All of us have a father. Most of us knew him. Some of us knew one guy
that we thought was our father, only to be told during the wee hours the night
after the big Confirmation party that no, in fact he is not our father,
and that our real father is a no-good bastard that R-U-N-N-O-F-T with that
tramp from the pitch-and-putt. But I digress...
Most of our fathers told jokes. Not many jokes, mind you. A few "classics"
that would make all the kids groan. Sometimes they'd be inside jokes that
no one outside the family would get--like, "Remember that time Aunt Aretha
farted? Boy, did that stink." Sometimes they'd be bits from old radio
programs--ones that you were familiar with from the vinyl transfers currently
gathering dust in the basement--like, "Help! Help! Turn off the bubble
machine! Won'erful, won'erful."
And sometimes they'd just be corn flakes. You know the one's I'm talking
about. Like, "What did the boy volcano say to the girl volcano? I
lava you." Or, "Why did Santa Claus order eggs benedict on a hubcap?
Because there's no place like chrome for the hollandaise." Or,
"Three peanuts walking down the street. One was a-salt-ed." Ha! If you
have a good dad joke, send it to
jokes@yodellingllama.com. The
cornier, the better.
And don't forget why the chicken crossed the road.
I got a pair of good groaners from a reader named, presumably, after
Dr.
Katz's professional-witness, pot-bellied-pig-owning son, Ben. They are
as follows:
"Did you hear about the guy that lost his whole left side in a car
accident? Now, he's all-right."
"Have you read that new book by that guy who wrote the entire thing in his
basement? It's a best-cellar."
Great, no? Keep 'em coming, by sending them along to
jokes@yodellingllama.com.
