Your Job Is Your Joke

The Rocket City Comedy Corner

Your Job IS Your Joke

      

Close but no cigar! Sigmund Freud, who famously connected jokes with salacious thoughts in Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious, got it somewhat wrong. Because if you think about it, jokes have much more to do with your job description than with things you may be thinking but maybe not. Who knows.  Anyway, we at Rocket City Blues don’t have this “unconscious,” no way.  We think

your job is your joke and your joke is your job.

For example, a neurosurgeon might say,

So this patient comes in with a brain tumor the size and consistency of a squash casserole. “Doctor doctor, she says, I need a  brain transplant or I will die!” You say, “Calm down. Step over here to my replacement brain display case. On the top shelves,” you tell her, “we have plenty of expensive brains, those are men’s brains. Down on the bottom shelf, those are women’s brains, they’re cheaper.”

“I’m shocked,” says this woman, very angry. “Why do the men’s brains get top price, and the women’s brains go cheap?”

“Calm down,” says the doc. “No offense,” he says. “This is easy. The women’s brains are used.”

By contrast, a nurse in cardiac surgery might say,

So, an hour and a half late and wearing tassel loafers and plaid golf shorts, in walks Doctor Dickhead. The first nurse he verbally abuses. The second he gropes. The third . . .

Well, you see where this is going.

Engineers, they generally go for knock knock jokes:

“Knock knock” says the engineering student.

“Whose (sic) there?”

“I Dare You.”

“I Dare You who?”

“I Dare You to make me take English.

Police persons generally go for jokes about violence and horror, which they live with every day and for which they are paid not enough:

So this guy is parked along I-65, he’s gut shot with 357 Magnum, and he has his license and his registration but you guessed it no proof of insurance.

Your soldier might say,

So this Haji, maybe he’s eight, nine, whatever, comes up pushing his bicycle and there is no chain on this bicycle and the rear tire is flat. He has a package, a basket. Charlie squad’s point man says “waste him”. But a cat jumps out of the basket. The boy drops the bike. He chases his cat. No joke. I’m too young for this shit. I’ve always been too young for this shit.

Your Rocket City space buff might say,

So Wernher von Braun, mum on the slave-labor rocket factory with hanged workers dangling from cranes and death rates higher than Auschwitz and mum also on the unmanned flying terrorism project, Wernher makes a mental note to freshen up his resume and then he says to the squad of GIs who have captured him,

“Hey, you got a job for me?”

This is comedy. This is what makes life sometimes almost bearable.