bob lay the Bible on the nightstand and unbuckled his belt. “Checking for bees.”
Chock-full-o-laughs
Reviews:*
Steven King: Think Dante meets the Road Runner.
Terry Pratchett: I could never make torture this funny.
Douglas Addams: The one book I’m keeping in the afterlife.
*Not to be confused with popular authors of the same names.
