I do not really write jokes, I mean, not formal, two rabbis walk into a bar jokes. But sometimes they are visited upon me, an idea, a response, a light bulb moment that causes my brain to thrust a joke into my hands. This happens almost always at the Library. Sometimes I just get the kernel of the joke to start and am compelled to puzzle out the rest of it. These jokes are almost exclusively pun related, and, like most jokes, are not terribly funny. But with the visitation of the joke comes a Rime of the Ancient Mariner like need to tell said joke. I don't even put up the suggestion of a fight. I know my duty when I see it. I march off and tell the joke to the five people in nearest proximity to me. If, as with the joke below, it appears to me while I am dealing with a patron, I tell the patron, usually along with whoever my co-worker is out there. Then I walk into the back room and tell whoever is back there. Then I walk to the teen room and tell the teen librarian. Usually I manage to tell it really well just one of the times I tell it. That helps lift the curse. There are usually two to five tellings before I am released. There must have been some albatross I killed somewhere, but I can't remember.
So if I am released, why am I sharing this joke with you now? No, sorry, it is not too good to deprive you of. What actually happened is that it started out simple, but not quite right. And as I told it more and more I kept layering it up. By the time it all sort of fit properly together I'd already told it to everyone, so I need this one more telling to release me from my responsibilities.
A man with a pair of skis goes to see a Doctor.
"I didn't know whether to come to you Doctor, my ailment just seems so strange, but it's driving me crazy and I need help." The man says.
"Yes, what's the problem?"
"My Russian grandmother died and left me these very old skis. They are a family heirloom once belonging to a great composer. I am an avid skier and as soon as I could I excitedly took my new skis out to the slopes. Before I even made it down my first run I started coughing a bizarre and horrible cough!"
"What is so strange about this cough?" The Doctor asks.
"Well, when I cough, the taste of black tea, with spices of cardamon, ginger, and black pepper, floods my mouth. And the cough, the cough, no matter what I do, makes the sound of The 1812 Overture! Here, I'll show you."
The man clips the skis to his boots and is soon coughing. Sure enough the cough sounds just like The 1812 Overture, and the man manages to say "Yes, and there's the taste of the spiced black tea as well."
The Doctor looks carefully at the man. She feels his glands. Then she crouches down and looks at the skis. "I see the problem." She says nodding.
"Yes?" inquires the man eagerly.
"These aren't just any skis." The Doctor says. "These are Chai Cough Skis."