When my friend Mitch reached middle age — at least the part that he would finally admit was middle age — his doctor told him he needed to get a procedure called a sigmoidoscopy.
He apparently though the doctor had said sigmundoscopy, but that was something of a Freudian slip. When the doctor told him it actually involved a flexible rectal probe, Mitch’s muscles clenched so tight it caused a. sig alert on the Harbor Freeway.
When he finally had the test, he took great pride in the doctor telling him in all his years of practice, he had never had a patient that had a more difficult time relaxing enough to perform the test.
I teased him about it, but to his mind, the doctor had paid him a wonderful compliment.
Not much of a punchline, but it gets us into the topic of a very fundamental different between men and women and their sensesof humor.
You see, very few women will laugh at a joke that involves women being sexually assaulted.
Men on the other hand …
Mitch and his friend Jim were talking. Jim asked Mitch if on awakening in the morning with a pain in his ass and Vaseline smeared all over his boy, he would tell anyone.
“Certainly not,” Mitch replied with outrage.
Jim grinned. “Wanna go camping?”
Then there was the one about Mitch finishing his degree in archaeology and getting a job on a dig out in the Egyptian desert.
Jim picked Mitch up at the airport and drove him to the dig. It was several hours from real civilization and 20 miles past a small village where they could purchase supplies. When they got to the dig. which may not have been the end of the world (but you could see it from there), Mitch had a question.
“What do you do for fun around here?”
Jim replied, “When we finish work for the week, we have cases of beer brought in Friday afternoon and we tie one on that evening.”
“I don’t drink,” Mitch said.
“Well,” Jim said. “On Saturday evening, we get into the jeeps and go back to the village. There’s a brothel there.”
Mitch sighed. “That doesn’t sound like fun either.”
Jim looked at him. “Are you gay?”
“Certainly not,” Mitch responded.
“Wow,” Jim said. “Then you really won’t like Sundays.”
The funniest of the three — at least to me — is the next one. Of course it’s also the most risque.
Mitch was driving south on Interstate 95 when he stopped and picked up a hitchhiker. Bad move. The guy pulled a pistol on him and made him stop at a deserted rest area. He took his wallet, his keys and his clothes. The he hogtied Mitch, wrists to ankles and drove off in his car.
Jim came along half an hour later and came across Mitch, hogtied and naked. “Mitch, what the hell happened to you?”
Mitch told him the story and then said, “Thank the Lord you found me.”
Then he noticed Jim loosening his belt and starting to take off his pants. “Jim, what are you doing?”
Jim grinned sheepishly. “Mitch, this just isn’t your day.”
These aren’t the funniest jokes in the world, but they are funny in a twisted sort of way, and I can only think of one adult male who wouldn’t laugh at them.
Sorry, Mitch.