Specialist Jokes

Leading Head

I only really know about physics and maths jokes, but I'm sure there are jokes for anyone's particular strain of specialised education, so hopefully some of you will know what the hell I'm talking about.

Perhaps you've heard a joke like this:

Two atoms walk into a bar. One says, "I think I've lost an electron!"; the other, "Are you sure?"; the first, "Yes, I'm positive!"

This is the general structure of most 'academic jokes': they'll play out like a kids joke, except the humour is based around specialised knowledge. They are normally pretty awful. But I still find myself chuckling, and academics do tend to appreciate them and circulate them, groaning as they do so - a similar groan to the "my dog has no nose..." kind of joke.

There are other jokes based around more general observations of your chosen subject, rather than pure facts:

Physics Exam question: Describe the universe in 300 words and give three examples.

But they are all styled quite similarly to the kids' jokes of old: cringeworthy, basic and a few good steps down from pinsharp wit, or a good stand-up act. So why do we (okay, I) chuckle when we've stopped chuckling at kids' jokes?

Some people think that it's to do with feeling the need to chuckle because you enjoy being in the few who properly get the joke. It's a little bit of ego-stroking, an elitist joke, if you will. Perhaps if I told you the chicken crossed the mobius strip to get to the same side you wouldn't know what the hell I was talking about. Or perhaps you do know what I'm talking about, but know that you might be in the minority and so finding the joke funny makes you feel good for being in that group of well knowledged peoples.

For me, personally, it's a slight twist on this. Sometimes I hear a maths joke and I'll laugh. I'll laugh, because I know I'm in the minority of people who will 'get it', but not because it makes me feel better. Rather, I know that someone made this joke and hardly anyone will ever 'get it' and I feel it's my duty to laugh at the poor little joke, preaching to the very small choir; it needs some recognition!

I don't know much about medicine, so if anyone wants to send me some medicine jokes (I'm looking at you,Sanjay) then I'd be happy to not get them.

Stuart

Protecting Lauren from Lawyers

Supposedly in a break from her celebrated career as a supermodel war veteren, Lauren sent me an email asking:

"if some guy was getting 'all up in my business' would you come and defend me?"

to which I replied that I didn't know what the crap she was talking about. I began to wonder if this was something that needed rectifying immediately: was there some auditor rifling through her tax returns as she emailed me in need of defence?

You'd have to wonder how an early robot would get by if it had to work in the slummiest streets of, say, Philidelphia. Or Manchester. It would probably have the entire Oxford Dictionary on Whosits and Whatnows, but would stil struggle to understand everyday chatter in these slang-heavy communities. It would probably be accused of 'tripping', if such accusations still occur, and how would it interpret such a claim? Would it return to the manufacturer to demand its stability sensors be upgraded?

Of course, this robot doesn't exist. And thank goodness, because as we all know, robots are designed only to enslave and harvest humanity despite what Robin Williams might tell you. Even without leaving our homes we have to suffer the inane 1337 speak, which (thank 6od) now only seems to be used to mock, rather than function as a language.

Anyway, my point is that the new world language should be Japanese, because you cannot leet up Kanji, they only have a certain number of useable syllables to bollocks up and their grammar is so simple it might as well be slang anyway.

P.S. What was 'phat' all about? Seriously, what was it all about?

Stuart

Blogs and How I Kill Them

Blogs and How I Kill Themd

Why is is that whenever I start reading a blog, it seems to die out - am I cursed or something.? I don't read a lot of blogs, but sometimes I stumble upon an interesting one and a within a fairly short period of time the posts start to dry up.

Do they know I'm reading and run away? If so - why? Why can't I read your blog - I don't even comment on things, I don't have the time, energy or that special feeling of needing to express my opinion that would make me comment on posts/articles so I can't be directly possing them off.

Anyway, I'm going to start reading Ray Comfort's Blog next week so perhaps my curse will finally do some good.

The Highs and Lows of Mr Muscle

The Highs and Lows of Mr Muscle

It's not about branding; it's about an institution. There's something grounding and warming about a never-aging face we all know and trust. Like Father Christmas (translation for West-Atlanticans: Santa Claus) - everybody knows his big ol' belly and white fur-lined red suit. And his beard.
Just like everybody knew the good old Captain Birdseye: a loveable old sea captain, who we all suspected was secretely Father Christmas (again) or Bernard Matthews, famous turkey farmer, gone rogue. When they reincarnated the barnacle-encrusted old codger into a young James Marsden-a-like, the world rebelled. Fish prices plummeted and talk of an ecodomic fishession was all over the papers. Why? Because no one (repeat: no one) wants to buy fish from James Marsden.

So why, why, why have they replaced our beloved Mr Muscle - a man so weak and inept that he gave all of us hope that our ovens couldn't possibly stay greasy for long if even he could remove the baked-on remains of grandma's over-roasted duck - with what looks like James Marsden. Why?

Mr Muscles proved to the world that you didn't need to be talented, good-looking, charming or indeed have the ability to walk properly to get your oven clean. Before then, we were in pandemonium. In the late 1960's everyone from fire fighters to Richard Nixon himself were called in to fight the 'greasy oven' crisis. Your everyday layman was ill-equipped to cope with those baked on stains. But then came hope. Then came, Mr Muscle. His dirty vest reminded us our our dirty vest. His lanky limbs reminded us of our girth-deficient penises. This was a man who seemed so incredibly unable to deal with even a coffee spill onto linoleum and yet - somehow - he could clean an oven with a single wipe. The world was changed forever. If he could do it, then why not the rest of us?

Now though it seems that grease is winning the war again, and - just as the troubles of dwindling cod reserves in the North Sea called out for action - James Marsden is back to fight our war for us, and we are left in the sidelines.

Global Warming: Energy Efficient?

Global Warming: Energy Efficient?


I just had a thought as I crunched down the last of my Polos, the minty magic clearing my sinuses and cooling the air on its way through my nose into my brain (right?). They say we should be insulating our roofs and walls, cutting back on energy production and use and using our cars less because of Global Warming. No doubt. But... on a global scale, isn't global warming pretty efficient. I mean, as a planet, we're not letting energy escape the way it used to. We are insulating our terrestrial rooves... er, roofs... rooves. We're insulating our terrestrial ceilings, as it were, and together we're sorted - right?

I mean, I'm no scientist* but it seems that we're already achieving the thing we wanted most of all. Now if only we can convert all this heat energy back into car energy again, we'll have the whole thing licked. And speaking of licked, this global warming is making my ice cream melt faster than I can devour it. Num, num.

*[Stuart's educational background is in physics and maths - Ed]

Tales from beyond the Comic

Tales from beyond the Comic

It may shock you to hear, but there are times between waking up and going back to sleep again when we're not creating Chain Bear. No wait, there's more - we both have day jobs - day jobs! Temporarily (i.e. during the good part of the all-too-brief, glorious British summer), I have been relocated from our glorious capital, with it's parks, lakes and river, to the middle of goddamn nowhere. I was okay with this; I took it on the chin and tripled my daily commute for the good of a company who is fast forgetting I even exist.

Yesterday they replaced the Choc-On-Top flapjacks in the sole vending machine with Crazin' Raizin flapjacks.

I accepted it when they replaced the Kit Kat Chunkies with Alpen fruit crunch bars; there were still standard Kit Kats, I decided. But this - the Choc-on-Top flapjacks were for the moments of dispair, when I could forget I was a place the rest of the workforce has dubbed "Two Towers" (despite there being three towers), and I could remember that I would be going home at the end of the day. But now... raisins? I hate raisins! Raisins are one of two things I just can't stand to eat - only two things and they put one of them in my bloody flapjacks. This is some kind of negligence from the COO, for sure. I can sue.