Jay and I have been friends for over thirty years. There have been gaps, to be certain, but, our friendship continues.

Back in high school I constantly made jokes. The more things change, the more they stay the same really. I’m relentless with joking. I constantly look for a way to create humour. I do this in every moment.

I’ve been to school with some Marxists. They used mutter something about domination and me colonizing their sense of humour or some other inane Marxist bullshit that entirely misses the point.

What’s the point?

Failure and creativity go hand in hand. In order to be funny, you need to be willing to be really really un-funny for a long time. In doing so, you risk offending others, making people uncomfortable all while expecting them to listen to your bullshit even if they haven’t asked for it.

Again, this requires being relentless while at the same time reading the room.

(Look around, does everyone have bushy beards, red flags, books by that arse Foucault, Che t-shirts and dashikis? If so, run like hell)

What’s this have to do with Jay?

We had a joke that we would make when around each other. It started no less than thirty two years ago. Both of us still make the joke. While driving home from a mountain bike trip, Jay said, “Yo, yo!” to get my attention.

I replied the only way I could: “Piece of wood on a string”.

Jay laughed.

Everyone else?

Nothing.

No reaction.

That’s what always happens with that little baby joke.

It’s not a fully formed joke, despite both of us trying to use it for over thirty years.

“I say it all the time Jimmy. People just stare blankly at me”.

I get the same reaction with that joke, still struggling to become a joke.

It’s still more of a ‘jo’

or maybe an ‘oke’

But it hasn’t gotten it’s shit together enough to be a joke yet.

I have one that finally works.

I tried it for years - much to the chagrin of grocery store check out clerks everywhere. Eventually the joke got a laugh.

It still does at times.

Here’s what you do.

Go to the produce section.

Get two melons that have a rough, pock marked skin - you know the kind, they’re orange on the inside.

When you take them to the check out, nod at the clerk. Tell them that the melons you have are ‘married melons’.

When they look at you with an expression of bemused befuddlement, continue to tell them, “Yeah, they’re married melons. They can’t elope.

Re-colonize the world with bad puns and silly humour.

When they don’t laugh?

Keep trying.