I think I've found my perfect audience. Third graders. I KILL when I'm talking to third graders. If I could open up like a Branson, Missouri theater that catered solely to third graders, I'd be the Wayne Fucking Newton of people who... perform only to third graders. Whatever. The point is, third graders think I'm funny, okay?
Miss O and I went to pick up Mr. Z at school today and we started walking back with Mr. Z and one of his classmates, Bernice. I know: greatest. name. ever. BERNICE! She was walking with her very cute younger brothers Marvell and William.
I had brought some graham crackers shaped like bugs for the boy, and Bernice and her brothers asked if they could try some. Mr. Z shared (nice boy!) and I said something stupid like, "Hey, Bernice. That ladybug cracker actually has crushed ladybugs in it." She was all, "No way!" and I was all, "Way!" Well, that cracked their asses up. I thought to myself, "What the fuck?! They're laughing this hard at that?!
Then, Marvell tried to swipe the Tootsie Roll William was eating out of his hand and it fell to the ground. William was pissed and when he picked the Tootsie nubbin' up, it was all covered in little pebbles. To defuse the pending brotherly bloodshed, I jumped in with "Hey look, William. Now it's rock candy!"
Well, they stopped just short of shitting themselves, they were laughing so hard. I was killing! I could do no wrong! As we approached Bernice's turnoff, I closed my set with some dumbass joke about picture day (which is tomorrow) and bid them adieu. I'd say it was a solid five minutes of top-notch material.
As we continued walking, Mr. Z said, "You know dad, on my 'Top Two Funny Guys' list, you're definitely number two."
Number Two?! What the shit?!
I held it together and asked, "So, who's number one?"
He replied, "Mr. Coryell. He's really funny."
The teacher! Of course! The Punster! I can't compete with PUNS! They're like heroin to a seven-year-old! But you know what? I'm totally cool with playing second fiddle to him. The dude's an incredible teacher and he loves Mr. Z, so I'm quite comfortable in the passenger seat.
Later, while Mr. Z was taking a bath, he said, "Dad, you know Mr. Coryell has a giant joke book on his desk where I think he gets most of his jokes."
I'm not sure, but I think he was trying to soften the blow of the just-shy-of-number-one-status he awarded me earlier, which is pretty fucking sweet. I said, "Well, he might get some of his jokes from there, but he's definitely a funny guy."
Mr. Z agreed.