Fiendishly tricked into thinking the weather was finally going back to normal after a seldom-seen “non-shitty day” last week, I happened to buy a big-ass box of popsicles from a local rat hole. The popsicles are bomb, don’t get me wrong, but the fuckin things have the absolute worst jokes ever conceived printed on the stick. A three year-old would call them corny. The “hilarious” witticisms are placed on the stick in such a way that you only get the supposed punchline upon completion of eating the popsicle. The first time I noticed this I read the so-called joke in question and it immediately soured my stomach: “What kind of telephone calls do marathon runners make? Long distance.” Blech. They can’t all be that bad I thought. Fifty popsicles later, no they’re not all that bad, they’re worse. Here’s a few of the gems I’ve had to endure:
What shakes at the bottom of the ocean? A nervous wreck. Why are doctors always calm? They have a lot of patients. What does a parrot want on July 4th? A fire cracker. Why are math textbooks always stressed? They deal with so many problems. How do trees go on the internet? They log in.
Hilarious right? It’s like Richard Pryor got into the popsicle business. Every time I read one of those things it just makes me mad. I don’t even want to eat the fuckin popsicles anymore, lest my mood get ruined again by anti-humor.
What would be funny though is if they had put some truly classic humor on those things. You know, something that the kids can really enjoy. Something like, “How many Jews can you fit in a car? Two in the front, two in the back, and six million in the ash tray.”
Now that’s popsicle material.