Categories > Original > Humor > Lightbulb
I'm just a fanauthor and I don't own ...oh wait I do. Never mind.
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"Hey! How many monkeys does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"
I cover my eyes with one hand. Slouchy posture: check. Weary rasp in voice: check. Obvious absorption in task other than listening to Mike's stupid yapping: oh holy heaven, check.
"How many?"
Mike's febreeze-blue eyes light, "Two, but how the heck did they get in there?" he told me.
I turn my spine so that my head's pointed back at my computer screen. Don't picture it. Dontpictureitdontpicturitdontpicturitdont -AAAAAAAGH!
"No, Mike," I tell him stiffly, "that's supposed to be 'mice.'"
He looks at me like I'd just told him that Santa Claus ate boiled kittens on Thanksgiving. He doesn't get it. He really doesn't get it, and that's why I've never bludgeoned him.
"No..." he says, brow crinkled like his unironed work shirt. "I'm pretty sure that it is supposed to be a lightbulb."
"I have to get back to work now, Mike."
"Okay."
He turns back to his own console, doing whatever the crud he's not too stupid to get fired for. Not for the first time, I squint my eyes at the screen, but it looks like a bunch of squiggles to me.
God, I hate him. Marlene's going to be back any minute and she's going to want the report on the section-6 accident rates to be clipped and ready to go.
Clikfastclikfastclikfastclik-
"You see, it's a play on the word 'screw...'"
I cringe as visibly as possible. "I know, Mike."
"See," he says, hiking one elbow over the back of his chair, "that word means 'to insert with a twisting motion,' as in most screw-in-a-lightbulb jokes, but it also means-"
"I know, Mike," clikclikclik ...crud. Gotta delete, and ...lost my rhythm.
"So the expectation of the joke is that-"
"Mike, I'm working now." Aha! Ckil-no. Clikclikclik ...crud.
Steps in the hallway. Marlene? They pass us by; I've got some time yet.
Clikclikclik. "No, Mike," clikclikclik, "Yes, Mike," clikclik - DONE!
Unfortunately, Mike sees that I am done.
"It's also a play on 'in,'" he tells me. Mike has never understood the emphasis which I place on proofreading, and totally misses my finger tracing lines half an inch from the screen. "You see, to screw in a lightbulb-"
"Yes, Mike." No errors in the first paragraph.
"-so 'in' here, has a more literal meaning."
"Yes, Mike," all clear. To formatting!
Steps in the hall; steps in the hall.
"So you see, the joke is funny because the hearer doesn't expect 'screw in' to mean 'screw in,' though it is never explained how the monkeys got inside the lightbulb." He cringes, "And that poor mouse! Why would you say something like that?"
Marlene is coming but I am clik-clik-clikclik-done!
I can hear her key in our door, but it'll take her a minute, so I'll finally ask.
"I've been wondering, Mike: what do you do all day? We've been crammed into the same space for a year now, and I still don't know what they pay you for around here."
He smiles again, that febreeze-blue smile. "Oh, you wouldn't get it."
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.
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"Hey! How many monkeys does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"
I cover my eyes with one hand. Slouchy posture: check. Weary rasp in voice: check. Obvious absorption in task other than listening to Mike's stupid yapping: oh holy heaven, check.
"How many?"
Mike's febreeze-blue eyes light, "Two, but how the heck did they get in there?" he told me.
I turn my spine so that my head's pointed back at my computer screen. Don't picture it. Dontpictureitdontpicturitdontpicturitdont -AAAAAAAGH!
"No, Mike," I tell him stiffly, "that's supposed to be 'mice.'"
He looks at me like I'd just told him that Santa Claus ate boiled kittens on Thanksgiving. He doesn't get it. He really doesn't get it, and that's why I've never bludgeoned him.
"No..." he says, brow crinkled like his unironed work shirt. "I'm pretty sure that it is supposed to be a lightbulb."
"I have to get back to work now, Mike."
"Okay."
He turns back to his own console, doing whatever the crud he's not too stupid to get fired for. Not for the first time, I squint my eyes at the screen, but it looks like a bunch of squiggles to me.
God, I hate him. Marlene's going to be back any minute and she's going to want the report on the section-6 accident rates to be clipped and ready to go.
Clikfastclikfastclikfastclik-
"You see, it's a play on the word 'screw...'"
I cringe as visibly as possible. "I know, Mike."
"See," he says, hiking one elbow over the back of his chair, "that word means 'to insert with a twisting motion,' as in most screw-in-a-lightbulb jokes, but it also means-"
"I know, Mike," clikclikclik ...crud. Gotta delete, and ...lost my rhythm.
"So the expectation of the joke is that-"
"Mike, I'm working now." Aha! Ckil-no. Clikclikclik ...crud.
Steps in the hallway. Marlene? They pass us by; I've got some time yet.
Clikclikclik. "No, Mike," clikclikclik, "Yes, Mike," clikclik - DONE!
Unfortunately, Mike sees that I am done.
"It's also a play on 'in,'" he tells me. Mike has never understood the emphasis which I place on proofreading, and totally misses my finger tracing lines half an inch from the screen. "You see, to screw in a lightbulb-"
"Yes, Mike." No errors in the first paragraph.
"-so 'in' here, has a more literal meaning."
"Yes, Mike," all clear. To formatting!
Steps in the hall; steps in the hall.
"So you see, the joke is funny because the hearer doesn't expect 'screw in' to mean 'screw in,' though it is never explained how the monkeys got inside the lightbulb." He cringes, "And that poor mouse! Why would you say something like that?"
Marlene is coming but I am clik-clik-clikclik-done!
I can hear her key in our door, but it'll take her a minute, so I'll finally ask.
"I've been wondering, Mike: what do you do all day? We've been crammed into the same space for a year now, and I still don't know what they pay you for around here."
He smiles again, that febreeze-blue smile. "Oh, you wouldn't get it."
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