Dead ringer for a Winslow joke
I sent an e-mail to Clay Thompson today. He writes a Valley 101 column for The Republic, which I tried for a while to emulate at the State Press. (The login thing on the State press site is retarded, so hit up bugmenot.com for a login name.)
Needless to say, I'm kind of a fan of Clay's column. And lately, he wrote a column about the origin of the phrase "dead ringer." He mentioned today that he's been getting mail about it.
Thanks to my boy Jay Winslow, however, I know the truth about dead ringers, and I e-mailed it to Thompson. This is my version of a ridiculously longwinded joke that is almost always funnier to the person telling it than it is to the audience. But I still think it's damn funny.
Hard to say if something like this is professional to send to a coworker. On one hand, it's office humor that pertains, loosely, to work-related issues. Very professional. On the other hand, it could come off as an annoying fan letter from some half-assed newbie who thinks he's funny. I prefer the former.
Anyway, here it goes:
-----------------------------------------
Long ago, in a small town nestled in the mountains and overlooking some agrarian European countryside, stood a large cathedral. Once ornate and beautiful, the cathedral had fallen into disrepair because church attendance had plummeted. In those days, the poor farmers liked to sleep in and spend the remainder of their Sundays watching medieval sports in the fields and drinking ales and hard ciders at pubs.
Distraught, the priest sat in his office, agonizing over ways to boost his attendance, when a hay cart pulled up to the church door. Off the cart flopped a small, scruffy-looking man with no arms and no legs, clad only in a burlap sack.
The priest met the limbless man at the door and told him, "Our church has not the money to maintain itself, let alone offer you food or shelter. Move along to the next town."
"I will work for my room and board, father," said the man. "My skills could be of great use to your cathedral."
"You have no arms and no legs," said the priest. "What skill could you possibly have that could benefit my church?"
"I am a bell ringer, sir. I have developed a technique for ringing a church bell so loud and so clear that people will hear for miles, and the beauty of the sound will compel them to mass."
The priest could hardly believe the claim, since a man with no arms or legs would surely have great difficulty pulling a rope to ring the church bell. But the priest was overwhelmed with compassion and agreed to give the man food and shelter, at least until he could demonstrate his bell-ringing that Sunday.
Sunday morning came, and the priest carried the limbless man up the long flights of stairs to the bell tower. The man thanked the priest and began to wiggle, inch and squirm his way up the scaffolding next to the bell. Once he reached the top of the scaffolding, he hurled his body off, plummeting toward the bell, which he struck with his face.
And the bell rang so loud and so clear that every person in town rose from bed and felt compelled to come to mass. They came out in large crowds and gathered in the square in front of the church.
The bell was still ringing beautifully, but it rang so loudly that the entire tower began to shake. The shaking became increasingly violent, until the limbless man was shaken across the floor and out the tower window.
The townspeople gathered around this strange limbless man who had plummeted to his death. The priest ran down the tower stairs, pushed his way to the center of the crowd and kneeled beside the limbless man's body.
"Father, who is this man?" demanded the townspeople.
"I don't know his name," said the priest, "but his face rings a bell."
The weeks passed, and church attendance plummeted even lower. The cathedral's statues were crumbling, the frescoes were fading, and the stained glass murals were losing their color.
Again the priest sat in his office, agonizing over ways to boost his attendance, when another hay cart pulled up to the church door. Off the cart flopped a smaller, dirtier man with no arms and no legs, again clad in a burlap sack.
The priest rushed to the door and asked, "Are you here to be our new bell-ringer, sir?"
"Aye, father," said the man. "My brother rang here before me. But I have refined his technique. You will find my clarity, volume and pitch far surpasses his."
"Good," said the priest. "That glorious sound was the best thing to happen to our church in years. But please, be careful not to fall out of the tower."
Sunday morning came, and the priest sprinted up the tower stairs, carrying the limbless man. The man thanked the priest and began to wiggle, inch and squirm his way up the scaffolding next to the bell. Once he reached the top of the scaffolding, he hurled his body off, plummeting toward the bell, which he struck with his face.
And the bell rang even louder and clearer than before, so that people from far away towns were rising and coming to the cathedral. The largest crowd the town had ever seen gathered in the square in front of the church.
The bell was still ringing beautifully, but again bell tower began to shake. The shaking became even more violent than before, and despite the priest's effort to save him, the limbless man was shaken across the floor and out the tower window.
The townspeople gathered around this new limbless man who had plummeted to his death. The priest ran down the tower stairs, pushed his way to the center of the crowd and kneeled beside the limbless man's body.
"Father, who is this man?" demanded the townspeople.
"I think that's pretty obvious," said the priest. "He's a dead ringer for his brother."
-----------------------------------------
Wow, you read the whole thing. Woot. For that, you shall receive two rewards.
One, there's now officially an Easter Egg in this blog. It shows up as a normal post in Internet Explorer, but Firefox users may have to go to the archive to see it.
Two, Slate.com has a slideshow on the history of the vibrator. I can't bring myself to look at it at work, but I really appreciate them putting it out there. Even moreso, I really like the fact that they tried to make it newsworthy. That's damn fine online journalism. I'm taking notes.
Now go forth and tell this joke to people who are trying to bore you. You'll show them!
Needless to say, I'm kind of a fan of Clay's column. And lately, he wrote a column about the origin of the phrase "dead ringer." He mentioned today that he's been getting mail about it.
Thanks to my boy Jay Winslow, however, I know the truth about dead ringers, and I e-mailed it to Thompson. This is my version of a ridiculously longwinded joke that is almost always funnier to the person telling it than it is to the audience. But I still think it's damn funny.
Hard to say if something like this is professional to send to a coworker. On one hand, it's office humor that pertains, loosely, to work-related issues. Very professional. On the other hand, it could come off as an annoying fan letter from some half-assed newbie who thinks he's funny. I prefer the former.
Anyway, here it goes:
-----------------------------------------
Long ago, in a small town nestled in the mountains and overlooking some agrarian European countryside, stood a large cathedral. Once ornate and beautiful, the cathedral had fallen into disrepair because church attendance had plummeted. In those days, the poor farmers liked to sleep in and spend the remainder of their Sundays watching medieval sports in the fields and drinking ales and hard ciders at pubs.
Distraught, the priest sat in his office, agonizing over ways to boost his attendance, when a hay cart pulled up to the church door. Off the cart flopped a small, scruffy-looking man with no arms and no legs, clad only in a burlap sack.
The priest met the limbless man at the door and told him, "Our church has not the money to maintain itself, let alone offer you food or shelter. Move along to the next town."
"I will work for my room and board, father," said the man. "My skills could be of great use to your cathedral."
"You have no arms and no legs," said the priest. "What skill could you possibly have that could benefit my church?"
"I am a bell ringer, sir. I have developed a technique for ringing a church bell so loud and so clear that people will hear for miles, and the beauty of the sound will compel them to mass."
The priest could hardly believe the claim, since a man with no arms or legs would surely have great difficulty pulling a rope to ring the church bell. But the priest was overwhelmed with compassion and agreed to give the man food and shelter, at least until he could demonstrate his bell-ringing that Sunday.
Sunday morning came, and the priest carried the limbless man up the long flights of stairs to the bell tower. The man thanked the priest and began to wiggle, inch and squirm his way up the scaffolding next to the bell. Once he reached the top of the scaffolding, he hurled his body off, plummeting toward the bell, which he struck with his face.
And the bell rang so loud and so clear that every person in town rose from bed and felt compelled to come to mass. They came out in large crowds and gathered in the square in front of the church.
The bell was still ringing beautifully, but it rang so loudly that the entire tower began to shake. The shaking became increasingly violent, until the limbless man was shaken across the floor and out the tower window.
The townspeople gathered around this strange limbless man who had plummeted to his death. The priest ran down the tower stairs, pushed his way to the center of the crowd and kneeled beside the limbless man's body.
"Father, who is this man?" demanded the townspeople.
"I don't know his name," said the priest, "but his face rings a bell."
The weeks passed, and church attendance plummeted even lower. The cathedral's statues were crumbling, the frescoes were fading, and the stained glass murals were losing their color.
Again the priest sat in his office, agonizing over ways to boost his attendance, when another hay cart pulled up to the church door. Off the cart flopped a smaller, dirtier man with no arms and no legs, again clad in a burlap sack.
The priest rushed to the door and asked, "Are you here to be our new bell-ringer, sir?"
"Aye, father," said the man. "My brother rang here before me. But I have refined his technique. You will find my clarity, volume and pitch far surpasses his."
"Good," said the priest. "That glorious sound was the best thing to happen to our church in years. But please, be careful not to fall out of the tower."
Sunday morning came, and the priest sprinted up the tower stairs, carrying the limbless man. The man thanked the priest and began to wiggle, inch and squirm his way up the scaffolding next to the bell. Once he reached the top of the scaffolding, he hurled his body off, plummeting toward the bell, which he struck with his face.
And the bell rang even louder and clearer than before, so that people from far away towns were rising and coming to the cathedral. The largest crowd the town had ever seen gathered in the square in front of the church.
The bell was still ringing beautifully, but again bell tower began to shake. The shaking became even more violent than before, and despite the priest's effort to save him, the limbless man was shaken across the floor and out the tower window.
The townspeople gathered around this new limbless man who had plummeted to his death. The priest ran down the tower stairs, pushed his way to the center of the crowd and kneeled beside the limbless man's body.
"Father, who is this man?" demanded the townspeople.
"I think that's pretty obvious," said the priest. "He's a dead ringer for his brother."
-----------------------------------------
Wow, you read the whole thing. Woot. For that, you shall receive two rewards.
One, there's now officially an Easter Egg in this blog. It shows up as a normal post in Internet Explorer, but Firefox users may have to go to the archive to see it.
Two, Slate.com has a slideshow on the history of the vibrator. I can't bring myself to look at it at work, but I really appreciate them putting it out there. Even moreso, I really like the fact that they tried to make it newsworthy. That's damn fine online journalism. I'm taking notes.
Now go forth and tell this joke to people who are trying to bore you. You'll show them!
posted by Tim @ 2:31 PM
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