I'm the funniest person for miles around here!
Well, that’s what I told myself in the mirror this morning, right after I jumped out of bed, stark naked.
You know how it is, wishing I could still be lost in dreams of camping by the river, the sound of water flowing, morning strolls in the woods, the tent.
Got hard, hardly wet. Do you understand?
The mirror didn’t hold back; it told me.
‘Get dressed! This isn’t the place to showcase your talents. Certainly, that’s not a spot to hang your hat on.’
So, as I wrestled into my pants, avoiding an uncomfortable pinch, I wondered aloud, what’s next?
A t-shirt will do, right?
The reflection stared back at me, eyebrow raised, and its mouth slightly open, as if to say, ‘
You need material, a subject. Something to make people laugh! They didn’t come here to wallow in sorrow; life’s already dreary enough without adding to the emotional flood.’
But I’m a sincere guy. Is there anything left to laugh about besides politics, religion, and sports? Those topics are a minefield I’d rather avoid.
How about… sex?
The mirror grimaced, clearly unimpressed. ‘
Not much left to be proud of apparently.’
‘Okay, let’s pivot. How about poking fun at others? Jokes about their ignorance, lack of taste, behaviour and common sense?"
The mirror shot back.
'Are you sure about that?’ ‘This is live performance, and you can expect some harsh feedback. Are you up for it?’
I began to feel like I was facing Don Corleone himself, saying: ‘
Someday, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do a service for me.’
So, what’s it all about then? Pretending to be someone else, losing my dignity?
Seriously, who do you think I am?
‘Im Mister Foessoit. Patriek Foessoit, but you can call me Patfoes or just PF, part of the furniture.’
I was born on Saint Patrick’s Day in spring, so conceived somewhere in June on a rainy day.
My mother was British, my father French. They couldn’t quite manage to be together, how deep is your love when the Channel stands between you? There wasn't a tunnel yet. No chance on the Chunnel. They took a boat through rough waves, probably on The Love Boat, must have been springtide.
Religion?
Let’s steer clear of that, it’s too hot to handle! But like soup, it’s never served as hot as it’s made. It’s a soup, a mix of ingredients:
Jesus!
Yes, the little one, add almost a dozen apostles, cut out Judas. Bring in two fishes and seven loaves of bread. Lots of people sitting there on that hill, but not like here with comfy turning seats and tables, and real wine.
By the way, who’s picking up the tab?
So, back to the soap, euh soup. Add some wine, leftover from a wedding; just tastes like water from Cana. Don’t forget a dash of Holy Spirit for that fiery tongue. Turn the kettle to God, not to Hell! Overcook it, and you’ve got a devilish elixir.
Speaking of tongues. English isn’t my mother tongue. It’s more like a deep-throated gag.
'My car is in the garage.’
Not sure how deep that love goes. Keep your tongue! Speaking in tongues isn’t a language you can learn like Spanish. It’s a link between you and God, something no one else can grasp.
Okay, I get it.
Oh no, that isn't my religion! I’m an a-tea-ist. All I drink is coffee.
Into sports?
Football?
Some dribbling, a pass to the right, then to the left. A whistle from the referee, yellow card, number noted. Free kick, hands in the crotch. Goal! Hands up!
Soccer?
Pull up your socks, put on your helmet. This isn’t for softies. Run, charge, put the ball over the line or shoot it between the high posts. Make sure you are still dressed.
Basketball?
Seven feet high, bounce the ball between legs and arms. Jump up with all the balls you have. Drop the ball in the hoop. Grab it for another swing.
Golf?
Come into the club, take the club. Put the ball on the tee. Hit it hard and follow it through the sky. Smash the grass in the hole.
Have you seen my husband around?
Oh yes! He's filling another hole, I guess.
Tennis?
So high sits the umpire. Björn Ball smashes with full force. Out! Game for Mister Mac'n Tyger.
Whatever, name it. It's a ball game. The ball isn’t in your court! You’re missing it entirely. Put that ball down!
Politics then?
I’ve Googled it: 'politics' from Ancient Greek 'politika' means. 'Affairs of the cities.' More like chit-chat, gossip, don’t take it seriously. Poetin some secrecy or Trump it out loud!
Let’s talk about sex, baby. Somewhere over a rainbow. Take it easy. Tea for two and two for tea, me for you and you for me. As a retiree, every day feels the same. Sometimes I forget what day it is.
That’s why on Sundays; I skip the coffee for chocolate. I like my chocolate, hot and sweet, but just a casual hook-up.
‘You’re still standing there, mimicking my every word and gesture. Aren’t you supposed to be at comedy night?’
I started a joke. But little did I know, the punchline was on me. That’s all, folks!