Flattered Grasshopper Joke (LES Yarrows)

Introducing our LOWER EAST SIDE/YARROWS EXPEDITION (NYC, Lower East Side, Manhattan, April 29, 2007). We’d been meaning to hit this area of the city for some time but could never find parking. Finally Chocolat had the brilliant idea of NOT DRIVING. We knew we kept him around for somethin'! When we heard Mocha’s band, THE YARROWS, were playing at the Mercury Lounge, we decided to make an expedition of it, showing up early to scour the area for jokes and then retiring for a evening of earning credit as "the best friends a guy could have" by showing face late (late for pushing-40, ex-hipster-dads anyway) on a Sunday night. What I meant was: ... and then retiring for an evening of "immediate and often urgent songs, sweeping soundscapes, a sound that's not naive and not ironic, created with palpable care," or at least that's what it says in their media bio. To us simpletons, it's just good atmospheric rock, but we hope we don't offend anyone for saying so.
We didn't get a lot of jokes because it got dark and our camera light, though very compact, turns people blue. Not even a pretty blue. So it's become one of those things you love to show off ("Check it out-- our ENTIRE set-up fits in my tiny camera bag!!") but never use, like a ruby-encrusted antique Japanese back-scratcher. You know, that kind of thing.
So enjoy the few but lively hipsters and homeless that make up this expedition!

Raped Russian Rooster Joke (Ft. Tryon Pk. Baby)

With two babies in tow, we found it easier to set up shop at the top of the 190th Street subway entrance (A-line). As you saw earlier, Mocha was struggling, but one thing I've learned is that sometimes you can just tell when someone's holding a joke.
This dude came up the stairs and my now-finely-tuned joke sensors were tingling like crazy, though at the time I blamed the Ben-Gay I'd stupidly let Mocha apply to my jingle-jangles. So yes, the guy did in fact have a joke, and it was one of those where the teller stops in the middle to give you some information you need to understand the punchline on the horizon. This technique, known as the "Ohyeah" among joke-ologists, is usually a deathtrap. Unless, however, the Ohyeah happens to be a Russian language lesson explaining that the "pitou" (sp?), or, rooster is the guy in jail who "everyone rapes." Under such circumstances the Ohyeah becomes entertaining in and of itself, begging such questions as Do you HAVE to rape the pitou, or is that optional?

...from our BABY Expedition (NYC, Fort Tryon Park, Washington Heights, April 15 , 2007).

Bumbling Mocha Medley (Ft. Tryon Pk. Baby)

Our very own "Mocha" doing the dirty work that makes the magic happen. We've now moved camp from the entrance to Ft. Tryon Park about 200 yards over to the entrance to the 190th St. A-line subway. The blue line is our subway, without which we'd be perpetually home not to mentioned fired from our day jobs (I know-- you thought we were professional Joke Getters but it's not as lucrative as everyone assumes). I live just above 190th and Mocha's just below. We parked here with the strollers because the foot traffic looked good, but as you can see Mocha just couldn't catch a wave. Hard to believe because is Mocha not the most nicest sweetest NYC solicitor you've ever seen?

We've been meaning to bring you more behind the scenes footage like this; of course, 8,000 encouraging emails from all our fans might move things along.

Deaf Old Gents Joke (Ft. Tryon Pk. Baby)

This was when we were standing at the entrance to the park with the strollers behind us... I just love when people dedicate jokes to loved ones-- makes me feel so warm and fuzzy and... legitimate. The joke is charming, but it never hurts to travel with a dude that has an mad scientist laugh and isn't afraid to use it.

Horse and Green Fuzzy jokes (Ft. Tryon Pk. Baby)

Ok, after the above tirade I took a cool oatmeal bath, lit a vanilla candle and draped myself in a fresh, fluffy towel. Now I'm gay but in a much better mood. Allow me to introduce the FT. TRYON PARK/BABY EXPEDITION.

Who says you can't collect jokes with two babies in tow? Well, no one, really, but that's what the voices in our heads were saying and they had a very challenging tone. So Mocha and I set off with our children, 14 and 16 mos., traipsing around Ft. Tryon Park, the landmass occupying the area between our apartments. In one sense it was easier— people are already kind of looking at you and smiling when you have a baby. But juggling the strollers, camera and release forms turned out to be for the birds, and a couple of times I suddenly realized my daughter was parked a good 100 feet behind me even as I faked a laugh. Those are the moments you go "My wife would kill me if the baby got stolen" and feel shitty for thinking that instead of "I couldn't live a day without my precious daughter."

Anyway, we eventually realized stopping people while on the move ourselves wasn't working, so we sort of parked ourselves and our strollers and tackled people as they went by. This gentleman told a couple of "horse goes into a bar" jokes, then thought he had another one, couldn't remember it, walked away, then returned a few minutes later to tell us the "Green Fuzzy" joke. He was very proud of himself for remembering, because the Green Fuzzy joke is his "current favorite" (what's yours?). We'll let you decide if it was worth all the effort.

Alcoholic Horse Joke



Green Fuzzy Joke

Numbers Joke (Ft. Tryon Pk. Baby)

Ok we're behind. We haven't posted in awhile and you know how hard it is to get back in the swing of things. The truth is, we've been going through some very heavy stuff, stuff we can't talk about here. Stuff that leaves us, three grown men, weeping in each others arms, leaning against the fridge for support, our knees buckling in grief as we slide to the kitchen floor, our naked bodies (did I mention we're naked?) writhing as the cool tile sends electric waves through our buttocks and out our nipples, creating a kind of electromagnetic man-ball, if you will, someone's wife sauntering in and dropping a piece of rye bread into the mix, toast before another tear can fall.
Anyway what have you been up to? Knocking down our door in protest of the hiatus? No, you have not. What-- you've been getting your jokes somewhere else? Tell me-- were they good jokes? Were they new... young? What did you do, laugh? No, I need to hear this-- did you laugh? Did you make the ha ha noises that you used to make at StopMe?
Well you listen hear and listen good: we have 3 expeditions in the bank and we're back and we're bringing them to you and if you so much as look at that door it'll be shoved up your ass so far people will say "Shit that must've hurt!" as you walk down the street with your body shaped like a door.
What? What's that? Get on with the jokes? Oh, is that right-- you want a joke? Here. Here's a little scrap of a joke-- a sample off the street, a taste of the old me. A little scrappy ass numbers joke for you to chew on and hold up to the light and dream about the old days and hope for something to come that can ever be even close to what was. And when you're done kicking around this poor third grader, you can get down on your motherFUCKING knees and beg, BEG for another joke and all I can say—as though you EVEN deserve a response— is we'll see.

This is just the picture from the New Years Expedition. We're trying to get it onto the profile but having a terrible time of it. Any ideas?

Plastic Surgery Joke (PodCamp NYC)

This is left over from our PodCamp NYC expedition, shot during the after-party (is that what you call those things?). I lamely don't remember which web-vid-hosting site hosted the party, nor can I properly plug the venue itself, but I do remember I drank 3 free whiskeys quick enough to beat the deadline. Just trying to support the community!