It’s a funny joke, okay, so the joke’s not that funny any more, but the telling of the joke is hilarious. Ribald. Crude. Crossing boundaries that ought never be crossed, perhaps ever, not even in a trailer park, much less on the screen.
It’s bad. The vulgarity just makes it that much worse, or funnier, sort of depends. What I enjoyed – immensely – was the delivery. Now, within the first three minutes of the film, just about every scatological, incestuous, sexual boundary was thoroughly hammered. And after that, it just slides downhill. Plus there are variation on a theme.
This is not a movie for people who are offended by crudest of crude humor. What it is, though, is a peek inside the comic world. I’m wondering, too, if the telling of the joke is the joke itself.
I laughed almost the whole way through. But then, I’m not noted for a delicate sense of humor.
Rain day
Everybody gets a rain day.
I checked the weather, looked like clouds but no rain, and I headed out the door, fishing poles in one hand, coffee in the other. As soon as I arrived at the appointed meeting spot, though, it started to rain. Not earnestly, but more than a heavy drizzle. Whatever. Sunday morning, sun wasn’t even up yet, time to fish, a rare second weekend morning for fishing.
Morning rituals were observed, then just as the boat was in the water, a shot rang out. Sounded like a shot. No round landed any place close. Moments later, a sheriff’s vehicle pulls up, deputy pops out, and headed off toward the underbrush.
Prudence ruled, and we spent a few moments crouched by the fence. Another series of shots were fired, and the deputy emerged from the undergrowth, “Better stay back.” Not a problem, not about to take the boat out and be in clear firing range of whomever, right?
A second sheriff’s car pulled up, lights blazing. Both officers headed out into the underbrush. Me and my fishing buddy, in the pre-dawn dark, ambled around behind a building. More shots. The second officer ran back to his car, grabbed a helmet and there was a distinctive noise, a shotgun shell being chambered in a riot gun.
“Better move back.”
More rounds were fired.
Two officers were in the brush, three more sheriff vehicles arrive, and the heavy artillery was pulled out the trunk – in the dark – I’m guessing – looked like Colt AR-15’s. Plus another riot gun.
More rounds were fired.
Me and my buddy were making nervous jokes, but it was obvious, whomever was firing? The rounds were headed out over the lake. So we just stood safely aside.
A large deputy with local, regional dialect pulled his car into the underbrush.
“Must’ve taken ’em down, going in to get him.”
Another round sounded.
“Maybe not.”
By then, we were standing behind a passenger car, and the lady driving was wrapped up in a blanket, “Oh that’s just an air cannon to scare the buzzards away, I come out here almost every weekend, and this time, all the cops woke me up.”
First spot we stopped, produced fish the day before, there was another boat, and one angler was asking about the slot limit on the lake.
A “slot limit” is a regulation where the fish either have to be under 14 inches or over 21 inches in order to call it a keeper. So they had one big keeper.
The rain abated, then picked back up. We trailed all over the lake, “Dude, we got three fish between us.”
So I was a “no-fish catchin’ fool,” but we were on the lake until the rain moved in. It was a good time, after the scare. Except, I wasn’t scared.
And, of course, that little delay? I missed that big fish because of that. I’m sure of it. Hey, everybody gets a rain day.
