"Then you show up and drink my poison!"
Barnaby laughed with the others, but his heart wasn't in it. He was concentrating too hard. Should he have picked one that was more ribald?
"You didn't tell it right!"
He'd heard that one before, but Jim really had a good delivery, and got a big laugh. Barnaby thought he was ready, but just couldn't interject into the flow of jokes of the older guys.
"Don't worry - it'll stretch!"
Every year his brother Al would meet with his friends for their reunion. They each made a point of coming back to Gull Cove the same time each year, just for this night. Al was ten years older than him; Barnaby had grown up modeling himself after Al, always trying to be like his big brother. Al, for his part, had taken the kid under his wing and never tired of his tagging along during his teen years. So Barnaby had become something like a mascot to these reunions, long before he could understand most of the conversation, playing in the restaurants or sitting on a stool watching the men play pool.
"That's not my dog."
That was how they bonded, how these men had bonded with one another all his life: they'd get together, eat, drink, and tell jokes. Not all of them were in comedy professionally, but they all had a connoisseur's appreciation for the art of telling a joke. Good jokes, bad jokes, raunchy jokes, outrageous jokes, short jokes, long jokes...by the time he was seventeen, Barnaby had heard thousands. And every year there were more.
"Iceberg, Goldberg - same thing!"
He'd gone away to university in New Hampshire, and so tonight was Barnaby's first reunion in four years, his first as an adult. The guys (he wanted to think of them as "the guys" and not the men) were noticeably older, but they joked and talked with each other as easily as ever. They accepted him, too, but this time was different. Barnaby was a man, now, too...he was determined that tonight, he was going to tell a joke.
He just had to work up the nerve. And then not blow it.
"Don't see many of them around nowadays, do ya?"
Barnaby laughed at that, one of his favorites from his childhood, watching old "Dave Allen" reruns on TV with his family. He took a few deep breaths.
"Hey, buddy, why the long face?"
The guys groaned at that one. If that wasn't his cue, he didn't know what was. Barnaby stuck his hand up in the air, drawing attention as he finished his beer, then leaned forward to set the foamy glass down on the table. He brought his hand down, glanced at the older men on either side of him, waiting expectantly, bemusedly for what he would bring, and then he began, his voice pitched low so they had to pay attention to hear him.
"Joe was driving down a country road late one night when he came to a four-way stop." One thing you did, is you always gave the characters names, to engage the audience.
"He slowed down at the stop sign," Barnaby paused, holding his hand out on an imaginary wheel, and looked both ways. "He looked both ways...nobody there." He shrugged, put both hands on the wheel, "So he drove on through. BAM!" He said this last a little louder, a little faster, to pump it up a bit.
"Suddenly there's a cop car, with the sirens and lights." Barnaby mimed turning the wheel, looking over his shoulder.
"The cop gets out of his car and walks over" Here Barnaby sat up straight, shoulders back, and swayed from side to side in a parody of a highway patrolman, mimed tapping on the glass of a car window, and then resumed Joe's more slouched body language as he mimed rolling down the window.
"Uh...what seems to be the problem, officer?"
He sat up straight again. "You failed to stop at that sign, sir."
He slouched, grinned, looking up and out the imaginary driver's side window, "Hey, I slowed down, but there wasn't anyone there. So I kept going. What's the difference?"
He sat up, mimed removing sunglasses (never mind this was supposed to happen at night - Barnaby knew that all highway patrolmen wore mirrorshades): "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car."
He slouched, looking furtive, his voice getting a little shrill: "Why, what did I do?"
He sat up, mimed opening the car door, "Get out of the car, sir!" Then he resumed his narrator voice: "The cop grabs him, hauls him out of the car" here he did a quick mime of Joe flailing as he's picked up bodily by the cop: " 'Wait - what?' Then the cop throws him on the ground, pulls out his night stick..." Barnaby mimed doing just that, then started swinging it like a bat "and starts beating Joe about the face and shoulders. 'Now...'" Barnaby punctuates each word with a mimed swing, "'Do you want me to stop, or slow down?'"
He got a polite laugh out of that, but he felt elated nonetheless: he'd told his joke, it had gone off well, and now he was one of them. All the tension went out of him, but the adrenalin was making him a little jittery. He went to the bar and ordered another drink, but Al stepped in to pay before he could. Al's big hand clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. Barnaby smiled, nodded. Here's where Al was going to tell him how proud he was of his kid brother, how he did good.
Al got his own drink, then leaned forward, smiling, and said "This drunk walks into a diner..."
Barnaby laughed with the others, but his heart wasn't in it. He was concentrating too hard. Should he have picked one that was more ribald?
"You didn't tell it right!"
He'd heard that one before, but Jim really had a good delivery, and got a big laugh. Barnaby thought he was ready, but just couldn't interject into the flow of jokes of the older guys.
"Don't worry - it'll stretch!"
Every year his brother Al would meet with his friends for their reunion. They each made a point of coming back to Gull Cove the same time each year, just for this night. Al was ten years older than him; Barnaby had grown up modeling himself after Al, always trying to be like his big brother. Al, for his part, had taken the kid under his wing and never tired of his tagging along during his teen years. So Barnaby had become something like a mascot to these reunions, long before he could understand most of the conversation, playing in the restaurants or sitting on a stool watching the men play pool.
"That's not my dog."
That was how they bonded, how these men had bonded with one another all his life: they'd get together, eat, drink, and tell jokes. Not all of them were in comedy professionally, but they all had a connoisseur's appreciation for the art of telling a joke. Good jokes, bad jokes, raunchy jokes, outrageous jokes, short jokes, long jokes...by the time he was seventeen, Barnaby had heard thousands. And every year there were more.
"Iceberg, Goldberg - same thing!"
He'd gone away to university in New Hampshire, and so tonight was Barnaby's first reunion in four years, his first as an adult. The guys (he wanted to think of them as "the guys" and not the men) were noticeably older, but they joked and talked with each other as easily as ever. They accepted him, too, but this time was different. Barnaby was a man, now, too...he was determined that tonight, he was going to tell a joke.
He just had to work up the nerve. And then not blow it.
"Don't see many of them around nowadays, do ya?"
Barnaby laughed at that, one of his favorites from his childhood, watching old "Dave Allen" reruns on TV with his family. He took a few deep breaths.
"Hey, buddy, why the long face?"
The guys groaned at that one. If that wasn't his cue, he didn't know what was. Barnaby stuck his hand up in the air, drawing attention as he finished his beer, then leaned forward to set the foamy glass down on the table. He brought his hand down, glanced at the older men on either side of him, waiting expectantly, bemusedly for what he would bring, and then he began, his voice pitched low so they had to pay attention to hear him.
"Joe was driving down a country road late one night when he came to a four-way stop." One thing you did, is you always gave the characters names, to engage the audience.
"He slowed down at the stop sign," Barnaby paused, holding his hand out on an imaginary wheel, and looked both ways. "He looked both ways...nobody there." He shrugged, put both hands on the wheel, "So he drove on through. BAM!" He said this last a little louder, a little faster, to pump it up a bit.
"Suddenly there's a cop car, with the sirens and lights." Barnaby mimed turning the wheel, looking over his shoulder.
"The cop gets out of his car and walks over" Here Barnaby sat up straight, shoulders back, and swayed from side to side in a parody of a highway patrolman, mimed tapping on the glass of a car window, and then resumed Joe's more slouched body language as he mimed rolling down the window.
"Uh...what seems to be the problem, officer?"
He sat up straight again. "You failed to stop at that sign, sir."
He slouched, grinned, looking up and out the imaginary driver's side window, "Hey, I slowed down, but there wasn't anyone there. So I kept going. What's the difference?"
He sat up, mimed removing sunglasses (never mind this was supposed to happen at night - Barnaby knew that all highway patrolmen wore mirrorshades): "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car."
He slouched, looking furtive, his voice getting a little shrill: "Why, what did I do?"
He sat up, mimed opening the car door, "Get out of the car, sir!" Then he resumed his narrator voice: "The cop grabs him, hauls him out of the car" here he did a quick mime of Joe flailing as he's picked up bodily by the cop: " 'Wait - what?' Then the cop throws him on the ground, pulls out his night stick..." Barnaby mimed doing just that, then started swinging it like a bat "and starts beating Joe about the face and shoulders. 'Now...'" Barnaby punctuates each word with a mimed swing, "'Do you want me to stop, or slow down?'"
He got a polite laugh out of that, but he felt elated nonetheless: he'd told his joke, it had gone off well, and now he was one of them. All the tension went out of him, but the adrenalin was making him a little jittery. He went to the bar and ordered another drink, but Al stepped in to pay before he could. Al's big hand clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. Barnaby smiled, nodded. Here's where Al was going to tell him how proud he was of his kid brother, how he did good.
Al got his own drink, then leaned forward, smiling, and said "This drunk walks into a diner..."