I shall endeavor to be brief, lest I submerge my intention
in extraneous superfluity. (I fear that
my continued reading of Les Miserables has
infected my writing style with the revered Monsieur Hugo’s signature flowerliness.)
My solitary purpose herein is to delineate a specific genre
of joke, a delightful example of which – which I shall introduce in due course
– never fails to enliven my spirits when it materializes spontaneously, and
always appreciatively, in my consciousness.
The fortunate few whom the Good Lord has seen fit to bless
with comedic capabilities ascribe to the genre to which I was heretofore
referring the name…
The “Picture Joke.”
A “Picture Joke” is a form of laughter elicitation in which
a skillfully crafted arrangement of words conjures a crystal-clear image in the
audience’s mind’s eye, the ensuing merriment incited not by the words themselves, but by the hilarious “picture” they so
artfully evoke.
I encountered the joke in question in the early nineteen-sixties
on The Ed Sullivan Show, then the
showcase arena for the preeminent comedians of the day, and some lesser
practitioners as well. The soon to be
revealed object of my amusement emerged, sheathed in the quavering tones of Pat
Buttram, a perennial “Sad Sack” who attained the peak of his popularity as the bumbling
sidekick of B-movie cowboy/warbler Gene Autry, Buttram, that night, venturing a solo
turn as a standup comedian. (The man,
those of the appropriate age may recall, later resurfaced as the amiably
larcenous “Mr. Haney” on Green Acres.)
Pat Buttram, a journeyman comic, delivered his invariably
cornponian concoctions in the yodelly timbre of a voice-cracking
adolescent. It enhances a comedian’s – or
comedienne’s, if that distinguishing terminology is still in service – chances
of success, I have learned, if their material reaches the listener’s ear, saturated
in a humorous tonality – the proverbial “funny voice” if you will. This
joke, I hasten to add that, to me, requires no assistance whatever in attaining
its objective.
“To me”, I say, since experience reflects the precarious
nature of recommending a favored joke to another, the response to all comedic offerings being wildly and indisputably
subjective.
And now, with no further detour or delay, I present for your
adjudication this “Picture Joke”, and the perennial object of my unwavering enthusiasm.
Hewing to the hayseed terrain with which he was inextricably
identified, Buttram’s “Picture Joke” colorfully describes two identifiably
non-urban lovebirds thusly:
“He was so bow-legged and she was so knock-kneed that – and
here it comes –
“...when they walked down the street together, they spelled
‘Ox.’”
Do you see it?
I do.
And half a century later – or perhaps longer – that “Ox
Picture” can still elicit an expansive smile on this humble chronicler’s
rapidly aging physiognomy.
Though not originally
written that way, this blog post, inexplicably, reads funnier in French.
2 comments:
Funny, I like it. I doubt that Mrs. Douglas would get it, tho.
Yes, Mr. Earlo. It reads funnier in French. But a few more French words, i'll act like Vladimir and ask you to turn the whole blog in French.
Bonne journée
Post a Comment