Jokes: Metathe-Spooner

Comic metathesis combined with Spoonerism characterisitcs: that is, cliché get parts switched.

Grange Contest

After the grange meeting the farmers would hang around bragging about the talents of their livestock. Farmers Smith and Jones came to blows more than once. Finally, Farmer Brown has had enough. “Dagnabbit, we’re gonna settle this once and for all. I say we have a contest. Applause meters, just like on TV. Majority rules. And then you’ll all have to shut up forever more.”

The big night comes. Farmer Green’s chicken goes undefeated at tic-tack-toe. Farmer Waldrap’s horse beats out math answers with his hoof to problems that had half the farmers themselves stumped. The farmers and their families are enjoying it more than many anticipated.

Farmer Smith’s turn comes. He leads his herd of cows onto the stage. Hands them instruments: trumpets, trombones, saxophones … The cows kick their program off with Camptown Races and finish up with a rousing Sousa march. The grange goes wild.

Farmer Smith goes red as a beet. He shoves away his wife who’s trying to give him his hypertension medication. He manhandles the piano up onto the stage and wrestles it out to stage center. “Now you’ll really see something,” he promises with an edge to his voice. The crowd goes quiet. Out come a pair of animals no body even knew Farmer Smith had: kangaroos, male and female. The joey sits at the piano and hammers out some boogie-woogie. The female dances with great gallumphing leaps.

The applause had been appreciable at the end of each successive act, but now comes judgment time. Farmer Brown sets up the applause meter where everyone can see it. The farmers lead their stars out, like for curtain calls, in the order of the performances, only this time it’s to measure audience reaction. Every act gets good applause but Farmer Jones’ cows send the needle all the way to maximum. Apoplectic, Farmer Smith sends out his roos. Needle to the max. Farmer Brown announces that there will have to be an applause-off for the two acts that hit the top.

The cows come back on with Dixie. Yep, this grange is in Yoknapatowpha County, and the crowd sets up such a rebel yelling that the needle once more climbs to its highest position. Farmer Smith’s kangaroos do The Minute Waltz, cause they’ve got to be quick. The place is ready to erupt when the joey rumbles the base keys on the piano. Out of mama’s pouch jumps the baby kangaroo. He cartwheels over mama’s head, jumps up her ass, sticks his head back out, and goesBoo! Sounds like Bedlam, but there’s no place further for the needle to go once it sticks at the top. Farmers Smith and Jones are besides themselves, but Farmer Brown has to announce that it’s a tie. The moral of which is what?
A herd in the band is worth boo in the tush.

Metathesis is the transposition of sounds in a word. Spooner was the English don who joked with transposed ideas: “I remember your name perfectly, but I can’t think of your face,” he would say while looking you in the face and shaking your hand. Once upon a time in the history of English the Anglo-Saxon said /aks/, meaning modern English /aesk/: “ask.” Then we all said ask: till again these days some sub-groups say /aks/. “I axe him a question.” Hros became “horse,” etc. These jokes transpose all sorts of things.

Indian Chief’s Wedding

For years the elders of the tribe have been entreating their chief to get married, sire an heir. The chief sees the need but is still reluctant to give up his privileged position in playing the field. “Forget all your old girl friends,” the elders advise. “Check out the current crop of virgins. Narrow them down. Choose one. Marry her.”

Time passes and the chief confesses that he can’t eliminate any from his final three. The elders go into council and decide that he can have three squaws after all. The chief proposes to each of the three and is accepted all three times. The chief organizes a great hunting party. An entire moon he and the braves are afield. On their return the chief visits his fiancees.

To the first he says, “Maiden, I bring you the hides from half a dozen deer. From these skins you shall make the tepee in which we will honeymoon and then dwell forever.”

To the second he says, “Maiden, I bring you the hides from four buck elk. From these skins you shall make the tepee in which we will honeymoon and then dwell on those nights I come to you. Forever.”

To the third he says, “Maiden, I bring you the hides from a pair of hippopotamus. From these skins you shall make the tepee in which we will both honeymoon and dwell when it falls your turn to receive me. Forever.”

As the moons passed, the weddings occurred, and the honey moons. As more moons passed it was clear that each of the chief’s new squaws waxed great with child.

As more moons passed, the first of the chief’s new squaws, she who had made and dwelt in the tepee made from the deer skins, gave birth to a fine fat bouncing junior brave. The second of the chief’s new squaws, she who had made and dwelt in the tepee made from the elk skins, gave birth to another fine fat bouncing junior brave. The third of the chief’s new squaws went into a labor that seemed it would never end. After one fine fat bouncing junior brave found the light and her nipple, her labor continued: until the squaw who had made and dwelt in the tepee made from the hippopotamus skins had brought forth two fine fat bouncing junior braves!

The moral of which is what?
The squaw of the hippopotamus is equal to the sum of the squaws of the other two hides.

Serum of Immortality

The young bio-chemist did sufficiently impressive work with cetacean tissue that he got a grant. He expanded his lab on the Long Island Sound and built a tank offshore that would hold a whole pod of porpoises. His experiments with injecting sea gull lymph into porpoise blood led him, but not his grant source, to believe that he had succeeded in retarding aging in the tissue cells of the cetaceans. He believed, again without convincing, that the youth of the gull had a positive correlation with the retardation. By the time his grant ran out, the scientist had seriously depleted the gull population of Long Island. His new truck had been worn to a battered jalopy by the time he’d worn our his credit with the New Jersey gull poachers. Had he not diversified into designer drugs for the human market, not only would his researches have ground to a halt, he’d have had no money for gas or to feed himself and his porpoises.

Returning all the way from Cape May, his truck bed now capped to conceal his cargo, the no longer young scientist pulled up behind his lab where he’d quick sneak his crates of infant gulls inside via the lab’s sun deck. One thing wrong after another, now there’s a lion sleeping on his deck. Anxious to smuggle his gulls the last step without detection, the scientist labors to step over the sleeping lion. Juggling the twittering crate, half astride the somnolent lion, his keys tangling in his sleeve, holding the screen door from slamming with his knee, the scientist has just got the lock turned when a cop jumps out from behind a bush and gives him a ticket.

What was the ticket for?
Transporting young gulls across sedate lions for immortal porpoises.

A doctor made it his regular habit to stop off at a bar for a hazelnut daiquiri on his way home. The bartender knew of his habit, and would always have the drink waiting at precisely 5:03 p.m. One afternoon, as the end of the work day approached, the bartender was dismayed to find that he was out of hazelnut extract. Thinking quickly, he threw together a daiquiri made with hickory nuts and set it on the bar. The doctor came in at his regular time, took one sip of the drink and exclaimed, “This isn’t a hazelnut daiquiri!” “No, I’m sorry,” replied the bartender, “it’s a hickory daiquiri, doc.”
A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. “But why?,” they asked, as they moved off. “Because,” he said, “I can’t stand chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.”
A hungry lion was roaming through the jungle looking for something to eat. He came across two men. One was sitting under a tree and reading a book; the other was typing away on his typewriter. The lion quickly pounced on the man reading the book and devoured him. Even the king of the jungle knows that readers digest and writers cramp.
A mushroom walks into a bar, sits down and orders a drink. The bartender says “We don’t serve mushrooms here.” The mushroom says, “Why not? I’m a fun guy!”
A three-legged dog walks into a saloon in the Old West. He sidles up to the bar and announces: “I’m looking for the man who shot my paw.”
A woman has twins, and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt and is named “Amal.” The other goes to a family in Spain; they name him “Juan.” Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his mom. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of Amal. Her husband responds, “But they are twins — if you’ve seen Juan, you’ve seen Amal.”
Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused his dentist’s Novocain during root canal work? He wanted to transcend dental medication.
This guy goes into a restaurant for a Christmas breakfast while in his home town for the holidays. After looking over the menu he says, “I’ll just have the eggs benedict.” His order comes a while later and it’s served on a big, shiny hubcap. He asks the waiter, “What’s with the hubcap?” The waiter sings, “There’s no plate like chrome for the hollandaise!”
Two boll weevils grew up in Alabama. One went to Hollywood and became a famous actor. The other stayed behind in the cotton fields and never amounted to much. The second one, naturally, became known as the lesser of two weevils.
Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, but when they lit a fire in the craft it sank — proving once and for all that you can’t have your kayak and heat it, too.

2011 01 25 I just recalled the first Metathe-Spooner joke I ever heard: you weave it yourself once I supply the punch line: People who live in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones.

I credit my joke selections with being “mostly didactic.” These spoonerism-type word-and-phrase-garble jokes “teach” only how witty a natural language can be: especially when it’s chock-a-block with clichés.

Here’ one I just heard last night at the dance:

On the farm the horse and the chicken are friends. One day the chicken senses a problem, chases around, finds the horse stuck in a bog. The chicken scurries back to the farm, gets some rope, cranks up the Harley, loops the line, throws it to her friend, tows the horse free of the muck.
Well don’t you know a while later the chicken is stuck in a bog. The horse senses his friends’ danger, finds this bog to be much smaller, straddles it. The chicken grabs hold of the lowest graspable thing, his dong, and the horse tows her free of the muck:
the moral of which is what?
If you’re hung like a horse you don’t need a Harley to pick up chicks.


About pk

Seems to me that some modicum of honesty is requisite to intelligence. If we look in the mirror and see not kleptocrats but Christians, we’re still in the same old trouble.
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