Today is the 900th day of my 101 tasks in a 1001 days challenge.
I have told 900 jokes. More than 900, probably, because some days the jokes are so bad I tell a few more in the hope of getting one weak but elongated laugh instead of a brief but definite chuckle, or – nirvana – a huge belly laugh.
I have to tell 101 more jokes to meet my challenge. That’s 101 days or fourteen weeks and a few days or three and a half months and a bit days or a quarter of a year or a whole lot of hysteria because I want my last joke to be a laugh-out-loud-so-hard-you-pee-a-little joke so that I finish with a flourish.
I have yet to find one, despite having had 900 days so far in which to search. That’s where you come in.
You knew when you started reading this post there was going to be work in it for you, didn’t you? But I just sucked you right in, anyway. Here’s my request: I need clean, funny jokes. Send them to me.
I know that’s more like an order than a request, but the stress is getting to me. Sorry. I can’t be funny and do all of the research and eat Maltesers instead of real food (I’m on a diet), now can I?
Speaking of which, the joke that is posted on the Last Day of the Challenge will earn a box of Maltesers. I will post to anywhere in the world.
Please don’t let it be like last time, when I awarded a box for the best Christmas joke and I had to post it all the way to…Scotland (nae offence intended, Wee Scoops). I want a funny joke from a foreigner; or from a non-foreigner residing in a foreign land. Somewhere overseas; and that doesn’t mean the Isle of Wight.
Local readers are, of course, encouraged to send jokes as well. It’s not that I don’t value you; it’s that I want to see the Hub’s face when he has to pay postage to the other side of the world (are you listening, Australia?). That would be a Christmas present worthy of the name. I reiterate – no rude jokes (are you listening, Australia?).
If you have a joke for me, please email it to email@example.com. Please. No, really. I want a laugh-out-loud-I-didn’t-expect-the-punchline-my-ribs-hurt kind of joke. I won’t part with my Maltesers for anything less.
I mean it. You know these hips don’t lie.