I don’t know why I’m pursuing a career in comedy — because no one in my family can tell a joke. My mom laughs over hers. She’s like –
Mom: “The other day, I went to mail a check to the Alzheimer’s research foundation and I haforhagothatohaputhaonhathehastampha ha ha…” {Pause.} “Isn’t that funny?”
* * *
No one in my family can understand a joke, either. I’m like –
Josh: “Okay: what do you call cheese that isn’t yours?”
Grandfather: “Ass-hole cheese!”
Josh: “Wait, what?!”
Grandfather: “That’s what I call Swiss cheese.”
Josh: “Why?”
Grandfather: “Because there are holes in it. Like an ass-hole.”
Josh: “But why would that be the punch line?”
Grandfather: “I don’t know. I didn’t write the damn joke.”
Josh: “No…it’s nacho cheese. Like, ‘not your’ cheese.”
Grandfather: “I don’t get it.”
* * *
…and, since my childhood, no one has allowed me to tell jokes or stories. It’s always –
Mom: “Josh, tell the story about how you went on a date with a ‘pre-op’ and you thought it meant, ‘pre-optometry’ even though it really meant ‘pre-operation’ and it turned out you went on a date with a man.”
Josh: “You just did.”
