The Joke Killer
A toast to you, Joke Killer - There is one of these in every group of friends. The one friend that once he gets his hands on a perfectly good “inside joke,” the rest of the group knows they’re about to witness a joke-icide (Joke Murder).
This person usually kills the joke slowly. In the most painful way possible. And he makes all of you watch. Its like he refilmed the movie Hostel, but with your jokes instead of American tourists. And then he made you watch it. Honestly, I’d rather watch the tourists get tortured.
His favorite method is by constantly repeating whatever the joke may be, in situations where it isn’t applicable. I mean constantly. It makes your skin crawl.
Let’s say the inside joke is that, when your friend Jeff got really wasted, he was bent over in the yard, spewing vomit out of every facial orifice (for the love of God, click that hyperlink). As you went outside to tend to his pussy ass, he managed to squeak out some sort of grunting sound. When you asked what the fuck it was, Jeff says “I shit my pants.” This is pure comedic gold. An epic story and the beginnings of a very funny joke. Now every time Jeff drinks, you ask him “Hey Jeff, are you gonna shit your pants again?” or ask him if he is going to get “Pants shitting drunk.”
Granted, this is not my best example, but go with it.
You and your buddies know who the Joke Killer is in your group. Lets call him….Keith. That’s a pretty terrible name, so it suits this person well. So whenever you get a real good joke, you do everything physically possible to keep Keith from hearing it. When Keith is around, the joke does not exist. Even when you could really get a big laugh by using it, you bury it deep down inside to avoid him getting his filthy hands on it. You repress it.
But, eventually, one of you fucks it up. Keith gets hold of the joke. Bewildered, he inquires as to the origin. Once hearing the story, the slow agonizing death of the joke is under way. The poor joke. It never knew what hit it.
Keith obviously thinks every fucking joke is the funniest fucking thing he has ever heard. (Side note, have you ever realized how this guy also has the most ear bleeding laugh ever? Its terrible. Which makes the joke murdering that much harder to bear) He murmurs it to himself a few times quietly, giggling every time he says it. “hehehe…….pants shitting….hehehe.”
Then, over the next few days, or if this person is a pro, over the next few months, the joke sees its life come to a long, drawn out end. Now every time somebody wants to drink, Keith is there with a hillllllllaaaaarrrrrriiiiiooooouuuuussssss:
“Hey are you tryna shit your pants or something? hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha”
Ehhhhhhh…..Why do you do this to me, Keith?
But that’s just the start of it. Keith also inserts the joke into places where it doesn’t belong. Its like he sticks the joke into someone’s ass.
Wrong hole, Keith. It doesn’t belong there. He doesn’t care. Great, now he is a Joke Rapist and a Joke Killer. I smell a new episode of Law and Order: SVU here.
You’re all eating breakfast after a night out. 6 weeks removed from the origin of the aforementioned joke. The conversation goes like this:
Keith - Man, I almost pulled a Jeff last night. I was pants shitting drunk! HAHAHAHAH
Friend A - Yeah, I think we were all pretty wasted.
Friend B - Yeah I think at one point Tony shotgunned like 5 beers in a row.
Keith - Did he shit his pants? HAHAHAHAHA
Friend A - (clearly agitated) No. He didn’t fucking shit hi—
Friend C - Anyway, did you see Kevin hooking up with Stacey McKenna last night? That bitch is busted.
Keith - HAHAHAHA Yeah I’d have to be pants shitting drunk to do that HAHAHAHA
The table goes quiet. Breakfast (and possibly the day) is ruined. Thanks a lot, Keith.
This is a typical conversation with Keith. Until, that is, he gets his hands on a new piece of fresh joke meat. Then he murders another, having picked apart the last one down to the bone. Seriously, this kid has brutally murdered like 25 jokes in the past 6 months. Seriously, he’s like the John Wayne Gacy of laughter. Don’t they have jails for people like this? Where they can get a new joke every day to kill all by themselves in solitary confinement? Or to collectively beat a joke to death in some sort of Joke Killing orgy with a group full of fellow joke killers? That’s the world I one day want to live in. Where all the Keiths in the world are locked away to kill jokes amongst each other and not subject us to the painful slow death of our once funny one liners. **Sigh**
And so, a toast to you, Joke Killer. We hate you. And please, for the love of God, don’t start a blog now called “Burnt Toast.” Let me have this one a little longer, you bastard.