Michael Friis Johansen

The joke’s on us

by MICHAEL JOHANSEN

 

   A priest, a rabbi and a Newfoundland premier walk into a bar. The bartender looks up and says: What’s this, a joke?

   An old one, that’s for sure.

   A Newfoundland premier, a Quebec premiere-ministre and a Canadian prime minister accidentally walk into a penis-measuring contest. The judge looks up and says: What’s this, a joke?

   Now that’s one that could get somebody fired, if somebody was working for something to do with government. So much for free speech, it seems.

   Knock! Knock!

   Who’s there?

   Danny.

   Danny who?

   Danny one see my sense of humour?

   That’s not even funny, but who laughs at knock-knock jokes anyway?

   Knock! Knock!

   Who’s there?

   Danny Boy.

   Danny Boy who?

   Oh, Danny Boy the old Muskrat is calling/If you spend a lot, I know I’ll make much more…

   Definitely not funny. It’s like trying to bring the house down with a pun. Better just to tell a few stories:

   One day a Newfoundland premier and a minister for Labrador affairs go caribou hunting together. The minister for Labrador affairs fumbles with his rifle and accidentally shoots the premier. Fortunately the minister, being a government minister, has a satellite phone that actually works. He uses it to call 911.

   “Help me!” he tells the operator. “I’ve shot the premier. I think I may have killed him!”

   “Don’t panic,” the operator says. “I’ll help you. Listen to me: The first thing you should do is make sure he’s really dead.”

   The operator hears the minister for Labrador affairs put the phone down and then she hears a loud bang.

   “Okay,” the minister says back on the phone. “I’ve done that. Now what?”

   Nasty one that is, if it got into the wrong hands. I could send it to somebody in an email and it might lie in wait for months before getting flung back into my face as ammunition in the province’s eternal bi-partisan war. A scary thought, that. Still, it’s not too bad of a joke. Stolen, of course. Like the next one:

   A provincial Cabinet minister notices that the premier is always leaving work early on Thursday and he decides to take advantage of it. When Thursday comes he watches until his boss leaves and then he sneaks out of the office, too. First he goes to a bar, but after his first drink he decides to go home and be with his wife. She isn’t downstairs when he arrives so he goes to see if she is up in their bedroom. When he looks inside he can see the premier is there and he is already enjoying some quality time with the minister’s wife. The minister leaves his house and goes back to his office at the Confederation Building. The security guard sees him return.

   “I thought you were sneaking off work,” she says.

   “I was,” the minister tells her, “but I almost got caught.”

   Tasteless, yes. Shows a lack of respect. So sue me! No, wait until you read the next one. It’s a little self-serving, perhaps, but it makes me laugh, so I don’t mind:

   A Newfoundland premier finds out he needs a brain transplant and he goes to a private brain bank in the United States because he doesn’t think there are any in Canada. The receptionist at the bank is helpful, but not hopeful.

   “I’m sorry, sir,” she says to the premier. “There’s been a lot of people buying brains lately – something to do with the Congressional elections, I think. We’ve only got two brains left.”

   “Can you show them to me?” the premier asks. “Is there any difference between them?”

   The receptionist opens a cabinet to reveal the brains floating in large glass jars.

   “This brain used to belong to a politician,” she says, pointing at the brain to the right. “It’ll cost you $10,000 – American dollars, of course.”

   She then points at the brain to the left.

   “This one used to belong to a journalist,” she says. “I can let you have it for only $2,000.”

   “Wow, that’s quite a difference in price,” the premier says. “Why is that brain so much cheaper?”

   “Well,” she explains, shrugging: “It’s used.”