Rock Island, IL

My espoused saint and I have differing opinions about marital jokes. The difference is subtle and not easy to detect but goes something like this: I find them funny; she doesn’t.

For example, she never laughs when I tell the one about how scientists have discovered a food that reduces a woman’s sex-drive by 95%. (It’s called “wedding cake.”) Not so much as a snicker at this fine metaphor: marriage is a long tedious seven-course dinner with the dessert first. Principal disadvantage of bigamy: two mothers-in-law. Definition of bigamy: one wife too many—same as monogamy. Not funny and not funny.

So, obviously, the key to a successful marriage is to be able to tell jokes on men. For example: how do you get a man to do his sit-ups? Put the remote between his knees. What’s a man’s idea of helping clean house? Lifting his feet off the floor while you vacuum. When can you count on a man to complete a task ahead of schedule? In bed. A man’s seven-course meal? A hotdog and a six-pack. How do you keep a man from drowning? Take your foot off his head. Why do men have larger brains than dogs? So they won’t hump women’s legs at cocktail parties. Husband: Want a quickie? Wife: As opposed to what?

“Stop!” cries the reader. “My belly aches with guffawing! I can’t take it any more! Have mercy, please! Go back to the dull jokes!”

Happy to oblige.

Why does a woman close her eyes during sex? She can’t stand to see a man have fun.

Two guys are talking. The first, shaking his head, says, “man, I don’t know what else I can do. I mean, I admit I was out with the boys pretty late last night. But on my way home–swear to God–I cut the engine halfway down the block, coasted noiselessly into the drive, didn’t even close the car door, came in the house quietly, tiptoed upstairs in my socks, undressed outside the bedroom, tiptoed into the bathroom, put my foot in the toilet and pissed down my leg, for God sakes, slipped noiselessly into bed and still caught hell from my old lady.” His buddy says, “See, you’re doing this all wrong. I was out late last night too. Coming home I laid on the horn halfway down the block, squealed the tires turning into the drive, slammed the car door shut, slammed the front door shut, stomped upstairs in my work boots, pissed all the way from the bathroom door–moaning, farting and singing the whole time, mind you–did a cannonball into the bed, pulled back the covers, slapped my wife on the ass and shouted, ‘Who’s horny?’ She pretended to be asleep!”

How about a Bar Jester original: What sort of wealth disappears the fastest? Matrimoney.

And another: What’s the real definition of “morass”? The trouble you’re in for scoring a surfeit of same.

And an oldie but a goodie: What’s the longest sentence in the English language? “I do.”

Would that I lacked all scruples and decency. I’d tell the one about why the bride and groom showed up to their wedding smiling from ear to ear.

But I fear trouble’s coming my way. Here’s one that, having nothing to do with marriage, might cushion the blows: Hear about the dog with four prostheses? He had faux pas.

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Tagged as: humor, marriage