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melchi

melchi

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Tempokai

Tempokai

The Overworked One
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Nov 16, 2021
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A bedtime story.
Ah, yes, let me regale you with the heartwarming tale of my daily pilgrimage to the dementia hospital. There was this old gramps, you see, perched on the bench like a weathered statue. And me? Oh, I fancied myself a comedian extraordinaire, armed with a joke that would make even a stone-faced gargoyle crack a smile.

Day after day, rain or shine, I'd strut in with my joke, deliver it with the flair of a Shakespearean actor, and watch as the old timer cackled like a hyena on helium. It was a routine as predictable as sunrise and just as monotonous. But hey, a laugh's a laugh, even if the audience forgot it a minute later.

Until that fateful day. There I stood, joke ready, a smirk already curling my lips. But wait, what's this? The bench sat lonely, like a forlorn lover stood up at the altar. No gramps. Panic set in; perhaps he had finally seen the light and escaped this repetitious comedy prison.

Summoning all my courage, I inquired of the personnel. And lo and behold, they delivered the punchline: the old man had taken his final bow, exited stage left, shuffled off this mortal coil. He was pushing up daisies or whatever cliché metaphor you prefer.

Then came the twist, as if scripted by the cruel hand of fate. The gramps, in his last moments of clarity, had bestowed upon me the ultimate mic drop: "Tell that young champ that his joke was not funny." Oh, the irony! The layers of sardonic brilliance that could make even a master of sarcasm weep with envy.

Yes, dear audience, there it was. The ultimate punchline, served with a side of cosmic justice. A grand finale in which I was the unwitting fool. So, let that be a lesson, folks. Life has its own wicked sense of humor, and sometimes, it's the punchline that delivers us.
 
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