The lost world

I once watched a film. It must have been forgettable because I cannot remember any of it, only a joke that a child tells an adult. I believe it was in an effort to console the adult about some impending doom, but I won’t swear by it. The muffin joke.

I loved the joke and have regaled partygoers with it ever since. It has the benefit of being the only joke I can ever remember, and it is also absurd, so by telling it I can let someone know that I am a silly bugger and they can then either enjoy my company, or wander off hoping I don’t make eye contact again.

How is this temporally relevant? I spent part of my weekend engaged in erudite conversation in a “comment diversion” on a website I frequent, which began its diversion with “a man walks into a bar”.

Now, I have many tales that begin with “a man walks into a bar”, but despite this website being deviant, subversive, prurient and downright nasty at times, I wisely stepped back and asked myself, do they really want to hear of my lovecraftien tales that begin with ‘a man walks into a bar’. I surveyed the comments already added, and concluded that I was indeed right. This was no place for the kind of Kurtzian gore that often results from my walking into a bar, even if it my apocalyptic memories are chuckle worthy to myself.

So, I looked inside for that elusive thing called funny, and called forth my famous muffin joke, which I am always willing to humbly admit is not my own joke, but purloined from a celluloid seven or so years old. I retrofitted my joke in a creative fashion to fit within the current meme and launched it lovingly and sat back, waiting for the laughs to come in.

Like any comedy, at the midpoint, it wasn’t laughs I enjoyed but disaster. Not only did no one laugh at my joke (which I fully expected, I have learned that it is only funny to about nine people on the planet and I have only met two of them other than myself) but someone sourced it to a really embarrassingly bad sitcom.

So, now I have been experienced as someone who repeats bad humour from terrible(and by terrible, I mean some hero should come along and take a boom-stick to the writers) sitcoms.

I cannot have this.

I didn’t worry though. I live in google universe. I was certain with a few short searches that I could find MY source for this ridiculously funny joke that no one laughs at. My first action should have been to begin searching, get a head start on the enemy, like. But, unfortunately I was so confident, I continued in my evenings endeavours (noble efforts) which led inevitably to a sound and dead sleep. Now it is the cold and unforgiving A.M. and I am no longer in the same jovial state I was last night and rightly so!

My searching has lead to no answers, only further questions(I feel like those great detectives of fiction) and I have this lurking feeling that if only I had engaged this search in my “enhanced” state last night, I might have come to better results.

I have been unable to source my delectable morsel of humour, to a movie or the dreaded sitcom to which it(and therefore I) was most unceremoniously reduced.

I did find that various versions of this joke have been whizzing along the invisible lines of the internet for years. Indeed, my sad little joke, almost Charlie-brown-christmas-tree like in its stature has been championed by other humour challenged folk for a long time.

I now felt like I had history and momentum on my side!

I even found several deep philosophical arguments on academic websites that offered penetrating deconstruction of why I laugh my arse off at this joke. I know these articles were deep because I couldn’t understand what I read, and my beloved joke very nearly became unfunny.

Never fear, I am chuckling now, even as I think of my joke.

The best thing I found was a university crowd who used the joke as a litmus test to decide who was “in” and who was “out”. I kid you the fuck not. You might be an incredibly hard working and clever young thing, and try desperately to get into an elite group of scholars. You might take many tests and endure many hardships, but your acceptance might hang in the balance of a moronic child-like joke that you heard in a supposed free conversation that you never knew was an interview. Had you been polite, and laughed, you might have passed. Oh well, have fun flipping burgers knowing your career was derailed not by a tsunami or macroeconomics, but by a wink and a nod.

I found a great many things, but not what I was looking for. I will not fault google. Google is, for better or worse, the Delphic oracle of our times and we act on what we receive. It was not my lot in life to find my reference and redeem myself in the eyes of my time-wasting website constituents.

I am at the end of my journey no further ahead in this matter. On the upside, I am now an expert in the joke that no one finds funny.

By now, you are no longer reading, or you are desperately waiting to hear the joke, either to enhance your own material or simply because you are obsessive. Fuck blogs for revealing your shortcomings.

Never fear, I am not a cipher or a sadist. I would never begin a piece about a joke without actually launching the joke. I am feeling a little shy though, because no one ever laughs. Maybe I should warm my audience up. I read another joke, during my researches, which cost me a snort of beverage through my nose that should have gone down my gullet. So, allow me a tangent.

Non-crucial joke:

A dog walks into a telegraph station, aflustered with urgency. He says, “woof, woof, woof, woof woof woof.”

The telegraph agent informs him that they have a sale, you may receive 7 words transmitted for the price of six, and would he like an additional woof.

The dog looks at him incredulously and says, in exasperation, “That would make no sense!”

So, I read this, in the cold blue light of a unforeseen morning headache and laughed my hind quarters off. Then I read further that this joke was not funny, and that most people told this joke did not even smile or snicker let alone collapse into paroxysms of laughter. If I cared more about my well-being, I might have been afraid that I had passed some test that revealed myself to be some kind of antisocial and was now on a FBI watch list. If my paranoia is true, your reading this will add you to the same list, HAH!

OK, you have indulged me enough. I proffer now, this holiest of holy jokes to you, in hopes that someone whose brain is more intact than mine might remember the film I found it in.

There is a box of muffins.

Inside(where all the drama occurs), one muffin is in a panic.

“Oh my god, we’re all going to die! They’re going to eat us! there’s nothing we can do to stop it”

A really distressed muffin.

“what will we do, HELP!; Save me, I don’t want to be eaten!”

A second muffin looks at the first who has been screaming and says
.

.

.
“Holy shit, it’s a talking muffin!”



Ok, there’s no accounting for tastes(who said that, and is it really true?) I still need to know where I got that gem from. I will not be sourced to one of the world’s worst sitcoms ever. I have a true soul and deserve better than that.