Dogs Don't Tell Jokes (3 page)

“Every morning when I wake up,” said Ryan Utt, “the first thing I do is thank the Lord I’m not Gary Boone.”

Gary felt a hand on his shoulder. A girl said, “Gary.”

He turned around to see Brenda Thompson.

It was probably the first time Brenda Thompson had ever spoken to him. It was certainly the first time she’d ever touched him.

“Did you say you wanted to be in the talent show?” Brenda asked. She seemed genuinely interested.

“If I’m not too late.”

“See Miss Langley,” said Brenda. “She’s the faculty adviser.”

“Thanks, Brenda,” said Gary.

“Thanks, Brenda
,” said Paul in a mocking voice, although it was more like he was making fun of Brenda than of Gary.

“Ooooh,” said Matt, as if there was something going on between Brenda and Gary.

The boys thought that was hilarious.

Brenda looked scornfully at them. “Get real,” she said.

The talent show had been Brenda Thompson’s idea. “It’ll be fun,” she’d said at the student council meeting.

“I think it sounds stupid,” said Philip Korbin, eighth-grade president. “Only an idiot would want to make a fool out of himself in front of the whole school.”

“Oh, it’ll be fun,” Brenda said again.

Most everybody agreed with Philip, but in the end they voted for the talent show because Brenda was popular, and because nobody else had a better idea for celebrating Floyd Hicks’s birthday.

But the real reason Brenda had suggested the talent show wasn’t because she thought it would be “fun.” She just wanted a chance to sing on stage. She imagined herself as the next Madonna.

She never admitted this to anyone. She thought she would say something like, “Well, I guess I
should
be in the talent show, since it was
my
idea. Hmm, what should I do? I don’t know. I guess I’ll sing.”

And it just so happens that on the day of the talent show, a big-time Hollywood producer gets a flat tire while driving through town in his Lamborghini. And while the tire is being fixed he notices a poster for the talent show, so, since he has nothing better to do, he checks it out. When he hears Brenda sing, he immediately rushes backstage and signs her up to do records and movies
.

She doesn’t even go back to school She just hops in his red convertible and heads straight for Hollywood with the wind blowing her hair
.

“There’s only one problem,” he says. “It’s your name. Brenda Thompson. It’s so ordinary.
”

“I know what you mean,” she agrees. “I’ve always hated it.
”

“How about if we call you Ruby Goldmine?
”

“I love it!
”

But all Brenda’s daydreams were about to go up in smoke, because the last time she had checked, not one single person had signed up to be in the talent show. She herself wasn’t
going to sign up for it until some other kids did first.

Imagine how embarrassing it would be, she thought, if she was the only one in the talent show.

When recess ended, Gary was waiting by the door to Miss Langley’s room.

“Gary? What are you doing here?”

“I want to be in the talent show,” he blurted, almost shouting.

Miss Langley smiled. “Okay,” she said quietly.

They went inside. She handed him a clipboard with a piece of paper attached to it. “Sign your name on the list, and next to it put down what you’re planning to do in the show.”

Gary looked at the blank piece of paper. “There are no other names here.”

“You’re the first,” said Miss Langley.

He smiled as all his worries vanished. He no longer even knew why he had been so worried. After all, there was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to sign up for the talent show, just like anybody else.

He held the clipboard high over his head.

“What are you doing?” asked Miss Langley.

“I’m signing
up!
” he said.

He wrote:

(Gary’s middle name was Arthur.)

No matter how many times Gary read it, that joke always made him laugh.

He was sitting in his room going through one of his jokebooks. There were twenty-eight books in Gary’s bookcase. Twenty-five of them were jokebooks. He also had a dictionary, a book called
Sideways Arithmetic from Wayside School
, which he didn’t understand, and a novel about a pirate that Angeline had given him a long time ago and that he’d never read.

“Can I say ‘pooper’ at school?” he asked aloud.

On the walls of his room were posters of famous comedians: W. C. Fields playing poker, Woody Allen playing the clarinet, Whoopi Goldberg jumping in the air, and one of Robin Williams and Jonathan Winters standing side by side, each trying to look sillier than the other.

He’d once noticed that many of his favorite comedians had a name that began with the letter W. That was why he always signed his name
Gary W. Boone
. If anybody asked, he would say his middle name was Wolfgang, but nobody ever asked.

“Maybe,” he considered, “I could get up on stage
wearing
a diaper! ‘Hi, my name is Goon. It’s wonderful to be here today.’ Everybody would already be laughing because of the diaper. ‘You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing this diaper.’ (Pause: One … two … three.) ‘I don’t want to be a party pooper!’ ”

He had once watched a television show where four real comedians talked about how to be a stand-up comic. They all agreed that timing was the most important factor. You should never rush your punch line. As one of the comedians said, “No matter how funny a joke was, it would bomb like a rotten egg if the timing wasn’t right.” He said that he always
paused and counted to three before delivering the punch line.

“Would I really wear a diaper to school?” Gary asked. He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Except it wasn’t a party, it was a talent show. So party pooper wouldn’t make sense. “Or maybe that would just make it even funnier?” He’d have to think about it.

He continued to look through the jokebook.

He wondered how many jokes he’d need. He didn’t know how much time he’d have. Normally, a stand-up comic has to fill eight minutes, but it might be different for a school talent show. He didn’t know how long it took for him to tell a joke. And how much time should he allow for laughter?

Of course, there was more to it, he realized, than just looking through jokebooks and finding
fifteen or twenty funny jokes. The jokes had to be related. One joke had to lead into the next. “Segue” was what the real comedians had called it.

So, after the joke about the hen, he thought he could tell jokes about other animals. “Speaking of animals, did you hear about the frog-jumping contest? My father won.” (Pause: One … two … three.) “He was able to jump over thirty-five frogs.”

In his jokebook it was someone named Mr. Jones who jumped over thirty-five frogs, but on television the comics had all agreed it was best to personalize your jokes. You should use members of your family whenever possible.

It was too bad, he thought, that he wasn’t old enough to have a mother-in-law. Then he could say his mother-in-law won the frog-jumping contest.

“But seriously, folks, everyone in my family is a good jumper. In fact, I myself can jump higher than my house. I can jump three feet high.” (Pause: One … two … three.) “My house can’t jump at all!”

No, instead of saying he could jump three feet high, he realized, it would be better if he just jumped up, right there on stage. It’s better
if a stand-up comedian is able to move around and do things, rather than just stand up.

Gary’s heart jumped as he heard someone enter his room. He slowly closed his jokebook.

“What are you doing?” asked his mother.

He turned around and smiled at her. His parents had a rule. He wasn’t allowed to look at his jokebooks until he finished all his homework.

“I don’t suppose that’s schoolwork,” his mother said.

“Sort of,” said Gary. “It
is
for school.”

People always told Gary he looked exactly like his mother, which bothered him a little bit, not because his mother wasn’t nice-looking, but because he didn’t want to look like a forty-four-year-old woman. They had the same round face and wide mouth. Their noses were just a bit flat, and they both had small darting eyes.

He told her about the talent show.

“I think that’s wonderful,” his mother said in a way that didn’t sound like she thought it was wonderful.

“First prize is a hundred dollars!” said Gary.

His mother wasn’t impressed. “I hope you win,” she said. “But your homework comes first. Otherwise I’m going to take all those stupid jokebooks and throw them in the trash. I’m not kidding.”

“But this is really important,” said Gary. “It’s just as important as any of my other school-work. In fact, it’s more important.
It is!
When I grow up, I’m going to be a stand-up comic. I won’t need to know history or math for that.”

“That’s fine,” said his mother. “But right now, I don’t want you looking at a jokebook until you finish your homework.”

“You know, you’re really going to feel silly one day when I’m a famous comedian.”

His mother smiled. “I hope you’re right,” she said. This time she sounded like she really did hope he was right, like maybe it was his only hope.

“So, Mom,” he said. “What do you do when your nose goes on strike?”

His mother had already started out the door. “Picket,” she answered without turning around.

She’d heard it before. She’d heard them all before.

Joe Reed put his hands on Gary’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Are you going to play seriously,” he asked, “or are you going to clown around?”

“I’ll play,” Gary promised.

“All right!” said Joe as he clapped his hands together.

Gary clapped his hands together too.

Gary liked Joe. He was popular, and a great athlete, but he still treated everyone fairly, even Goon.

Joe was the captain of Gary’s flag football team in gym class. For flag football, every player on the team wore a special belt over his gym
shorts, with “flags” attached by Velcro. The flags were long plastic strips. Instead of tackling someone, you were supposed to pull one of his flags.

The team huddled around Joe.

Gary had just pretended to pledge allegiance to Joe’s flag, which was why Joe asked him if he was going to play or clown around.

Joe looked at Gary. “Can you catch?”

Gary nodded confidently.

“Good,” said Joe. “They’re not even guarding you. I’ll fake a hand-off to Brian, then—”

“I can catch colds,” said Gary.

Joe stopped and stared at him. “Can you catch a football?”

Gary tried to think of a funny answer. “With my feet?” he asked.

Joe looked away.

“With your hands, Goon!” said Brian.

“Then why is it called a football?” asked Gary. “Why isn’t it called a handball?”

Joe called the play. “All right, Brian, I’ll fake it to you, then you flair out to the left flat. Doug and Zack will crisscross over the middle.”

“What about me?” asked Gary.

“Hike the ball,” said Joe. “On two.”

“Yessir!” said Gary. He saluted his captain.

Gary bent down over the ball. On the count of two, he hiked the ball between his legs to Joe. Joe threw it to Zack, who caught it and ran in for a touchdown.

“All right!” Joe cheered. He patted Gary on the back. “Nice hike, Goon. That was good.”

“Thanks,” said Gary. “Hey, you know why they call it a pigskin?”

Joe was heading down the field.

“Joe, you know why they call it a pigskin?” Gary called after him.

He watched Joe and Zack give each other high and low fives. He wished he’d get a chance to go out for a pass sometime, instead of always having to hike the ball.

Gary rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. The elevator was old and made bumping and creaking noises, like it was ready to break down at any moment. Gary thought it would be fun to be stuck in an elevator and have to be rescued, but despite all its bumping and creaking the elevator never broke down, at least not when he was in it.

He knocked on the door to Angeline’s apartment.

Her father opened the door. “Hey, Gary, what’s cookin’?” asked Abel Persopolis.

“Mashed potatoes and gravy,” Gary replied. He stepped inside. “Where’s Angeline?”

Abel looked puzzled. “At her school,” he said.

Gary’s heart dropped. “But she called me this morning. She said she was home.”