Copyright © 2022 by Ralph Robert Moore.

Return to lately 2022.

Everything evolves.

There are no brakes in our cars.

Only steering wheels.

So today we're talking about the evolution which led to a 'juke'.

A 'juke' started as a 'jake', a rumor in the night, evolved into a 'jeke' while we were stuck in a chair on a building's flat roof, evolved further into a 'jike', we've all been there before, which evolved into a 'joke', which we all love hearing and telling.

Jokes are life-affirming, especially when they're rude. No shield protects us better than a sense of humor.

A few short sentences setting up a situation, which then resolves with a one-sentence punchline.

Paul went to the doctor. "I don't know if my wife has Alzheimer's or AIDs."

The doctor nodded. "Here's what you do. Put your wife in the car, drive her about ten miles away from your home, let her out at the curb. Drive away."

Paul's confused. "How's that supposed to help?"

The doctor touches Paul's knee. "If she finds her way home, don't fuck her."

Nice and neat.

Like we so much appreciate in life. Cut into the blackened steak, steam and aroma rising, and it's perfectly medium rare inside. Its redness a reassurance that we do sometimes have control in our long lives.

But because the process of evolving doesn't stop, the 'joke' has now evolved into the 'juke'.

A 'juke' is something that is structured like a joke, appears to be headed towards a punchline, but really doesn't have one. It ultimately doesn't make sense. It's the final joke, in that it deliberately fails at what it's meant to do.

It's a juke.

The 'joke' has the perfect roundness of its interior 'O'. Representing fullness.

The 'juke' on the other hand represents emptiness. The 'U' is opened at the top, the lid off, everything worthwhile escaping.

Frank asked Mia out on a date.

Since it was a nice Spring evening, they decided to go to Tony's Outdoor Café.

As they finished their dessert, it started to drizzle.

Mia picked up a menu, ducked her head under it. "I'm engaged."

Frank tried to stay dry under the check. "You already told me that."

You have the structure, and the snap at the end, but there's no true punchline. It's the rhythm of a joke, but without the payoff. It's a juke.

A dog, a cat and a monkey went out in a rowboat.

At one point, the rowboat sprang a leak, and started filling with water.

The dog jumped out into the ocean first, followed by the cat, then the monkey.

All three swam towards a deserted island on the horizon.

Once they pulled their bodies out of the surf onto the beach of the island, lying on the sand, exhausted, the dog lifted its head. "I'm going to look for some cans of dog food."

The cat, tongue licking its front paws, started washing its face. "I'm going to see if there are any mice on this island."

The monkey raised itself up on its hind paws. "That's probably a good idea. Who knows how long we're going to be stranded here."

Whereas a joke gives us a boost of bravery, a wink of confidence we can enjoy as we stand at the outside pump and fill our car with gas, check while wearing our plaid pajamas the expiration date on the milk in our refrigerator we want to pour into our steaming cup of black coffee, lift and lower from our outside porch to the tile floor of our front hallway delivered bags of groceries, celery and frozen dinners and omeprazole, the juke tells us life is ultimately forever a disappointment.

Meaningless.

If a joke lifts you up, a juke lets you down.

A priest, a rabbi and an atheist enter an elevator.

The priest presses the button for the top floor.

The rabbi, hesitating, presses the button for the floor one story down from the top.

The atheist presses the button for the fifth floor.

Ever notice how rarely there are punchlines in life?

How it never seems to happen that A, B, C occurs, then it pays off with E?

How we aren't gifted with that neatness?

Mired instead in the mess of life?

Do a follow-up visit with your physician, hoping it'll be quick, so you can drive out to Bob's Burgers, buy another delicious, juicy cheeseburger, with a freshly-ground black peppercorn finish, and the doctor, opening his manilla file on his lap, tells you the results are bad, you have stage three cancer? Sit in your easy chair in front of your daughter lying on her side on the carpet in front of you, trying once again to get her to say what day it is, Thursday, scared and disturbed that at age three she still can't pronounce those two simple syllables? Leave the office late, get into your car in the now-empty parking lot, darkness descending, turn the key, and the engine won't start?

Mike, John and Sam went hiking in the woods.

They decided to pitch camp for the night at the bottom of the mountain they'd climb the next morning.

Once they got their campfire going, Mike pulled out three steaks. "I figure we're going to need some protein."

John contributed three artichokes. "We need some roughage to keep our bowels moving."

Sam nodded. "Sounds good!"

A joke is reassurance.

But the joke evolved too far, to a juke, couldn't brake that car from rolling backwards down the road's black tar slope, fender-lifting crash against the front of an innocent parked car.

And aren't we all innocently parked cars, even the worst of us?

Things don't always end the way we know they should.

Frank decided to sell his dog.

Pete parked in front of Frank's house, scratched the top of Simbo's head. "How much do you want for him?"

Frank raised up on his toes. "Well, in good conscience, I have to let you know Simbo does have one serious behavioral problem."

"What's that?"

"Each Friday when I come home with my weekly paycheck?"

"That's okay. He seems like a good, loving dog."

And of course you never know during that rollout of sentences, this sentence, that sentence, the joke teller's smirk, his eyes shifting through different facial expressions to indicate the change each new sentence creates, a blonde, a brunette and a redhead buying a car, a housewife deciding if she should make hamburgers, meat loaf, or meatballs, you listening, anticipatory smile, willingly led through the march of sentences to that punchline, as you leave everything you've ever known, no longer making breakfast, fishing with the top pad of your index finger a trapezoid of egg shell out of the hot skillet, watching TV shows you're really not that interested in, cleaning the toilet, pulling out old photographs from decades ago looking at them sitting on the side of a wide bed where now only you sleep, having trouble walking, asking the nurse what's for dinner tonight, all of that leading up to that final moment where you're still you, then eyes alert, staring up at something no one else gathered around your white hospital bed has ever seen, you suddenly forever stop being you.

Will the joke teller's final sentence, your final stare up at the white ceiling of the hospital room, be.

Something that makes sense? A punchline?

Or disappoints? A nothing?

Is life a joke, or a juke?

A mother picked up her son from school, asked him what he did that day.

"I raised my hand in all my classes, solved a math problem written on the blackboard, and had sex with my teacher."

The mother is appalled. Orders her son to go straight up into his bedroom, and stay there.

When her husband comes home, she tells him what their son said.

He rises out of his kitchen chair, goes upstairs to their son's room.

"Your mom told me you had sex with your teacher at work today?"

The son nods. "Yeah."

The father puts his hand on his son's shoulder. "I am so proud of you. That's what men do. Let's take a drive, you and me, downtown and get that bicycle you've been wanting."

Son and father pull up outside the store. The father lets his son look at the different bicycles, select one.

Dad pays for the bike his son selected. "Would you like to ride your new bike home?"

His son shakes his head. "Thanks dad, but my asshole is still really hurting."