Dogs Don't Tell Jokes (Someday Angeline 2)

“Yes!” he asserted. Like Mr. Bone said, if he was going to do it, then he was going to do it right. One hundred percent.

“You know how to tell a girl worm from a boy worm? By kissing them.”

He laughed. He thought that was his funniest joke yet, but then when he stopped and thought about it, he realized it didn’t make any sense.

That was all right. He had almost three weeks. His plan was to make up jokes every day this week and the next. Then the third week, he’d pick out his best jokes and put them together so that one segued into another; then he’d practice over and over again in order to get his timing just right.

He continued moving around his room for over an hour, talking to himself, brainstorming, or, as he called it, “joke storming.” Then he stopped.

It was almost as if an alarm clock rang in his head, telling him it was time to quit. You’re not funny anymore, it buzzed.

That was fine. Maybe he would be funnier tomorrow. Or the next day? Or next week?

He got out a pad of paper and wrote down what he thought were some of his better jokes.

“Don’t bother your father,” said Gary’s mother. “He’s had a very difficult day.”

“I’m just going to tell him some of my new jokes,” said Gary.

“I think he’d rather just be left alone.”

“He’ll laugh,” said Gary.

Gary’s father, still in his suit and tie, was lying on his back on top of his bed and staring at the television. He had managed to take one of his shoes off, but the other was still on his foot, dangling over the side of the bed so as not to get on the bedspread.

“Do you want to hear some of the jokes I made up for the talent show?” asked Gary.

“No.”

“I made them up myself. Don’t you want to hear them?”

“Gary, I’ve had a hard day,” said his father. “I just want to relax.”

He was watching a situation comedy, but he wasn’t laughing. He just lay there, staring blankly at the TV screen, while the studio audience cracked up.

Gary sat at the foot of the bed and watched awhile. Somebody got paid a lot of money, he realized, to write the stupid show. He was only a seventh-grader, but he figured he could write a show that was a lot funnier than the one his father was watching.

His mother stood in the doorway motioning for him to leave. He turned back to his father. “C’mon, don’t you want to hear the jokes I made up? They’re really funny!”

His father let out a heavy sigh.

“Leave your father alone,” said his mother.

“Did you hear about the bald eagle who wore a wig?” Gary asked him.

“No!” snapped his father. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to hear any of your jokes right now, okay?”

“Too late, I already said it,” said Gary. “That was the whole joke.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” his father repeated. “Do you understand?”

“But I already told it to you.”

“Do you understand?”

“I was only—”

“Your father is very sensitive about his bald spot,” said Gary’s mother.