Joke Trap Read online

‘Sounds great,’ said Grandad. ‘As long as I’m allowed to do the graveyard joke.’

  ‘That joke,’ I said to Grandad, ‘is so old it should be in a graveyard itself.’

  That afternoon, and every afternoon that week, Ben and I went to Grandad’s place. We dug holes, painted signs, hammered wood, copied music and hung curtains. We also recruited Mattie and Hattie, and told them exactly what they had to do to make everything work.

  Meanwhile Grandad tried to remember all his old jokes — the ones he used to tell until my dad made him stop. For years Grandad had held himself back from firing off Dad Jokes.

  Not anymore.

  FOUR

  When the big day finally arrived, Ben’s dad picked us up in his people mover. As soon as we got to Grandad’s we all leapt out of the car and filed up the front path. There was me and Dad, Ben and his dad, and Mattie and Hattie.

  I forgot to mention that Mattie and Hattie look like identical twins. They are the same height and have the same haircut. They even like wearing the same clothes. It’s pretty strange that they look like twins because Ben and I look pretty different — he’s really tall and gangly, while I’m shorter and kind of stronger looking. But our sisters look so alike that some people call Mattie Hattie and Hattie Mattie.

  Anyway, as we walked up the path my dad suddenly stopped to stare at a big road sign which had been put up next to the path. It was like the signs you see beside highways when there’s a big dip coming up in the road. Our sign said, ‘Dip Ahead’.

  I turned to face Dad and tried to keep my face blank. No way did I want to tip him off by having a Joke Mouth of my own.

  ‘I hope you’ve brought a packet of corn chips, Dad,’ I said, holding my face very still.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, frowning.

  ‘Check out the sign. It says, “Dip ahead”. There’ll be a choice of Hummus, Guacamole or Spicy Mexican, so you’ll definitely need your corn chips.’

  Dad groaned as if he was in pain. I’d hit him with a Dad Joke that he’d entirely forgotten — one that had come straight from Grandad. It was my first shot in the war against the dads.

  A few steps further on there was another road sign stuck into the ground on the other side of the path, ‘Watch for cyclists’.

  ‘Shame you’re not riding a bicycle, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ he asked, but suspiciously this time, like he knew he was going to be hit again.

  ‘Because you could have won a free watch. See, it makes the promise right there — “watch for cyclists”.’

  Dad groaned again. ‘What’s wrong with you today, Jesse? These jokes are really terrible. And who dug up Grandad’s lawn to put in all these signs?’

  We climbed up the steps to the front door. Ben’s dad went to press the bell but there was no way it could be used — it was covered up by a matchbox and masking tape.

  ‘What’s the story with the bell?’ he asked.

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ said Ben. ‘Jesse’s Grandad has just been awarded the No-bell Prize.’

  Both dads turned to look at Ben, and then shook their heads. Ben’s dad said, ‘That’s really terrible, son.’

  ‘We can still get in,’ Ben said, ‘he’s installed a new bell. It’s a musical one. You just press this button on this CD player…’

  Ben’s dad pressed the button and a voice boomed out of the speakers. It was Ben’s dad singing one of his car songs. Ben had secretly recorded it on his Mp3 player, and then transferred it onto CD.

  We all just stood around staring at the stereo. Ben’s dad sounded bad enough in the car, but with his voice ringing out in the silence of Grandad’s garden, it sounded really terrible.

  On the recording, Ben’s dad was trying to sing a song by the band AC/DC, one of his old favourites. The real lyrics go, ‘It’s a long way to the top when you want to rock and roll.’ But Ben’s dad was belting out, ‘It’s a long way to the shop if you want a sausage roll.’

  Everyone laughed, except Ben’s dad — he just looked really confused. ‘Why are you all laughing? It’s a song about these guys in a band. They are really hungry. And they want a sausage roll. But they are a very long way from the shop. What’s so funny about that?’

  We just smiled at Ben’s dad, and I shook my head like he was a real sad case. Even Mattie and Hattie had the total giggles and were rolling around on the ground.

  Just then Grandad opened the door.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ he said. ‘Are you looking forward to lunch?’

  ‘I’m starving,’ Dad said. Grandad shook his hand and replied, ‘Hi Starving, good to meet you. I’m Grandad.’

  Dad tried to ignore the joke. ‘How long’s lunch going to be?’ he asked instead.

  ‘About ten centimetres,’ said Grandad, ‘it’s a sausage.’

  I have to hand it to Grandad, he was pretty good at avoiding the Joke Mouth. But he was terrible afterwards — jumping around, slapping his thighs and yelling ‘Get it! Get it! You said “How long?” And I said “ten centimetres”. You see, you meant how long in time it was…and I…and I…’

  Grandad was laughing so much he looked like he was going to have a heart attack. Dad, on the other hand, didn’t seem to like being on the receiving end of so many Dad Jokes. ‘Excuse me,’ Dad said, as he tried to move past Grandad. But Grandad spun around and caught Dad in a huge bear hug. He squeezed him so tight I thought Dad’s eyes were going to pop out.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Dad asked, gasping, as he tried to squirm free. But Grandad wouldn’t let go.

  ‘Oh, sorry, son,’ he said at last, loosening his grip. ‘I thought you said “Squeeze me”.’

  Dad looked as if he was about to say something but then he just rolled his eyes and marched off towards the kitchen.

  When we’d all sat down for lunch, Grandad tapped his knife against one of the glasses to get our attention. Then, just as we’d arranged, he made a little speech. He announced that we were putting on a show and that the dad’s should sit back, relax and enjoy.

  It was then that both the dad’s started to look really worried.

  FIVE

  Right on cue, Mattie and Hattie jumped up from the table. We’d built a mini stage at one end of grandad’s family room, with a curtain we could pull across. We’d lined up the desk lamps we’d collected — from the council clean-up, plus the ones from Grandad’s place and the ones from our own bedrooms — in front of the stage. They were the most bizarro set of footlights you’ve ever seen.

  First up was Ben. He popped out through the curtain and started the show with a blistering harmonica solo — just to get everyone’s attention. There was an especially good bit where he made a sound like a train going faster and faster. Even the two dads were whooping and hollering and applauding.

  Then I pulled on the ropes to make the curtains sweep apart and Hattie and Mattie ran onto the stage.

  They’d been rehearsing for days.

  First they sang the Crystal Gale song, ‘Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue,’ but they sang it so it went, ‘Doughnuts Make My Brown Eyes Blue’ — just like Ben’s dad always sings it. They had doughnuts hidden behind their backs and every time they sang ‘doughnuts’ they pulled them out and held them up to their eyes, like a weird pair of doughnutty glasses.

  Next up was the Britney Spears song, ‘Oops, I Did It Again’. But they used the same lyrics as Ben’s dad — ‘Oops I Dated A Pen’. As they sang, Mattie and Hattie each pulled out a pen and starting dancing with it. They even started talking to the pens, and giving them little kisses.

  Finally they sang the Human League song, ‘Don’t You Want Me Baby?’ But, of course, they sang it Ben’s-dad style — ‘Don’t Chew On Me Baby’, with Mattie and Hattie dancing around pretending to chew each others’ arms.

  We thought it was a really excellent show and laughed until we were nearly sick, but Ben’s dad just sat there, not knowing what to say. He looked a bit deflated by the end of the last song. All he said was, ‘But I thoug
ht Britney really did date a pen. I thought it was all about how she loved to write things down.’

  After the show, Dad asked if the food was ready yet. ‘No, Dad,’ I said, trying to control my Joke Mouth, ‘it’s more of a brownish colour.’

  Grandad then put a really huge platter in the middle of the table. I knew I had to get in first with the classic Dad Joke, so I quickly said, ‘Well, here’s my meal. I don’t know what the rest of you are having.’

  Dad was left opening and closing his mouth like a fish. He was obviously just about to say the same thing. Oh well, too slow.

  During the meal I kept up a steady stream of Dad Jokes.

  When some of Dad’s peas slipped off his plate, I got in with, ‘Look, Dad, you’ve pee’d on the table.’

  And as soon we’d finished eating, I leaned back, patted my tummy and said, ‘Good thing we ate when we did, because I’m not a bit hungry now!’

  I’d heard all these gags about a million times from Dad, but now he was too weak and delirious to say them first. We were like two prize fighters going into the fifteenth round. And he hadn’t landed one punch.

  Finally I went in for the killer blow. Just after Grandad served dessert (it was ice-cream with topping), I asked Dad what time it was.

  He fell right into my trap. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s 2. 30.’

  Ben and I had been planning this moment all week. We both chorused back at him, ‘Well you’d better go to the dentist then.’

  Dad just looked blank. So we had to explain. ‘Tooth hurty. So you better go and see a dentist, get it? Get it?’

  We both burst out laughing. And so did Mattie and Hattie, who giggled so much they ended up rolling around on the floor again.

  Dad looked like he was in pain. He groaned and held his stomach, then put his hands over his ears as if just one more Dad Joke might cause his brain to explode. Ben’s dad did the same.

  Dad finally got up from the table. He looked totally defeated. ‘I understand what you are trying to do. You are trying to teach me that while bad jokes are wonderful, I have to sometimes give you a break from them. Just as I would like a break right now.’

  Ben’s dad stood up, too. ‘And that while singing along to music is good fun, maybe I should learn at least some of the words. Because listening to the wrong words all the time is, well, a little bit painful.’

  Ben and I smiled. Maybe the dad’s weren’t so bad after all. Maybe we should cut them some slack. And maybe we should stop making terrible jokes ourselves for a little bit.

  The trouble was, almost straightaway, they really did ask for it.

  ‘Let’s have a truce,’ Dad said. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

  I couldn’t help myself. ‘Only,’ I said, ‘if you think it will fit. I reckon it might be a bit tight on you, though.’

  After we’d had tea we all said goodbye to Grandad. Ben and I promised to come back the next day to help take down all the props. For the first ten minutes of the drive home nobody said anything. Not Ben. Not me. Not Hattie or Mattie. Not the dads. The car was full of the most terrible silence. I guess my dad didn’t want to say anything in case a Dad Joke came out. And Ben’s dad probably didn’t want to put a CD on in case he started singing along to it with the wrong words.

  And we didn’t want to talk. After giving the dad’s such a hard time, it seemed a bit mean to say anything that was even a little bit fun.

  But boy was it silent. Deadly silent.

  Plus there was another problem. We’d had such a good time collecting all the stupid song lyrics and all the lame jokes that we’d sort of come to like them.

  Finally Ben broke the silence. ‘Dad, I think Hattie and Mattie would quite like it if you put on one of their CDs. Maybe the Britney Spears.’

  Ben’s dad brightened up a bit. ‘You mean the one where she dates the pen?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ben, smiling, ‘the one where she dates the pen.’

  Ben’s dad whacked on the CD and soon we were all singing at the top of our voices, especially to the chorus, ‘Oops I dated a pen’ — the girls doing all the actions.

  We turned the corner into our neighbour-hood and Ben’s dad slowed right down as we cruised past the cemetery.

  ‘You go first,’ Dad said to me.

  ‘No, please,’ I replied, ‘be my guest.’

  Neither of us said anything for a minute. Then a pained voice came from the back of the car.

  ‘Nooooooooo,’ said Mattie, ‘we’re about to miss out.’

  ‘Quick,’ said Hattie, ‘can someone say it?’

  So Ben’s dad stopped the car and we all got out and stood at the cemetery gates. Luckily no-one was around so we could be as noisy as we wanted.

  I was like a conductor standing out the front. ‘One, two, three — what is this place?’

  And everyone chorused back, ‘It’s the dead centre of town.’

  Then I said, ‘And what are people doing to get in here?

  And everyone answered, ‘They are dying to get in.’

  ‘So why don’t they let in the people who live around here?’

  ‘Because you have to be DEAD, that’s why.’

  After that we all jumped back in the car and sang for the rest of the way home. All our old favourites.

  That night, in both households, there were some serious negotiations. Ben told his dad he could sing as loudly as he liked, and with whatever words he liked — EXCEPT when he was driving around members of the new band.

  Meanwhile, I thought some more about making new friends at school. I reckoned that if they were friends worth having, they would be happy to put up with my dad and his terrible jokes.

  So I told Dad he could do as many Dad Jokes as he liked — just as long as he never, EVER AGAIN, in front of ME or ANYBODY ELSE, did the pull-my-finger fart joke.

  And he agreed.

  Looking back it seems like we went to a lot of effort just to get our two dads to make a few simple changes. And we went through a lot of fuss to realise that we quite liked their stupid jokes and stupid songs.

  But, as one of the great bands put it, sometimes in life, it’s a long way to the shop if you want a sausage roll.

  About the Author

  I love telling really bad jokes. I call them Dad Jokes. They are jokes that are not funny in the first place, but then get told again and again and again. I love telling them because I get to hear my son groaning, and saying, ‘Daaaaad, don’t.’

  In this story I wanted to imagine what would happen if my son finally snapped and decided to get his revenge. I figured the story would have lots of action — plus the chance to tell a whole lot of Dad Jokes!

  Richard Glover is the author of the kids’ book, The Dirt Experiment, and of comedy books such as The Dag’s Dictionary and Desperate Husbands. He presents the Drive show on ABC radio in Sydney.

  About the Illustrator

  When I was a little fellow we used to do lots of singing in the car. Dad would play old Hank Williams tapes and we would sing along — all six of us. My dad, unlike Ben’s, actually knew all the words to all the songs. The rest of us didn’t have the foggiest, but it never stopped us from having a good crack at them. I think every father should have the right to make bad cornball jokes to his kids. I fully intend to. In fact, I have already begun and my oldest boy is only three — poor bugger!

  Gus Gordon is an illustrator based on Sydney’s northern beaches. He has illustrated nearly 50 books for children including The Dirt Experiment by Richard Glover.

  Copyright

  The ABC ‘Wave’ device is a trademark of the

  Australian Broadcasting Corporation and is used

  under licence by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia.

  First published in Australia in 2007

  This edition published in 2011

  by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited

  Copyright © text Richard Glover 2007

  Copyright © illustrations Gus Gordon 2007

  The ri
ght of Richard Glover and Gus Gordon to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  HarperCollinsPublishers

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  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Richard Glover and Gus Gordon

  Joke Trap / Richard Glover and Gus Gordon.

  ISBN: 978-0-7333-2055-2 (pbk.)

  ISBN: 978-0-7304-9540-6 (ePub)

  For children.

  I. Gordon, Gus.

  II. Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

  III. Title.

  A823.4