A few threads down on this list is a thread containing jokes that we shouldn’t think are funny but we do.
Most of them are quite funny.
But they shouldn’t be.
I aim my complaints mostly at the racist humor. I don’t think that simply preceding a joke with a disclaimer makes it ok to say it.
I have told these jokes countless times. I have laughed at them and other like them countless more. But I want to be better than that. I try not to tell them anymore, and try not to laugh at them, even if they are funny.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I have no sense of humor. Hearing even the worst of these jokes makes me want to, at least, chuckle inside. They are, for the most part, quite clever and quite funny. But just like tasty foods that will give me a heart attack if I eat them, these are bad for me, and I would rather not be involved with them.
And, just like it’s your choice to choose a diet that will have you dead from a heart attack at 40, it’s your choice to continue enjoying racist humor. I just think you’ll feel better about yourself if you give it up for something healthier.
Like…
A New York woman was at her East Side hairdresser’s getting her hair styled prior to a trip to Rome with her boyfriend. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded, "Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded & dirty and full of Italians. You’re crazy to go to Rome.
So, how are you getting there?"
“We’re taking Continental,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“Continental?” exclaimed the hairdresser. "That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they’re always late.
So, where are you staying in Rome?"
“We’ll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome’s left bank called Teste…”
"Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its gonna be something special and exclusive. But it’s really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and they’re overpriced.
So, whatcha doing when you get there?"
“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.”
“That’s rich,” laughed the hairdresser. “You and a million other people trying to see him. He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it.”
A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
“It was wonderful,” explained the woman, “not only were we on time in one of Continental’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28 year old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel-- it was great! They’d just finished a $5 million remodeling job and now it’s just a jewel, finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner’s suite at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the hairdresser, “I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, for as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope likes to personally meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.” Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
“Really?” asked the hairdresser. “What’d he say?”
He said, “Where’d you get the shitty hairdo?”