Joke Trap Read online

  For Joe Glover

  (who knows all about having an annoying dad)

  Contents

  Cover

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Copyright

  ONE

  My father is so annoying. Wait, I’ll try that again. He is sooooooooooo annoying. Here’s the problem: Dad thinks he’s funny, but he just isn’t.

  He’s always making really lame jokes. I call them Dad Jokes. These jokes are not funny the first time he tells them, but he repeats them anyway — again and again and again. It’s like he’s trying to be annoying.

  Maybe your dad’s like this. But I bet his jokes are not as lame as my dad’s.

  Every night when we all arrive home, it’s my job to set the table for dinner. And every night my Dad sits down in his place and lets his tie dangle so it’s resting on the plate, then he looks up and says, ‘Well I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m having Thai for dinner.’

  Then he does this enormous smile, as if he’s the funniest man in the world. And this is every single night.

  Mum just rolls her eyes, but I get really annoyed. ‘Don’t do that Dad,’ I say to him, ‘don’t ever do that again.’

  Part of my problem with dad’s ‘jokes’ is that I’ve just started high school. Suddenly I’m trying to make friends with a whole group of new kids, and I shudder at the thought of inviting anyone home.

  For sure, Dad would take every chance to make lame jokes. He’d make a big deal of getting the fruit bowl and asking my friend whether he wanted a pear — ‘Or will a single one do?’

  Ha. Ha. Ha.

  Or he’d wait until the kid said ‘I’m thirsty’, so he could say back, ‘Hello Thirsty, I’m Friday’.

  Ha. Ha.

  Or he’d do the thing where he invites you to pull his finger and then, just as you do it, he lets off an enormous fart. Which is when I would just about die of embarrassment.

  Ha.

  Just as easy, really, not to invite anyone home.

  When I finished primary school, all my mates went to different high schools. Not one of my old friends came with me to my new school. To be honest, some days I feel pretty lonely.

  The only good news is that I still see my mate Ben, he’s been my best friend since kindy.

  Even though we now go to different schools, we try to time it so we catch the same bus home.

  On my way to the bus stop about two weeks ago, I decided I should tell Ben about my Dad Joke problem — just to get it off my chest.

  I spotted Ben as soon as I jumped on the bus. He was up the back listening to his Mp3 player.

  Ben takes his music pretty seriously. As I slung in next to him I could hear the thump, thump, thump of one of his favourite tracks. Usually you can hear a harmonica somewhere in the mix. That’s the instrument Ben plays. He’s pretty good, too.

  Ben turned off his music so we could talk.

  I told him about the Dad Jokes and how sick of them I was. And how I found myself cringing at the idea of inviting anyone home.

  Ben didn’t really get it, so I told him about the church, not far from my house, that has an old cemetery next to it. ‘Every time we drive past, Dad says to me, “Look, Jesse, there’s the dead centre of town”. Or, “Look at that place, Jesse, people are just dying to get in there”.’

  Ben shot me an amazed look. ‘My uncle does exactly the same joke. Exactly the same words. And it’s all right the first three or four times you hear it…’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed, ‘but not when it’s the TENTH TIME IN ONE WEEK that he’s said it.’

  A couple of old ladies turned around and gave me the hairy eyeball — I suppose I was speaking kinda loudly.

  ‘He also,’ I said, lowering my voice, ‘asks questions just to suck you in. We’ll be driving past the cemetery and he’ll say, “That place is very exclusive, you know, Jesse. They won’t bury anyone who lives around here”. When I was a really little kid, I’d fall for it and ask why, and Dad’d say, “Because you have to be DEAD, that’s why”, and then he’ll slap his leg and laugh like a maniac.’

  ‘I don’t fall for that one anymore, but Dad still tries it on my cousin Alex — he falls for it every single time. If I ever invited a friend home from school, he would do it for sure.’

  Ben winced in sympathy, but then he leaned in close. ‘That’s nothing,’ he whispered, ‘my father does something even worse than Dad Jokes. He does Dad Singing.’

  Ben told me that his Dad always puts a CD on when they are driving in his car. Then he sings along. ‘Trouble is,’ Ben said, ‘he doesn’t know any of the tunes. Or any of the right words. He has a favourite song where the words go “Sweet dreams are made of this”, but he sings “Sweet dreams are made of cheese”. And there’s another song that goes, “She’s got a ticket to ride”, but he sings “She’s got a chicken to ride”.’

  ‘But that’s not all. You know the song, “I believe in miracles”? Well, he sings, “I believe in Milkos” — like it’s about the lolly.’

  I was cracking up as Ben told me more of his father’s mangled-up lyrics, but Ben just shook his head. ‘At least your Dad is trying to be funny,’ he said, ‘my dad is funny without even trying.’

  ‘I’m embarrassed just like you,’ he confessed. ‘There’s a guy at school who plays bass guitar and we’ve been talking about becoming a duo. I’d play harmonica and Stevie would be on guitar. But that would mean my dad giving Stevie a lift in our car. And once Dad’s in the car…’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Can you imagine me sitting there next to Stevie with Dad singing, “She’s got a chicken to ride” at the top of his voice?’

  Ben let out a defeated little groan. ‘It’s easier just to give up on the idea of a duo.’

  As the bus started to climb the hill to our local shops, Ben came up with the idea of a pact.

  ‘We’ll join forces,’ he said. ‘We’ll try to cure both dads. No more Dad Jokes. No more Dad Singing. It’ll be a joint project.’

  Ben let out a little whoop of excitement as we stumbled off the bus. All we needed was a great idea for how to go about it.

  TWO

  We swapped embarrassing dad stories as we walked towards Ben’s house.

  Ben grinned. ‘Do you know the song by John Lennon called “Give Peace a Chance”?’ he asked, flinging his bag off his shoulder.

  Ben knows more about most music — especially old music — than I do, but I knew that song pretty well. I sang a line just to prove it, ‘All we are saying is give peace a chance.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Ben said, picking up his bag again. ‘Well, Dad was singing it in the car one day and, I’m not kidding, he was singing, “All I am saying is give Jesus pants”.’

  We both started laughing. What did Ben’s dad think was going on in the song? That Jesus normally dresses in a robe, but John Lennon would rather see him wearing pants? That John Lennon had some weird thing about trousers?

  We were still spluttering with laughter when we reached the corner store. We bought a packet of jelly snakes each for the rest of the walk to Ben’s house. As we wandered along, stuffing in handfuls of lollies, I tried to explain the most annoying of my father’s problems — the Joke Mouth.

  ‘Every time my dad’s about to make a Dad Joke,’ I said, ‘he gets this little twitch in his face.

  It’s like he wants to smile but is trying to control it. Then his face goes all serious and he clamps down his mouth, so it makes this tense, straight line. It’s as if he’s fighting himself.

  ‘My mum’s the one who started calling it the Joke Mouth. It’s like an early warning system. I’ll ask Dad a question
like, “What’s on the TV?” and straightaway I’ll see the Joke Mouth start to form. As soon as I see it, I make a run for my bedroom.’

  Ben frowned. ‘So then what does your dad do?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll try to get in quick. He’ll fire off his lame joke, and it will follow me like an Exocet missile, “What’s on the TV?” he’ll shout, “a pot plant and a copy of the TV guide, that’s what’s on the TV. “ And then, just in case I don’t get it, he’ll point to the TV set and the pot plant sitting on top of it, with this huge grin on his face.’

  Ben was too busy laughing at the stupid joke to be very sympathetic. ‘Poor you,’ is all he said.

  When we got to Ben’s place we sat in his bedroom for ages, trying to think of at least one good idea for how to cure the dads. We stared at the floor, we stared at the walls, we stared at each other. We went to the kitchen for muesli bars. Then we went and annoyed Ben’s little sister, Hattie, who was out the back playing with my little sister, Mattie. (Hattie and Mattie are best friends, just like Ben and me.) When we got bored of that we had a go on Ben’s old trampoline.

  After a long, long while we started coming up with ideas. I just don’t know that they were very practical.

  ‘I know,’ I finally said, ‘we’ll get some lipstick and write the correct words of all the songs on the inside of your dad’s windscreen, so then whenever he puts on a CD all he has to do is look up at the windscreen and he’ll be set.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘Nah, he gets so many songs wrong, the words would end up covering the whole windscreen and he wouldn’t be able to see out. There’d only be room for two little eye holes, the rest of it would be solid song lyrics.’

  We were silent for a little while.

  ‘I know,’ Ben eventually said, ‘why don’t we get buckets of water and connect them to pulleys all over your house and then every time your dad makes a lame joke, we’ll pull a rope and water will pour all over him. That’ll stop him making jokes.’

  It was my turn to shake my head. ‘He makes so many stupid jokes, the whole house would end up flooded. Besides, the worst ones are always in the car and we couldn’t put a bucket of water above his seat — not unless we cut a hole in the top of the car, and even I think that’s a bit extreme.’

  After a bit more floor gazing we decided to go for a walk. Our suburb was having a council clean-up so there was heaps of junk out on the street, ready to be picked up.

  We walked slowly, hoping something would inspire us. We tried to turn every bit of junk into a solution to our problem. There was an old sack, so I suggested we could stuff it over my dad’s head so he couldn’t see anything to make jokes about.

  Then we found an old football scarf and Ben thought we could wrap it around his dad’s mouth so he couldn’t sing. Finally Ben spotted a rusty old electric train set with the battery still connected, and came up with his biggest idea so far. ‘We could connect the electrical wires to your fruit bowl. Then every time your dad picked up a pear to do the Pear Joke, he’d get this tiny electric shock.’

  I made Ben put the train back. ‘I don’t think pears are very good conductors of electricity. Besides, Dad’d probably just invent another bad joke to cover the situation.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ben, seeing exactly what I meant, ‘he’d say, “I bought this pear on credit — that’s why they decided to charge it”.’

  ‘Or,’ I said, inwardly groaning, ‘he’d say, “this fruit should be wearing long pants — I’m sick of these shorts”.’

  ‘Or,’ said Ben, “I’m sick of the state of this fruit — it’s just shocking”.’

  By this time we were rolling around laughing like really little kids. I’d cracked up at all our jokes so far, but I knew I could go one better.

  ‘Or,’ I said, ‘he’d say, “If I wanted to conduct something, I’d have chosen a banana”. And then he’d hum a bit of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony — “Ba – Na – Na – Na - Na”.’

  It was Ben’s turn to shout for mercy. ‘You’d better watch it, you’re getting good at Dad Jokes. It might be contagious.’

  Suddenly we both stopped laughing. I felt sick in the stomach. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was genetic. I had to do something to stop my father, or I would end up spouting lame jokes whether I liked it or not.

  And, who knows, Ben might start muddling up all the lyrics to his favourite songs.

  Something had to be done — and fast.

  THREE

  It was Ben who finally came up with the idea of how to cure both dads. The plan involved Ben, me, my grandad, and Hattie and Mattie. It also involved a lot of preparation.

  First we had to collect the ammunition. We needed a long list of song lyrics that people had mangled. And as many terrible Dad Jokes as we could find. Once we had a decent collection of both, we’d need to lay our trap.

  First came the song lyrics. We asked our friends, we asked our neighbours, we even asked our teachers, ‘What are the song lyrics you always get muddled up?’

  My maths teacher, Mr Oswolski, said he’d always loved a song with the lyric ‘ride on the peace train’. Except he thought it was ‘right on the pea stain’.

  And Ben’s mum admitted there’s a song which goes, ‘There’s a bad moon on the rise’. Except she always thought it went, ‘There’s a bathroom on the right’.

  We asked Ben’s big brother and he confessed he really loved this song with the words, ‘I like smoke and lightning’. But for ages he thought they were singing, ‘I like smoking ice-cream’.

  Then came the Dad Jokes. We collected stacks of them. In the supermarket, Mr Romano told us how he used to say to his father ‘I’m hungry’, and his father would always say back to him, ‘Hi Hungry, I’m your father’.

  ‘It was such a terrible joke,’ Mr Romano said, shaking his head, ‘but he’d say it every single time‘.

  Then we saw Sam in the veggie shop and asked him if his dad did any Dad Jokes.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Sam said, as he sorted through some tomatoes. ‘I once had an accident and had to go to hospital. When I woke up after the operation my father put on a very serious face and asked the doctor, “Will he be able to play the piano?” And the doctor said, “Yes, he’ll be fine”. And then my dad said, “That’s funny, because he could never play it before”. For years afterwards he told everyone about what he’d said as if it was the best joke ever.’

  Next we saw Susan, one of the parents who used to coach our debating team. We asked her about Dad Jokes and she groaned straightaway.

  ‘At school I’d been taught about the steam engine and how it had been invented by this man called Watt. I told my Dad and then every time we’d say “What?” at home, my father would say, “Watt? Didn’t he invent the steam engine?” It wasn’t funny the first time, but that didn’t stop him from saying it again and again. ‘

  We went all day like this, collecting songs and jokes until Ben announced we had plenty. ‘Enough,’ he said, ‘now it’s time to gather the props.’

  I still didn’t quite know what Ben had in mind, but he showed me the list of props. It was pretty intriguing:

  We managed to collect most of the props from the council clean-up — except the roast beef, of course. Then we were ready to go around to my grandad’s house so we could put the master plan into action.

  I explained to Grandad about my new school and how I was trying to make some friends. I told him how Dad was getting worse and worse with the Dad Jokes. And how I knew that if I brought a friend home, Dad would be really embarrassing, and how I would just die if Dad did the fart joke.

  Then Ben explained about his harmonica and the band, and how embarrassed he would be if his father gave Stevie a lift home.

  Grandad just sat there listening to us. Once we’d stopped talking, he sat there for a while longer. And then he started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

  He laughed until tears were rolling down his face.

  Finally he managed to get a few words out. ‘I will definitely help yo
u. For a start, I need to get revenge myself. I used to know lots of Dad Jokes. And I used to do them when your dad was little,’ he said, turning to me, ‘but your dad was such a wimp. He was a very serious little boy and he used to frown and beg me to stop joking, so in the end I gave in. I remember he gave me a really long lecture about doing the fart joke when he was about ten years old. ‘

  Grandad stood up like he was about to make a speech. ‘You know, he gave me such a hard time I once went a whole month without doing the gag about the graveyard. You know, the one about how the graveyard is…’

  ‘Yes,’ I groaned, ‘the dead centre of town.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Grandad, ‘but I had this other one about how people are just…’

  ‘Yes,’ I interrupted again, ‘dying to get in there.’

  Grandad was on a roll now. ‘Yes, but I bet you don’t you the one about…’

  ‘How they refuse to bury anyone who lives around here — because you have to be DEAD to get in.’

  Grandad had a good old laugh at that. He seemed quite pleased that I was such an expert.

  ‘So what’s the plan then?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s simple,’ Ben said, ‘you pretend you’re having a dinner to congratulate us for getting into our debating teams at school. (The week before our new schools had try-outs, and we’d both managed to snag a place on the teams.) Then we’ll invite Jesse’s dad, my dad, and Hattie and Mattie. With everyone’s help, we’ll be able to give it to the dads until it hurts!’