Heard any good jokes lately?

I haven't.

Recently, I wrote about the personal angst involved in having "Happy Birthday" sung to me. Sunday evening, I was reminded that there are much worse things that could happen.

After the baby went to bed, Mrs. U stepped outside for a moment and ran into the neighbors across the street. They're nice people who I enjoy having a beer with from time to time. I hadn't stopped by in awhile, what with the whole fatherhood thing going on. My wife walked back in and told me the neighbors wanted me to come over for a beer. It sounded like a nice way to end Father's Day, so I pulled my sneakers on, grabbed a beer, and sauntered across the street.

Their home was in the final stages of a "race day" (big Nascar fans, the neighbors). Immediately, I found a new friend in the form of a drunk brother-in-law, simply because I was wearing a Steelers hat (I knew I should have gone with the Flyers hat -- Nascar fans rarely trickle over into hockey). I surmised that the drunk guy had already annoyed everybody else at the get-together, and I was the fresh meat walking across the street.

As I looked for a place to recycle my Coors Light bottle and freshen up with one of the neighbor's Bud Lights, I found myself cornered on their front patio with the drunk brother-in-law.

"F'in this, f'in that, possums, pickup trucks, Freebird, Earnhardt."

I'm not sure exactly what he said, but that is what I heard. Nice to hear all the profanity as his wife and one-year-old son traveled back and forth, loading up the car for the inebriated ride home.

"Hey, I got a joke for ya."

Oh, God.

I hate this. This is much worse than the Happy Birthday thing. Not only do I have to listen, I have to give him some sort of validation in the form of fake, forced laughter.

He began to tell some joke about a foul-mouthed parrot. I didn't bother trying to listen, I just stared at my feet, then his feet, then shot a quick glance up to his bloodshot eyes. There's nothing going on in that brain, I thought. The Nascar race had ended just two hours earlier, but the little cars racing around in his head had crashed long ago, and no amount of Crown Royal was going to save him. I started planning my response. I'd have to give him something, but not enough to encourage him to tell another joke. I knew it would be impossible for me to genuinely laugh, unless he suddenly climbed and then fell off a ladder, or a bird shit on his head.

"Blah, Blah, parrot, fat lady, mother-f'er." He nodded his head and smiled like he just got a great deal on Yosemite Sam mudflaps. That must have been the punchline.

Here was my big moment (or his big moment). I ended up forcing out a half-moan, that started with an "H".

"Haaaa......."

Apparently, that was good enough for him. Unfortunately, it was too good.

"I love that damn joke. Hey, did you hear the one about the..."

Just then, his wife called him. She was impatiently waiting by their truck. It was time to go.

Thank you, thank you, drunk man's wife. You've obviously made horrible decisions in the past, but I applaud this one.

"I'll have to tell you that one next time," he said.

I felt like the governor just spared me from the execution. "Way to keep a guy in suspense", I said. Why am I so nice to people?

"Drive safely." I meant that.

I would appreciate it if people would ask me for permission before telling a joke. It's just too uncomfortable, especially when the person telling it could only be funny if they fell down.

I envision a world where the drunk brother-in-law would say, "Do you mind if I tell you a joke?"

"I'd rather you not."

Wouldn't that be easier?