|
Carl Vecchio, the
comedian, was walking back
and forth in his small
apartment on the Grand
Concourse in the Bronx
while on the phone,
talking with his roommate,
Peter Hostfield, another
comedian. Peter told Carl
that he would only return
tomorrow morning and
reminded his friend to
feed Constanza, his little
hamster.
Even though they sometimes
work together in comedy
clubs around NYC and the
country, they have many
conflicts. Whenever one
presents a new joke to the
other, the latter
doesn't laugh and
tries to find a lot of
flaws in it. Then, one
accuses the other of being
jealous. Anyway, when one
comes up with a great joke
to wow the audience, the
other gets green with envy.
After hanging up, Carl
started to prepare his
cereal while watching a
rerun of Seinfeld on TV.
At that moment, enjoying
Tony's Kellogg's
and milk, he had a great
idea for a joke. He got so
excited that he jumped up
on the sofa—like Tom
Cruise on Oprah—and
spilled all the cereal on
the floor. He was really
thrilled about his great
joke.
Carl ran to the computer
and started to write, but
soon decided to stop. If
this joke were to be
stolen by some hacker? No,
no, no. He grabbed a piece
of paper and wrote down
his joke. Then, he read
and read and read the
joke, and each time he
read it, he laughed and
laughed and laughed,
celebrating his
achievement. His happiness
was so great that he
started to feel his chest
hurting. It hurt and hurt
and hurt, and soon he
understood that he was
having a heart attack.
Minutes later, Carl was
crawling on the ground,
trying to save his life by
calling 911, but his phone
was in the other room and
he wouldn't get it. He
felt that he was getting
worse and probably would
die. Then, a horrible
thought crossed Carl's
mind: "If I die now,
tomorrow morning, Peter
will be in the house, and
he will find my joke
written on paper, and he
will conquer the world. It
cannot happen, no, no, no.
If I die, Peter
doesn't deserve to
have my perfect joke."
Carl's heart pain
worsened as he pondered
what to do with the paper.
If he tore it, Peter could
find and use it. Maybe he
could burn it, but
he'd never make it to
the kitchen. With no way
out, Carl resolved to eat
the paper joke and said in
a staccato voice,
"Nobody will laugh at
my perfect joke!" And
then he expired with a
smile on his face.
END
|
