My writing joke

21 years ago

I'm not much for telling jokes, but a number of years ago my first editor told me a joke about writing. It's stuck with me all this time, and I thought some of the writers on this forum might appreciate it.

A house party was getting loud and out-of-control, and the police were called to break it up. When they arrived they found the house jammed with party-goers, and to their surpise, all of the women in the house were young, pretty, and naked.

The police escorted the naked young women out one by one. Before loading the first one into the paddy wagon, a sergeant asked her, "What's a nice young thing like you doing in this shameful situation?" To which she replied, "I was working here tonight. I'm a cocktail waitress."

One after another, the naked young women were taken from the house and put into the paddy wagon. And each time the sergeant would ask one of them what she had been doing there, she would claim to be a cocktail waitress.

When the final young woman was about to be put into the paddy wagon, the sergeant said to her, "Don't tell me, let me guess--you're a cocktail waitress."

"No," she replied, "actually I'm a prostitute."

"What?" the sergeant said, taken aback. "You mean you admit that you make your living by selling sex?"

"Well, I could make a living at it," she said, "if it weren't for all these damn cocktail waitresses."

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Comments (5)

John_D
21 years ago
Snort!
pinetree30
21 years ago
I would tell my story of the man from Brunswick, Maine, and his trip to Boston -- but it's too long. Unfortunately, so is the one about the pope and the haircut. Rats.
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John_D
21 years ago
Do tell it.
pinetree30
21 years ago
Well...ok.
This guy went to a barbershop for a haircut, and was very fussy about how he would look. The barber asked how come.

I'm going to Rome on vacation.

In the summer? Rome? My friend, you'll be miserable. The weather will be hot and sticky, the people are rude, the traffic stinks and is too noisy. Even the food is bad. Please my friend, don't go to Rome.

Well, I have my tickets, and I'm a Catholic. I am hoping to see the Pope.

See the Pope! See the Pope! C'mon buddy, you're not going to see any pope. You'll be packed like a sardine in that big square and you won't even see the guy. You'll be lucky if you don't get crushed. Buddy, forget it.

About a month later, the man again came to the barber shop and was seated in the same chair. The barber spoke.

Hey, aren't you the guy who was going to Rome? My god, I bet it was hell. And I'm sure you really got to see the Pope-guy, right?

Well, actually it was quite a nice trip. The weather was beautiful. The people were cordial, and a beautiful young woman took me to her villa, and put me up for free. She even had a wonderful chef, and I ate like a king. We drove in her Maserati, and when I told her what a great car it was, she gave it to me to take home! It was really a fabulous trip.

Oh, so maybe it wasn't all bad, but I bet the pope was nowhere to be seen, was he?

Funny you should ask, but we did go to St. Peter's Square one day, and there was a huge crowd. Amazingly, the popemobile drove towards us, and stopped. The Pope even smiled at me, and he actually said a few words to me.

He did? What the hell did he say?

He asked me...Where did you get that lousy haircut?
John_D
21 years ago
TouchÃ©!