Dogs Don't Tell Jokes (13 page)

The hat stayed on.

The title of Mrs. Ward’s opening address was “Inspiration and the Arts.”

“Perspiration and the Farts,” whispered Matt Hughes.

Brenda Thompson laughed. “Sounds like the name of a punk rock band,” she said.

Gary was too nervous to pay attention to the principal’s speech. From what he heard, it had something to do with how she wanted to be a ballerina when she was thirteen years old but was too fat.

“… so I can understand what these young people are feeling right now,” said Mrs. Ward.

There was polite applause. Then Miss Langley returned to the microphone and introduced the first contestant. “Fred Furst.”

“Good luck,” said Gary.

Mrs. Snitzberry sat down in Fred’s seat.
“What are you wishing him luck for?” she asked. “He’s your competition.” She looked toward center stage and shouted, “I hope you get the hiccups!”

Fred approached the microphone.

“Fred will do bird imitations,” said Miss Langley. “I understand you’ve been interested in birds all your life. Is that right, Fred?”

“Yes,” said Fred, but the microphone was too high for anyone to hear.

Miss Langley helped him adjust the mike. He spoke into it. “Yes. Ever since I was a baby. The first word I said was ‘bird.’ ”

Several people in the audience said, “Awww.”

Miss Langley stepped away.

Gary could see Fred’s knees shake.

“Why do I always have to be first?” Fred asked into the microphone.

A few members of the audience laughed, but most of them obviously didn’t get the joke.

Fred took a breath. “For my first impression I will do the North American hoot owl.”

Fred had a long neck, which seemed to get even longer when he did his bird imitation. “Whoooo. Whoooo.

“Now I will do a North American hoot owl that has been to school: Whom! Whom!”

There was mild laughter. It would have been funnier, thought Gary, if Fred had paused before the punch line.

“That’s an old bird imitator’s joke,” said Fred.

Fred then did impressions of a magpie, “Twitter-peep, twitter-peep”; a nightingale, “Chirp chirp twitter”; and a puffin, “Whoo-peep, whoo-peep.”

The audience politely applauded after each one.

Gary didn’t know what the real birds sounded like, so he had no idea if Fred’s imitations were good or not. It suddenly occurred to him that probably nobody in the audience knew whether the imitations were accurate. Fred could have been making them up! But why would anyone do that?

“Now I will do the mute swan,” said Fred. He stood for several minutes without making a sound.

Gradually the audience began to laugh as they caught on to his joke.

He then made the sounds of the pelican, the petrel, and the oriole.

“For my final impression, I’d like to do the redheaded woodpecker.”

He took a deep breath, then laughed exactly like Woody Woodpecker!

Gary cracked up. The audience laughed and applauded too.

Fred returned to the bench all smiles.

“That was great!” exclaimed Gary. “You sounded exactly like Woody Woodpecker!” It struck him that Woody Woodpecker was another famous comedian with a W.

“I’m just glad it’s over,” said Fred. “It’s weird to talk into a microphone. You hear yourself talking almost before you say it.”

“So, were those other ones real bird sounds?” asked Gary.

Fred smiled. He wasn’t telling.

Connie Lee was next. She played the guitar and sang. Gary thought she had pretty black hair, but he didn’t know much about music, so he couldn’t tell if she was any good. Besides, Fred Furst was talking in his ear almost the entire time.

“I’m glad I was first,” Fred said. “Now that it’s over. I can just sit back and enjoy the show. This is great. I just feel relaxed and charged up. I don’t have to sit here and worry the whole time.”

“Like me,” said Gary.

“Oh, you’ll do great,” said Fred.

Gary took a deep breath.

Susan Smith did gymnastics. She set out mats on the floor of the stage, then performed several flips, cartwheels, and splits.

“Oooh, that hurts!” Fred Furst said every time Susan did a split.

“Joe Reed,” said Miss Langley.

Joe stood up. He winked at Gary, then swaggered confidently up to the mike.

“Joe will sing a rap song that he wrote himself. It’s called ‘Going Insane.’ ”

“ ‘Goin’ Insane,’ ” said Joe. “ ‘Goin’,’ not ‘Going.’ No
g.
”

“Excuse me,” said Miss Langley. “How could I have made such a horrible mistake?”

Some of the adults in the audience laughed.

“ ‘Goin’
Insane,’ ” said Miss Langley.

Joe took a pair of sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. He started clapping his hands in rhythm until the whole audience joined in, keeping the beat.

“I don’t think he’s
goin’
insane,” Fred whispered. “I think he already
is
insane.”

The song had several more verses. After a while the audience stopped clapping along, but Joe continued to rap out the words.

“Yeah, I think it’s in a jar at the Smithsonian,” whispered Fred.

Everyone waited to make sure it was over, and then clapped.

Joe smiled and took off his sunglasses.

“Radical,” said Matt as Joe sat down next to him.

“Awesome,” said Julie Rose.

“Have you tried looking under the bed?” asked Fred Furst.

Gary took another breath. He tried to focus on his own act, how he was going to begin, his exact words, but he couldn’t concentrate. It felt like his brain was bouncing around inside his head.

“Brenda Thompson,” announced Miss Langley.

Brenda approached the microphone.

“Brenda is the student council secretary. She
was the one who came up with the idea of having this talent show.”

The audience applauded.

“What made you think of a talent show, Brenda?”

“Well, people are always putting down the younger generation. Saying we’re all on drugs or something. I just wanted to show the kind of talent and spirit we have here at Floyd Hicks Junior High!”

There was more applause.

Fred stuck his finger down his throat.

Brenda sang a song called “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” The backup music played over the speaker system, while above her, different-colored lights flashed on and off.

It seemed to take forever. Gary wished it would all go quicker. He wanted it to hurry up and be his turn before he forgot everything he was going to say.

“She sounds just like the record,” Fred whispered.

Gary didn’t know. He’d never heard the song before.

“So I understand your friends say you’re the funniest kid in school?” said Miss Langley.

Matt Hughes shrugged.

Gary paid close attention.

“Matt will now tell us some of his favorite jokes.”

“Well, they’re not my
favorites
,” said Matt. “I can’t say
my favorites.
”

Several people laughed.

“All right, Matt!” shouted Joe.

Suddenly Gary had a terrible fear that somehow Matt had made up some of the same jokes he had. What if he’d thought of Rudolph?

Matt took a piece of paper from his back pocket, but it fell out of his hand onto the floor of the stage. He turned his back to the audience as he bent down to pick it up, then unfolded it and stepped up to the microphone.

“What is it that my dad never wanted, but now that he has it, he doesn’t want to lose it? A bald head. What do you call a sleeping bull? A bulldozer. We have a great watchdog. Whenever a booger—I mean burglar. I don’t know why I said ‘booger.’ ” He laughed. “I guess I have boogers on the brain!” He looked back down at his paper. “Whenever a burglar comes, he hides under the bed and watches. I’m glad my parents named me Matt, know why? Because that’s what everyone calls me.”

Gary exhaled. It’s a tough crowd tonight, he thought. True, Matt didn’t pause, and he lost the flow with all that talk about boogers, but still, those were four pretty good jokes and hardly anyone laughed.

“What’d the judge say when a skunk came to court? ‘Odor in the court.’ ”

Gary’s heart jumped a little bit. For a second he was absolutely sure Matt was going to tell some dead skunk jokes.

“If you drop a white scarf into the Red Sea, what will it become? Wet.”

Matt continued to tell his jokes. He obviously hadn’t made up any of his own—Gary had heard them all before. But that didn’t seem to ease Gary’s mind. Watching Matt tell jokes, as he himself would soon be doing, just made him feel more nervous.

Matt began another joke. “A man and woman got married and were going on their honeymoon. They were in the hotel room, and they both started taking off their clothes. The man looked at the woman and …”

Miss Langley quickly walked to the microphone. “Thank you very much, Matt,” she said. “That was very good.” She clapped her hands, and the audience joined in the applause.

“I was afraid that might have been one of his
favorites
,” Miss Langley explained.

More people laughed at that than at any of Matt’s jokes.

“Leslie Ann Cummings,” said Miss Langley.

Gary nearly jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Wish me luck,” said the girl with braces.

He looked back at her and said, “Break a leg.”

She smiled.

“Break both legs, tinsel teeth!” said Mrs. Snitzberry, now seated behind Gary in Leslie Ann’s seat.

Leslie Ann was wearing a long skirt that almost touched the floor.

“I understand you don’t much care for modern music,” said Miss Langley.

Leslie Ann shrugged. “I like it okay.”

She sang “Anything Goes” by Cole Porter.

She raised her skirt just a little bit, revealing a glimpse of her stocking.

She twirled and kicked her leg up high, revealing a lot more.

Gary smiled as he watched her. He had always thought he didn’t like music, but he liked watching and listening to Leslie Ann. She really seemed to put her heart and soul into it as she belted out the words.

She did one other song, “You’re the Top,” and then returned to the side of the stage, her face red and glowing.

“That was really good,” Gary told her.

“You’re sweet,” she said.

Julie Rose was not the least bit nervous.

“I understand you want to be a poet but you also want to make money,” said Miss Langley.

“Well, I don’t want to starve or anything,”
said Julie. “All you ever hear about are starving poets. I’m going to go to law school, and then I want to be on the Supreme Court. But instead of just stating my court decisions, I plan to recite them in verse.”

“That would be a refreshing approach,” Miss Langley said. “We could probably use a few good poets on the Supreme Court.”

Several people applauded.

“Give me a break,” murmured Fred Furst.

Julie recited some of her poetry.

Gary understood poetry even less than music. He tried again to focus on his own act. He was afraid he might have practiced too much. Comedy was supposed to be spontaneous.

It wasn’t too late to quit. Not really.

The audience clapped loudly for Julie as she returned to her seat.

Gary had heard the expression “a cold sweat,” but he had never before realized there actually was such a thing. His hands were sweating, yet felt ice-cold.

“Marsha N. Posey,” announced Miss Langley.

Gary looked at his program. It was going
too fast! After Marsha was Alex Roth, then him!

Marsha already had on her roller skates. She skated around in circles, forward and backward. One of the benches had been brought to the center of the stage, and Marsha jumped over it, first forward, then backward.

She approached the end of the bench, jumped on it, then skated on one foot the length of the bench and jumped off, still on one foot. She turned around and skated the length of the bench the other way, this time using her other foot.

“I can’t even skate on two feet,” said Fred Furst.

“Me neither,” said Leslie Ann Cummings, behind him.

“Alex Roth,” said Miss Langley.

“Oh, God, I’m next!” Gary moaned.

“Relax,” Fred whispered. “Have fun.”

That was easy for Fred to say. Fred was done. He was lucky. He got to go first.

The piano was rolled to center stage. Alex played two short pieces by Bach: Invention No. 1 in C Major and Invention No. 8 in F Major. Again, it was music, so Gary didn’t know if
he played well or not. Alex didn’t seem to make any mistakes, but only Bach knew for sure, and he was dead.