I love joke books! I used to anyway. I had so many growing up, and they were all better than the sorry excuse served up in The Knock Knock Joke Book, at least through my roses spectacled nostalgia. I've a vague recollection that Jase 'the Ace' Gunn even compiled an anthology of his own, presumably as part of intensive therapy to help him get over the trauma of Thingee losing an eye on national television. Unfortunately I'm unable to find evidence of this book of classic gags, so have resorted to a few last ditch measures.
Firstly, I have followed the sage advice of our prime minister, offered in reference to an equally scarce commodity: the Auckland house under $500,000. Unfortunately, going to trademe.co.nz and googling 'Jason Gunn Joke Book' did not return the 'quite a few' hits promised.
So secondly, I have tweeted the great man himself. I'll keep you updated. I feel my chances of a reply are somewhat higher than when I tweeted Frank Bainamarama about KFC.
Anyway. I bought the Knock Knock Joke Book in the hope I might be able to interest the 3 year old in humour, given his history of publicly rejecting my excellent gags and puns. And he loves the book! That's not necessarily a good thing. Normally I love forced jokes. The contents of this book aren't forced though, so much as they are rammed down your throat with crudely drawn cartoons to explain exactly why the contrived situation you just read was funny: oh, I see, the person at the door was a carpet salesman, trying to draw maximum drama out of his arrival! How droll!
Granted: a few jokes are tireless classics. In fact, I think this one was even in Jase's anthology:
But too many rely on visuals to appeal to use in any real life situation. Like: why has this man got a seal on his head, and how am I going to convey that when I regale the joke during witty banter with chums down at the pub? Maybe prefaced by, 'hey dudes, wanna hear a gag that would be super chill if you had a seal on your head?'
Still other jokes just don't work at all. WTF is an island doing knocking at someone's door. Especially if it's landing on the roof with a parachute. FFS.
Fittingly, the last entry ends with a young lad running away (Omar goodness!), a strong metaphor for what anyone should do should they encounter this book.
And another thing!!! A week and a bit ago I presented John Key's finest career moment, sculpted in balloons. May I present today, modelled out of inflatable rubber, the climax of Minister of Business and Innovation and loads of other crap I can't be arsed googling Steven Joyce's time in politics. It is, of course, the Waitangi Dildo.
I was going to make some penis jokes at this point, but I think they've all been made already. So here's a picture of another phallus that Steven Joyce has the misfortune to be often associated with.