Dogs Don't Tell Jokes (Someday Angeline 2)

“A bad joke is like a rotten fish,” he decided. “You don’t know it’s bad until the next day when it starts to stink.”

He laughed. “That’s good! That’s funny! I don’t think I can use it for my routine, but it’s still funny!”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, he remembered one of the other jokes that he had decided not to use. It was funny. “Why didn’t I think it was funny yesterday?” He wondered what made him suddenly remember it. For that matter, he wondered how he ever thought up any of his jokes in the first place.

BANG! Gary flung himself on his bed, as if a bomb had just exploded in his room—or in his head. He rolled over, looked up at the ceiling, and whispered “Perfect.”

He had come up with the big finish for his act.

There was just one question: Would he really have the guts to do it?

“Sure. Why not?”

It meant he’d have to reorganize his whole routine to make the ending work just right. He’d have to change the beginning and the middle to fit the ending, and have the whole thing memorized by tomorrow night.

He hoped the thrift store still had the hat. If not, he could always use one of his other hats, but the one at the thrift store was better because it was a little too tight.

He’d need help, too. His parents wouldn’t help him, that was for sure. He didn’t dare tell his parents.

Before he changed his mind, he went to the kitchen and called Gus on the telephone.

Then he called the thrift store and told the woman to save the hat for him. He’d pick it up tomorrow on the way home from school.

Gary went through his routine, from beginning to end, for the third time. It was still too choppy. It needed to be smoother. The timing was all wrong.

He set his notes aside and tried doing it from memory. He was surprised by how much he had memorized. He only had to look at his notes a couple of times.

Then he went through it again, and this time he didn’t have to look at his notes at all. He sighed in disgust. “It sounds like I’m reciting the Gettysburg Address or something.”

He didn’t want it to sound like he was reciting something he had memorized. It had to sound natural, like he was making it up as he went along.

“Okay, one more time.”

Timing was the most important thing. He didn’t want to pause too long, or too short. The pause had to be perfect. The pause was all-important.

Or was it? Should he pause at all? When? How long? Why?

“AAAAAAHHHHHH!” he shouted.

He stared at his blank walls. He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. He had gone over the jokes so many times he didn’t even know what was a joke and what wasn’t.

There was a knock on his door.

“What!” he shouted.

His mother peeked around the door. “I know you said you didn’t want to be disturbed for anything …”

He glared at her. Actually, he was grateful for the interruption, but he didn’t let on.

“Angeline’s on the phone,” his mother said. “She said it was urgent. Do you want me to tell her you’ll call her back?”

“No, I’ll talk to her,” said Gary.

Gary’s mother seemed a little insulted that while she, his own mother, wasn’t allowed to interrupt him, he was perfectly willing to leave his room to talk to Angeline.

He took the call in the kitchen. Maybe Angeline’d get to come to the talent show after all.

“Hi. What’s up?”