One of these days, I’m going to get myself a chicken.
I’ll put it on top of my head and I’ll walk into a bar. I’ll order a pint, then I’ll sit on a barstool and drink the beer slowly. Maybe I’ll eat a few peanuts or watch a bit of the game on the TV above the bar. When my glass is empty, I’ll tip the bartender and walk out.
Now, admit it – there’s nothing funny about that, is there? It looked like it might turn out to be funny, but no. It was just a guy in a bar with a chicken on his head.
Stupid, yes. But funny? Nope.
How many jokes have you heard that begin with the words: “Guy walks into a bar with a chicken on his head…” or words to that effect?
Might be a duck. Or a frog. Or a turtle. Maybe a leprechaun.
The bartender never bats an eyelash. He just wipes the bar and asks: “Can I help you?” Apparently, if you’re a bartender, you’ve seen it all.
It’s only after that that something funny happens — A guy walks into a bar with a chicken on his head, and the bartender says, “Can I help you?” The chicken says to the bartender, “Yeah, can you get this guy off my butt?” Something like that.
See, now that’s funny.
But how about a guy who walks into a bar with a chicken on his head, who drinks a beer and leaves? End of story.
You’d never tell a joke like that. Nobody would laugh. They’d think that you were an idiot or a fool.
Because there’s nothing funny about a guy walking into a bar with a chicken on his head unless he – or the chicken – says or does something funny before they leave.
So that’s why I think I’m going to go out and get myself a chicken. I’ll spend some time training him to sit patiently on my head wherever I go, and then to gaze around when I sit down, looking as if he has something to say.
And that’s as far as I’ll go with his training. I won’t teach him to say anything. I’ll teach him to sit there quietly, blinking his stupid chicken eyes, as I finish up the act.
When the bartender says: “Can I help you?” I’ll order a beer. The chicken will keep his mouth shut. I’ll sit there sipping the beer quietly, and then I’ll leave the bartender a dollar tip and walk out the door with the chicken blinking stupidly on top of my head.
Of course, the bar won’t be empty. There will be somebody else sitting at the end of the bar, and he’ll see the whole thing. He’ll say to himself, “That’s the darnedest thing I’ve ever seen!” And he’ll pay his bar tab and hurry home.
When he gets home, he’ll run into the living room, drop his keys on the end table, and say to his wife: “Honey, guess what? On the way home from work I stopped off at the Parkside Pub. I had a quick beer, and guess what happened? A guy walks into the bar with a chicken on his head!”
“Yeah?” his wife will say with an expectant smile on her face. She’ll put down the Coke she’s drinking so it won’t come foaming out of her nose when he delivers the punch line.
“That’s it,” the guy will say with a shrug. “He drank a beer and then he left. And the chicken sat on his head the whole time!”
She’ll stare at him, waiting for something funny to happen.
But it won’t. Because there’s nothing funny about a guy with a chicken on his head.
She’ll pick up her Coke, sigh, and walk out of the living room. “You know, I used to like your jokes,” she’ll say.
She’ll turn around at the door for a good long look at him, shake her head and say: “Sometimes I wonder about you.”
And I’ll be at home, sitting on the sofa with my blinking chicken perched on my head, thinking: “Who looks stupid now?”
April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.
–Mark Twain
TR Kerth is the author of the book “Revenge of the Sardines.” Contact him at trkerth@yahoo.com
