I opined in my Thursday column that an online search turned up only one pothole joke. From that intensive, 45-second investigation, I concluded that people suffering from concussions or waiting for a mechanic to make expensive suspension system repairs are not in the mood for giggles. Seems reasonable.
But then the pothole humor rolled in.
The photo at the top of this post came from former Gazetter Fran Hanshaw.
Amy Foster of Cedar Rapids even composed a pothole ditty:
Sung to the tune of “On the Street Where You Live” from “My Fair Lady”.
Are there big potholes in the heart of town?
Does your car go”clonk” in any other part of town?
Do the potholes grow after every snow?
No it’s not just on the street where you live.
Clever. Guy Gooch shared Minnesota pothole humor. You betcha.
“While in Minneapolis on a business trip several years ago I was told that many natives also claim Minneapolis to be a city of 5 seasons. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Pothole,”Gooch wrote.
Fellow Gazette columnizer Dave Rasdal also shared the pothole yuks he found:
You Might Be A Redneck If…
You’ve ever had to have a wrecker pull your car
out of a pothole in your driveway.You might be a redneck if you swerve to hit a pothole.
Paddy and Murphy are walking down the street when Paddy falls down a pot hole and can’t get out. Murphy asks “What’s it like down there?” Paddy says “I dunno can’t see a thing!”
JEEP – Jump Excitedly into Every Pothole
A truck driver is passing through New York City and stops at a bar for a couple of beers. Shortly thereafter another man enters the bar, wearing a suit, bowler hat and bowtie, and carrying a briefcase. The bartender asks, ‘Are you a lawyer by any chance? You sure look like one’ ‘Why yes, as a matter of fact I am,’ the man replies. Without another word the bartender pulls out a shotgun from under the bar and blows the lawyer away. The truck driver is stunned and asks the bartender for an explanation. ‘You must be from out of town, pal. It’s lawyer season in New York City this time of year. You don’t even need a license.’ ‘Sounds like a great idea to me,’ agrees the truck driver, who has recently lost his shirt in a nasty divorce and is nursing a serious grudge against the legal profession.
Upon leaving the bar, the truck driver doesn’t get more than a mile down the street when he hits a pothole, blows a tire, and crashes his truck into a light pole. While trying to extricate himself from the cab of his truck, he sees a growing crowd of men and women in expensive suits surrounding his wrecked truck, thrusting their arms in through the broken windshield and waving their business cards in his face, all the while screaming at him not to move until an ambulance arrives. The truck driver reaches into his glove compartment, pulls out his handgun, leaps from the cab of his truck and opens fire on the now-scattering flock of attorneys, winging several of them in the process. As he pauses to reload, a policeman arrives on the scene and orders him to drop his weapon. He complies, whereupon the officer promptly handcuffs him and informs him that he is under arrest. ‘But they’re in season, aren’t they?’ the truck driver protests. ‘Well, sure, but you can’t bait them.’
And after the laughs, Armin Jacobs of Monticello offers pothole wisdom:
“We have several streets in Monticello with very few pot holes. They are nearly 80 years old. They used a miracle product called cement at that time. It is environmentally friendly, can be recycled and contains no expensive petroleum.”
Thanks to all, and drive carefully