185

Dear Friends,

Welcome to the 185th Hard Taco Digest. This is a significant milestone in my house because 185 is also the name of my family's favorite game to play during road trips, during dinner, and while my kids are trying to do homework or sleep. The rules are simple. Someone suggests a subject, and everyone falls over themselves to tell jokes about that subject. The catch is that all of the jokes are y identical until the last line. The framework of the joke is as follows:

185 [blanks] walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry, we don't serve [blanks] here." 185 [blanks] say, "[punchline]."

It is an exercise in exquisite puncraft, and it favors quantity over quality. A true master must fashion no fewer than 20 bad jokes on any subject to establish his or her puncraftsmanship.

The Hard Taco song for November is called, "Your Best Emily Dickinson." In honor of this song's namesake, I will demonstrate a round of 185 using poets as the subject.

1.
185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "No problem. We called a taxi and it's SONNETS way."

2.
185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "Well guys, shall we just go HOMER find a different bar?"

3.
185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "But I already ordered a martini... THE ROAD NOT SHAKEN, but stirred."

4.
185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "We can't leave yet. Our sister told us to METER here."

5.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "But the bouncer just told us to CUMMINGS side!"

6.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "I'll leave, but IAMB not happy about it."

7.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "This is the VERSE night of our lives."

8.

185 poets with lisps walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets with lisps here."
185 poets with lisps say, "If I were to make a lisht of bad pubsh, thish one would be on the top of that PUBLISHED."

9.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "'Til we finish the contents of this COUPLET us stay."

10.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "I knew you guys were cons-BYRON to kick us out."

11.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "ODE dear."

12.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "Wow. You just said that to our faces point BLAKE."

13.
185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "But we haven't even had a chance to try out EPIC up line that we've been working on!"

14.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "Don't make us hire a (walt w)HITMAN to take you out!"

15.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "Damn MUSE son of a bitch."

16.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "Well, it's getting ALITER-ATE anyway, so we should get going."

17.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "Isn't there anyone here who STANZA up for us?"

18.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "Can Langston HUGHES the bathroom first? Because, you know, Langston really has to go bad."

19.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "That's illegal discrimination... I'll PROSEcute you!"

20.

185 poets walk into a bar. The bartender says, "I'm sorry.  We don't serve poets here."
185 poets say, "LAGER LAGER EVERYWHERE AND NOT A DROP TO DRINK!"

Think you can do better? Hit me with your best shot. (Which is exactly what 185 Pat Benatars would say to a bartender.)

With warmest regards,
Zach

The Bloody Leotard

Dear Friends,

The June Hard Taco song is called, “Big-Calved Woman.” It’s a little misogynistic, has only two chords, and features a rather grating vocal track. If that doesn’t scare you away, what if I tell you that it is performed by hornets and Chinese puppets?!  (These are your deepest fears, according to the “browser cookies” in your computer.)

If you were able to ascertain my darkest secrets by querying my cookies, you would discover that I have been harboring a lot of guilt for something I did when I was 17.  I broke a ballerina’s leg. This particular dancer was male, but he was wearing a frilly pink tutu, so one could feel justified referring to him as a ballerina. The injury took place as the result of me running my parents’ station wagon into him in a parking lot, pinning his legs between two cars. It was probably the first time he had ever held his feet in fifth position.

The maimed ballerina was an aspiring comedian working as a “ballet parker” at a Milwaukee club called Comedysportz. I spent many evenings and weekends at that club because I was on the Nicolet High School Comedysportz team. Every Saturday morning, we would match our wits against one of the other schools, and by “wits” I mean “ability to think of terrible puns while cross-dressing.” It was the only sport I did in high school and shut up, it is too a sport. Competitive improv a sport in the same way that beer pong is a sport. Some people are certainly better at it than others, but everyone finds themselves hilarious after playing for an hour. Also, as it turns out, both increase your risk for having your legs crushed in a car accident.

You Can't Make Atonement without Mentos

Dear Friends,

There is a short list of things you have been waiting for you whole life, and the September Hard Taco song, “Jumex Flow,” is certainly on it. It’s somewhere towards the middle of that list, right in between ‘a car with revolving doors’ and ‘never to feel lonely, even for one second.’

Listen to “Jumex Flow” right now. Don’t make me come over there and listen to it for you.  

This month, Jews all over the globe will observe Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. In the weeks leading up to this holiday, it is customary to seek forgiveness for any bad behavior in the last year. I like the idea of rectifying my wrongdoings, but I’m still a little behind on my payments, apology-wise. To begin with, I have a couple transgressions from when I was in 5^th grade that I would like to get off my chest.

Apology #1: I’m sorry I engaged in an imbalanced Garbage Pail Kid trade with a cognitively disabled classmate.

Nikki was a girl in my grade who had been collecting Garbage Pail Kids longer than the rest of us. It was rumored that she had several of the coveted first series cards, including ‘Adam Bomb,’ the crown jewel of the GPK collection. Of possible relevance to this story, Nikki had Down syndrome. One day I cornered her at recess.

Me: Hi, Nikki. Do you want to see my new Garbage Pail Kids? I’ve got ‘Bruised LEE’ and ‘Glandular ANGELA.’

Nikki: Hi, okay. I’m playing with this one… ‘GARRET-ed.’

Me: That’s a cool one. Do you have the other one that looks like that, ‘Garrote-TED?’

Nikki: No. I do not.

Me: Well, check this out… I have two copies of ‘Garrote-TED!’ Hey, you know what would be fun? We should make a trade. I’ll give you one of them for one of your cards, like maybe… ‘ADAM Bomb.’

Nikki: I’ll have to ask my parents.

Me: Come on! You don’t need to ask your parents. Just look at this card I’m holding. It’s a chubby toddler being garroted. His eyes are bulging out and stuff. It’s totally rad!

Nikki: Yeah, it is pretty rad! Okay.

And so went the most lopsided deal in trading card history. As of this morning, ‘ADAM Bomb’ is going on eBay for over $15.00. I could sell it and use the cash to get a haircut… a haircut that should have been Nikki’s. I’ve felt lousy about this for a while, so a few years ago I took steps to assure that I would never forget that I exploited a vulnerable individual. I threw away all my Garbage Pail Kids except for two: ‘ADAM Bomb’ and ‘Special ED.’

Apology #2: I’m sorry I abused the audience-participation privilege at a ComedySportz game by insulting my sister, Sari.

“My sister got glasses and braces and now she’s really ugly!”

I was at an improv comedy club with my family, and when the emcee asked for suggestions from the audience, I shouted out the aforementioned sentence. I think the specific request was for a newspaper headline, but I probably would have yelled out the same thing if he has asked for an emotion or the name of a fictional salad dressing. In my mind, it was just too funny to go unsuggested for a minute longer.

I can see you shaking your head and saying, “Oh, that poor girl!” I admit it was rude, but try to put yourself in my shoes for a moment. Declaring that your sister is ugly is not supposed to be hurtful, nor is it based on empiric observation. You’re nine years old, and you have a limited arsenal of phrases. If you’ve already used, “Give me your Little Debbie,” and, “He who smelt it, dealt it,” the only other combination of sounds that your mouth is capable of generating is something about the repulsive appearance of your siblings.   

At any rate, Sari didn’t think it was very funny, and neither did anyone else in the audience. In fact, several people booed, including some of the performers. Unfortunately for all of us, they were bound by the improvisers’ code to use the suggestion, and grudgingly ad-libbed a hilarious sketch about how the 11-year old girl in the audience was ugly because of her glasses and braces.

Anyway, Sari has probably forgotten about this incident, but I wanted to ask her forgiveness for being such a terribly insensitive younger brother that one time. (As far as I know, there were no other such incidents.) Also, I was hoping she could dig up some old pictures, just to see if the glasses in question were as hideous as I had implied, because maybe that would partially absolve me. Just a thought.

Merry Yom Kippur, everyone!

With warmest regards,

Zach