We Have to Laugh, Honey

Sometimes the jokes just aren't funny.

Another in the "Honey we have to..." series. Once again, these are vignettes, snippets if you will, without much character development and no clear conclusion. Imagine your own conclusion if you need an ending.

Dialogue in square brackets are words spoken as part of the show. Dialogue not in square brackets are spoken between characters.

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["Joe wanted a parrot, but times were tough, and he couldn't afford such a luxury. One day he was walking back from a sales call when he passed a pet store with a big, beautiful bird in the window. He knew it was expensive but went in anyway.

The owner immediately approached him. "Gorgeous bird, isn't it? Would you like me to take it out of the cage?"

"No, uh, I don't want to bother you. I'm pretty sure I can't afford it."

"Well, this particular bird is expensive. We have some cheaper. The shop owner pointed at a smaller cage. "This one is only three thousand dollars What's your name?

"Joe."

The owner pointed to a large cage with a few birds. "Joe, these range between five hundred to a thousand dollars."

"Look, I'd love to buy a parrot from you, but honestly, I can't afford more than a hundred dollars."

"A hundred dollars? Hmm... I might have something for you." He led Joe to the back of the store and showed him a cage with a stunning bird. "Hey, Harry" he addressed the bird. "This is Joe."

"Auck! Auck! Hello Joe."

"Harry here is only two hundred dollars," the shopkeeper said.

"He's beautiful. Why so cheap??

"Harry was in an unfortunate accident and lost both his feet."

"Really? How does he stay upright?"

The shop owner grinned. "He has an extremely long penis, which he wraps around the perch."

Joe couldn't resist, bargained a little on the price, and brought Harry home. His wife complained a bit but quickly got used to the parrot's presence.

A few days later Joe had just hung up his coat after work when he heard "psst, psst." He looked at Harry, who was motioning with his head for Joe to come closer.

"What is it, Harry? I want to wash up."

"Auck! Auck! The mailman was here today."

"So what? The mailman comes every day."

"Auck! Auck! He entered the house."

"Oh, really? What did my wife do?"

"Auck! Auck! She kissed his lips."

Joe was angry. The mailman had no business inside the house. His wife had no business kissing him. "What happened next?"

"Auck! Auck! They both took all their clothes off."

Joe was furious! "Keep going. What happened after?"

"Auck! Auck! I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You know everything till now and then leave me hanging. What happened next?"

"Auck! Auck! I didn't see. I fell off my perch."]

Becca paused her monolog to give her audience time to laugh, which they did. It wasn't as much as she hoped for, so she had to quickly move onto her next joke. I wasn't happy with my wife telling dick jokes, especially in a place like this. Still, she wanted to be a comedienne, and this was the venue her comedy class had rented.

["A man walks into a bar and sees his wife being fondled..."]

These weren't the jokes Becca rehearsed at home. Sure, she used some sexual innuendo when practicing, but all she was joking about on the stage this evening was sex. More specifically, joking about women having illicit relations.

["A man goes to a plastic surgeon and says, "Doctor, I'd like to have my penis lengthened..."]

I told her a week ago that I wouldn't be back in town till late Friday, so I wouldn't be on time for her show. I wonder if that knowledge led her to change her routine. I had managed to get an earlier flight, drove straight from the airport to the club, bought a ticket, and found a seat at the back of the room as the first comedian finished his routine. Becca never mentioned that the venue was the party room of a strip club. A sign on its door declared "Private Event- Keep Clothes On." My wife was dressed modestly as usual, so that wasn't a concern. The overhead lights were between me and the stage, which meant I was sitting pretty much in the dark. The main thing Becca's comedy lacked was a confident delivery. I wanted her to know I was there, to encourage her, but she was up on stage before I could find a way to move forward.

I didn't like the routine she was doing, reciting dirty jokes rather than giving a humorous monolog. She might as well have been reading them off a Facebook group. The tension in her voice implied that she knew it.

"I've got one last story for you, and then we'll have a surprise contest to see if you've been paying attention."

["Marcy is driving her eight-year-old daughter Dora to her friend's house for tea. On the way, Dora asks, "How old are you, Mom?"

"Why sweetie," says Marcy, "you're not supposed to ask a woman her age. It's not polite."

"OK," says Dora, "how much do you weigh, Mom?"

"Really, Dora," says Marcy, "that's a very personal question."

Dora carries on, "Why did you and daddy get divorced, Mom?"

"OK, that's enough questions for today sweetie. Anyway, we're here now. Lets take you inside."

Later, Dora and her friend are playing upstairs whilst their mothers are finishing tea.

"My Mom won't tell me anything about her," Dora says to her friend.

"All you need do," says her friend, "is look at your mum's driver's license. It's just like a report card; it has everything you need to know about her on it."

Later, soon after they return home, Dora says, "I know how old you are, Mom, you're 30."

Marcy is surprised. "How did you know that, sweetie?"

"I also know that you weigh 102 pounds."

Marcy is even more surprised. "How did you find that out, sweetie?"

"I know everything, Mom," says Dora, "I even know why you and daddy got divorced."

"OK," says Marcy, "tell me why we got divorced."

"Because you got an F in sex."]

That one drew the most laughter of all her jokes.

Becca looked around the room, drew a deep breath and continued. ["Okay, now I want to see how funny you folks are. You know what alliteration is... A string of words where most of them start with the same sound. Like 'Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers' or 'She sells see shells by the sea shore' or something even shorter like 'busy as a bee.' I need you to come up with funny alliterative lines."]

Someone yelled "What's the prize?"

Becca struck a seductive pose. "That would be telling, dahling." She mimed lighting a cigarette and taking a puff. "Take a couple of minutes to think, and then we'll start."

Humorous alliteration is a challenge This contest was totally out of character for my wife. She was quick witted, but not very spontaneous. I was proud of her for stepping outside her comfort zone, but her sexy pose was outside mine.

["Always avoid alliteration"] came from the audience. It wasn't particularly funny and led to an uncomfortable silence. ["Friday's frequent fish fetish."] That wasn't funny either. I was too far from the stage to see Becca's expression, but her body language showed her discomfort with the responses so far. ["Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peckers"] was greeted by a few chuckles. ["Prior planning prevents piss-poor performance."] I tried to laugh, just to encourage her.

["Both of Becca's beautiful breasts are blessed by bumblebees"] got more of a response from the audience but drew silence from me. I was stunned that Candide, the adopted name of the dude who ran the comedy class, made a joke about my wife's breasts. I was more than stunned that he accurately described her tattoos. She got them shortly after we were married; one small bumblebee under each nipple. They were not visible unless she was exposed. How did he know about the bees?

Becca's face flamed a bright red, and she looked anxiously from side to side before composing herself. ["Any more contestants?"]

Silence.

["Well in my opinion the best line is from our MC, Candide. But since it was about my breasts, I can't be considered an unbiased judge. What do you think, people?"]

The silence was embarrassing, but what followed was even worse, as one person, then another called for Becca to show them her beautiful breasts. Soon the whole room was joining in the demand. She froze, her arms tightly against her sides, her legs squeezed together. Candide walked up to the stage, put an arm around her waist, whispered something in her ear, then held his hand up to silence the crowd. She whispered back. At the same time a big screen lit up behind the stage, showing a close-up of my wife's face. I spotted the camera suspended from the ceiling a few feet in front of me. This was far out of my comfort zone. I knew that Becca would quickly call a halt to this and leave the stage. I stood up to get her attention.

["People, this beautiful woman is an artist, not a stripper,"] Candide announced. ["She's agreed to show you the bumblebees, without showing her breasts. You have to be respectful if you want her cooperation. Do you agree?"]

That was physically impossible. Was my beautiful but modest wife going to display herself to this raucous crowd? He whispered again in her ear, and her expression turned fearful. She undid a few buttons, then turned her back towards the audience. Becca took off her blouse, hesitated, then swirled it over her head as if she was going to throw it into the audience. The crowd cheered but then booed when she hung it on her chair. She stuck her arms up in the air as Candide went behind her, unbuckled her bra, and then stood in front of her. She handed him the bra, which Candide tossed into the crowd.

I sat back down.

["Show us your tits"] came a shout from the audience.

Candide shook his head and chuckled. ["Be respectful."] Becca lowered her hands to cover her breasts, and Candide immediately placed his hands over hers. ["I'm positioning her fingers so that just the bumblebees are showing."] It was obvious that he was fondling her boobs as he did so, lowering his face to their level, his tongue darting in and out as if he was going to lick them. ["Her honey is sweet."] After a couple of minutes, he stood back and made a circular motion with his hand, telling her to face the audience as he followed.

My wife stood topless on the small stage, dozens of strangers gawking at her. The camera zoomed in on her nipples, clearly visible beneath her fingers. ["Are you comfortable?"] he asked. The camera focused on his smirk as he faced the audience. Becca shrugged, which exposed her even more.

["Can everyone see the bumblebees?"]

["Show us more"] was the predictable response; the camera zoomed in closer. I was puzzled. Why was my wife still standing there?

["More, more."]

Candide nodded at her. Becca spread her legs apart, closed her eyes and threw her arms into the air. The crowd cheered; the embarrassment faded from Becca's face, replaced by a tentative smile. The camera zoomed in on her bumblebees.

I didn't know if this performance was spontaneous or planned, but either way it was unacceptable. I'd had enough and made my way to the exit.

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Candide didn't tell me to go topless, though he did say it would be "liberating." He was right. Someone in the back of the room audience left when I threw my arms into the air, but most of the crowd was pleased. If my husband James knew what I was up to, he would not be pleased.

Candide continued. ["What do you think, folks?"] They cheered and whistled. ["Aren't these fine brea-- I mean bumblebees?"] A few people laughed. A few more left. Candide stood behind me, toying with my nipples. I was embarrassed, humiliated, proud of my body, and proud of my willingness to display it. I started to breath loudly, and Candide dropped a hand down to my crotch. The room went silent, except for the sound of my breathing.

["Now that we've checked out the bees, I think it's time to examine Becca's honey pot. Everyone agree?"]

I moaned, telling myself I was faking it. ["Yes, I'm ready."] The audience cheered and whistled.

Candide hit a fist into his palm in mock anger. ["Oh, drat. I just remembered: She can show it, but I can't play with it. Onstage sex isn't legal."] This time the fans moaned. ["Becca, what do you want to do? Shall we wrap it up now, or would you like to show the people what I'm not allowed to touch?"] He lowered his voice and whispered "... what I'm not allowed to touch in public. In private..." he let his words tail off.

I had never expected Candide to tell the world about my tattoos. I never thought that he would get me half naked and play with my breasts in front of an audience. We were supposed to do comedy together, that's all. I should never have slept with him. He had promised me an eager audience when I signed up for his comedy training program. He delivered that tonight, though not in the way I expected. The audience was calling my name, ["Becca, Becca, Becca,"] mixed in with ["take it off."] I sighed. Candide always stressed the importance of giving the audience what they want. I nodded to him. He grinned, then pushed a button on a remote. The sliding wall separating our private room from the main club rolled away. I slowly writhed out of the rest of my clothes, now performing for the whole strip club. When I heard the catcalls from those patrons it struck me: this wasn't comedy. This wasn't in the slightest bit funny.

I had a hard time accepting that it was real. Candide had scammed me. He never had an interest in teaching me comedy. His goal from the start was to get into my pants and put me on display. I had twice succumbed to his advances and now understood why he asked me to tour with him.

Dancing naked on a stage, displaying my genitals was a little late for me to have that epiphany. Struggling to keep a calm expression, I grabbed the chair and put my foot on the seat. I crooked a finger at Candide, motioning him to come up and lie on the stage with his face under my crotch. He had a huge grin as he positioned himself.

"You're a terrific comedienne, Becca."

I gave him a lascivious leer and then let go with a stream of urine on his face. ["Honey, we have to laugh,"] I told him. He didn't. ["Come on, get with the program."] Candide was raging as he stood, a menacing expression replacing his grin. He tried to slap me but failed as I ducked. He was too angry to think, and I walloped him instead. He staggered, then came at me again. By now the manager/bouncer was there. He grappled Candide to the floor.

"You okay, Ma'am?" He didn't look happy.

I shuddered. "Yeah, thanks."

"That's a new twist to stripping. I don't know if the audience liked it. You'll have to pay for cleaning your piss off the floor." He waved his hand, and a naked woman came out with a mop. "I don't want any of our dancers slipping on it." He frowned. "How about doing a few lap dances; you owe us that. Clients always want to see fresh meat. You'll do well."

I shivered. "I'm not meat. I'm a wife, a mother and CPA. I thought I was also a comedienne, but... no." I pointed at Candide, now lifting himself off the floor. "Send him the cleanup bill. I'll grab my clothes and go home."

I was sober enough to drive but had to calm down before getting behind the wheel. I walked in a circle around my car a few times, trying to temper my fury at Candide, more my fury at myself. I focused my vision on the multitude of footprints in the thin, wet snow. Did all those people see me naked? When the dampness started to penetrate my shoes I cleaned the snow off the windshield, got in the car, and drove home.

There were tire tracks in the driveway. There were footprints going to and from the front door. I tensed. Was there a thief in the house? No, whoever it was had come and gone. My stomach tightened as another fear hit me: what will I tell my husband? How can I explain Candide's knowledge of my bumblebees without admitting to cheating with him? I quickly concluded that was not possible. I tentatively unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

Our front vestibule had an old, Danish teak table, which was empty earlier. Now there was a small cardboard rectangle on it, and on top of that, a piece of jewelry. I shuddered as I picked up my husband's wedding ring. I held my breath when I recognized the rectangle. It was a ticket stub from this evening's comedy show, with the words "HA-HA-HA" written on it with a thick, red marker. I sank to my knees and cried as I realized what this meant.