“Would I really wear a diaper to school?” Gary asked. He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
Except it wasn’t a party, it was a talent show. So party pooper wouldn’t make sense. “Or maybe that would just make it even funnier?” He’d have to think about it.
He continued to look through the jokebook.
Why shouldn’t you write on an empty stomach? Because it’s better to write on paper.
He wondered how many jokes he’d need. He didn’t know how much time he’d have. Normally, a stand-up comic has to fill eight minutes, but it might be different for a school talent show. He didn’t know how long it took for him to tell a joke. And how much time should he allow for laughter?
How do you tell a rooster from a hen?
You toss some corn on the ground.
If he eats it, he’s a rooster.
If she eats it, she’s a hen.
Of course, there was more to it, he realized, than just looking through jokebooks and finding fifteen or twenty funny jokes. The jokes had to be related. One joke had to lead into the next. “Segue” was what the real comedians had called it.
So, after the joke about the hen, he thought he could tell jokes about other animals. “Speaking of animals, did you hear about the frog-jumping contest? My father won.” (Pause: One … two … three.) “He was able to jump over thirty-five frogs.”
In his jokebook it was someone named Mr. Jones who jumped over thirty-five frogs, but on television the comics had all agreed it was best to personalize your jokes. You should use members of your family whenever possible.
It was too bad, he thought, that he wasn’t old enough to have a mother-in-law. Then he could say his mother-in-law won the frog-jumping contest.
“But seriously, folks, everyone in my family is a good jumper. In fact, I myself can jump higher than my house. I can jump three feet high.” (Pause: One … two … three.) “My house can’t jump at all!”
No, instead of saying he could jump three feet high, he realized, it would be better if he just jumped up, right there on stage. It’s better if a stand-up comedian is able to move around and do things, rather than just stand up.
What do you do when your nose goes on strike?
Gary’s heart jumped as he heard someone enter his room. He slowly closed his jokebook.
“What are you doing?” asked his mother.
He turned around and smiled at her. His parents had a rule. He wasn’t allowed to look at his jokebooks until he finished all his homework.
“I don’t suppose that’s schoolwork,” his mother said.
“Sort of,” said Gary. “It is for school.”
People always told Gary he looked exactly like his mother, which bothered him a little bit, not because his mother wasn’t nice-looking, but because he didn’t want to look like a forty-four-year-old woman. They had the same round face and wide mouth. Their noses were just a bit flat, and they both had small darting eyes.
He told her about the talent show.
“I think that’s wonderful,” his mother said in a way that didn’t sound like she thought it was wonderful.
“First prize is a hundred dollars!” said Gary.
His mother wasn’t impressed. “I hope you win,” she said. “But your homework comes first. Otherwise I’m going to take all those stupid jokebooks and throw them in the trash. I’m not kidding.”
“But this is really important,” said Gary. “It’s just as important as any of my other school-work. In fact, it’s more important. It is! When I grow up, I’m going to be a stand-up comic. I won’t need to know history or math for that.”
“That’s fine,” said his mother. “But right now, I don’t want you looking at a jokebook until you finish your homework.”
“You know, you’re really going to feel silly one day when I’m a famous comedian.”
His mother smiled. “I hope you’re right,” she said. This time she sounded like she really did hope he was right, like maybe it was his only hope.