NationMaster - Encyclopedia: Shah Guido G.

In its original sense, a shaggy-dog story is an extremely long-winded tale featuring extensive narration of typically irrelevant incidents, usually resulting in a pointless or absurd punchline. These stories are also known as yarns, coming from the long tradition of campfire yarns. A campfire yarn is a story told around the campfire (preferably accompanying smores). ...

The canonical story concerns a shaggy talking dog. This amazing animal is much discussed and much promised, but slow to arrive. When it finally does and, miraculously, does indeed talk, someone in the story reacts with, "That dog's not so shaggy". (An alternate version involves a search for the shaggiest dog in the world.)

Shaggy-dog story has come to also mean a joke where a pun is finally achieved after a long (and ideally tedious) exposition. The humor in the punch line may be due to the sudden, unexpected recognition of a familiar saying (see the examples), since the story has nothing to do with the usual context in which the phrase is normally found, yet the listener is surprised to discover it makes sense in both situations. Therefore, if the audience is not already familiar with the phrase used in the punch line, or is not aware of the multiple meanings of the words in the phrase, the surprise ending of the joke cannot be recovered by "explaining" the joke to the audience. To meet Wikipedias quality standards, this article or section may require cleanup. ... A pun (also known as paronomasia) is a figure of speech which consists of a deliberate confusion of similar words or phrases for rhetorical effect, whether humorous or serious. ... A punch line is the final part of a joke, usually the word, sentence or exchange of sentences which is intended to be funny and to provoke laughter from listeners. ...

A shaggy-dog story may not have a pun at all; the humor (if any) is then derived from the fact that the joke-teller held the attention of the listeners for a long time (such jokes can take five minutes or more to tell) for no reason at all (an anticlimax). Some of the following examples are in fact unusually short for this kind of shaggy-dog story; many shaggy-dog stories of this sort contain characteristic phrases that are repeated many times (and the joke-teller will throw them in as many times as they can get away with) but turn out to have nothing whatsoever to do with the "punchline," such as it is. In rhetoric, climax is a figure of speech, in which words, phrases, or clauses are arranged in order of increasing importance. ...

Isaac Asimov wrote one such short story, titled "Shah Guido G.". Kurt Vonnegut's book Welcome to the Monkey House contains the short story "Tom Edison's Shaggy Dog'". Spider Robinson sprinkles shaggy dog stories and other puns liberally throughout his Callahan series of books. Television playwright Dennis Potter wrote a 1968 play, Shaggy Dog, in which the action of the play is constantly interrupted as the lead character tells a shaggy-dog story. Among the best of the genre are Grendel Briarton's Ferdinand Feghoot stories, and Frank Muir and Denis Norden's extemporaneous "explanations" of well-known phrases on the BBC radio panel show My Word! Isaac Asimov, photographed by Jay Kay Klein Dr. Isaac Asimov (c. ... This article is in need of attention. ... Kurt Vonnegut Kurt Vonnegut Jr. ... Welcome to the Monkey House is an assortment of short stories written by Kurt Vonnegut. ... Spider Robinson (born November 24, 1948 in New York City) is a Canadian science fiction writer. ... In the fictional universe of Spider Robinson, Callahans Place is a bar with strongly community-minded and empathic clientele. ... Dennis Christopher George Potter (17 May 1935â€”7 June 1994) was a controversial British dramatist who is best known for several widely acclaimed television dramas which mixed fantasy and reality, the personal and the social. ... Reginald Bretnor (July 30, 1911 - July 22, 1992) was science fiction author, born Alfred Reginald Kahn. ... A Feghoot is a short story, ending in an atrocious pun. ... Frank Muir (5 February 1920 - 2 January 1998) was an English comedy writer, radio and television personality, and raconteur. ... Denis Norden (born 1922) is a British comedy writer and television presenter. ... Corporate logo of the British Broadcasting Corporation. ... My Word! was a radio panel game which premiered on the BBC Home Service on January 1, 1957. ...

The children's song "Little Bunny Foo Foo" is regarded by some to be a shaggy-dog story. The 1959 Walt Disney comedy The Shaggy Dog was billed in advertisements as "The funniest shaggy-dog story ever told", although it is not, in fact, a genuine story of this kind. Little Bunny Foo Foo is particularly violent childrens rhyme, involving a sadistic (and most likely genocidal) rabbit tormenting a population of field mice. ... The Walt Disney Company (most commonly known as Disney) (NYSE: DIS) is one of the largest media and entertainment corporations in the world. ... The Shaggy Dog is a 1959 Walt Disney movie about a teenager who is transformed into a sheep dog by a magic ring. ...

In 1999, the BBC aired a self-promoting trailer called "The Comedy Trail: A Shaggy Dog Story". It featured several famous British comedians and comic actors taking it in turns to tell a shaggy dog story, about the captain of a local cricket team who ends up recruiting a horse to become their new batsman. It was begun in his trademark armchair by Ronnie Corbett, who became famous for telling such meandering tales on The Two Ronnies. Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett The Two Ronnies was a British sketch show that aired on BBC One from 1971 to 1987. ...

A second shorter story, entitled "Mammals vs. Insects" and revolving around a football match between the creatures, was also shown at the beginning of 2000, featuring many of the participants from the first story.

"Weird Al" Yankovic released an eleven-minute long shaggy dog song on his 1999 album Running With Scissors, entitled Albuquerque. Alfred Matthew Weird Al Yankovic (born October 23, 1959) is an American musician best known for his parodies of contemporary radio hits. ...

Spoiler warning: Plot and/or ending details follow.

The Illuminatus! Trilogy, weighing in at some 700 pages, has sometimes been described as the world's longest shaggy dog story. Monty Python and the Holy Grail is a film version of a shaggy dog story, because in the end of the movie they all get arrested instead of an actual conclusion. Cover of the collected edition The Illuminatus! Trilogy is a series of three novels written by Robert Shea and Robert Anton Wilson. ... Monty Python and the Holy Grail is a comedy film from 1975. ...

1 Examples of shaggy-dog stories
2 See also

Examples of shaggy-dog stories

The Aristocrats The Aristocrats (also known as The Debonaires and The Sophisticates) is a joke which is alleged to have been told by numerous stand-up comedians since Vaudeville, and often only among an audience of other comedians. ...

The shaggiest dog you ever saw

There was this group of school boys standing around talking about their dogs. The youngest of the group, Jimmy, boldly declared that he had the shaggiest dog of the lot.

It was decided that there was to be a school-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole school.

On the big day, the judges looked at each of the dogs, and left to make their decision. The first judge came out and said to Jimmy "That is a shaggy dog". The second judge came out and said to Jimmy "That is a very shaggy dog" The third judge came out and said to Jimmy "That is really a very shaggy dog".

It was then decided that there was to be a town-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole town.

It was then decided that there was to be a region-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole region.

It was then decided that there was to be a state-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole state.

It was then decided that there was to be a nation-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole country.

It was then decided that there was to be a world-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole world.

It was then decided that there was to be a solar system-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole solar system.

It was then decided that there was to be a galaxy-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole galaxy.

It was then decided that there was to be a universe-wide competition to determine who had the shaggiest dog in the whole universe.

Note: Don't get it? Sorry, that's all there is. Except normally there would be even more connecting details and more repetition. The story is funny because after such a big and prolonged build-up, it ends suddenly in an unexpected way. People laugh when they realize they have been tricked into listening attentively to a long-winded and foolish tale that goes nowhere.

The Bellringer

Well into his career, Quasimodo, most famous and accomplished of Notre Dame bellringers, died in his sleep. As he was not the best-liked of individuals, mourning was brief, and afterward the church was left sans bellringer. Quasimodo had been working there for quite a long time, and as such the priests did not know how to go about looking for a replacement. After much deliberation, they decided to hold an audition.

Notre Dame being such a prestigious cathedral, people came from far and wide to audition for the job of bellringer. The priests were stunned; they hadn't expected such response. They got to the tedious labor of interviewing each of the would-be ringers, and continued at it for an entire month before finally reaching the end of the line. By this point, they were extremely disheartened: every last one of the applicants they had interviewed thus far was nothing less than awful at bellringing. The last one, from a single look alone, promised to be no improvement: he had no arms!

As frustrated as they were, the prospect of a no-armed bellringer was amusing to the priests, so instead of simply dismissing him they put him through the interview process. "Do you have any experience in the field of bellringing?" they asked. "I've worked at several churches and cathedrals throughout Europe," he told them, "and all of the priests I have worked with will be happy to provide references." This intrigued the priests, so they probed further. "How do you ring the bells, with no arms?" Unfazed, he told asked, "May I demonstrate?" They brought him up to the bell-tower. He stood back from one of the bells, bent down, and ran at it, striking it with his face, then repeating this with the other bells, producing the most beautiful music the priests had ever heard. They hired him on the spot.

Things went swimmingly for several months. Every morning the bellringer woke up early to ring the bells, creating unique music and helping to maintain Notre Dame's place as the foremost of France's cathedrals. The citizens loved his music, and everything was fantastic. Then, one day, there was a tragic accident. The bell ringer backed up, as usual, and ran at the bell- but missed it entirely. He charged out of the tower, falling to his death.

As his body laid on the street below, a crowd began to gather. The individuals surrounding him muttered amongst themselves: nobody knew who he was. "Who is this?" was the question on everyone's lips. "Whose body is this?" Someone finally piped up:

"I don't know, but his face sure rings a bell."

So Notre Dame was once again out a bellringer. The audition process had ended up working out well for the priests the previous time, so they decided to hold a second audition. Once again, people came from far and wide to audition for the honor of being the person to ring Notre Dame's bells. As a matter of fact, most of them were the same people, undaunted by their previous failures. The priests once again went down the line, interviewing the applicants one by one, only to find that once again they were all simply terrible. Finally they reached the last person in line. Once again, they were shocked to find that he had no arms. What was more, he bore a striking resemblance to the previous bellringer.

"That's funny," said one of the priests. "You look a lot like the last guy we had in here!" The interviewee replied, "Well, I ought to! He was my brother!" His list of credentials was even longer than the last man's, and the music (which he played in much the same manner) was even more beautiful. Of course, they hired him immediately. Once again, things went great for several months, and the priests thanked God for their good fortune in finding not one but two such gifted individuals. But, just like the last time, one day there was an accident. The bellringer backed up, ran at the bell, missed it, and fell out of the tower, landing on his face and dying instantly.

Once again, a puzzled crowd gathered around the body on the street. "Who is this?" they asked. "Who has died in the street?" Nobody seemed to know. This went on for some time, until someone finally interjected:

"I don't know, but he's a dead ringer for his brother!"

Note: Don't get it? The first pun is on the phrase "his/her face rings a bell", meaning that the individual in question looks familiar. The second pun is on the phrase "dead ringer", used to designate someone who looks very similar to someone else.

Nate the Snake

There once was an old farmer who lived alone. His wife had died many years back, and all his children had grown up and moved away. The farmer lived out the twilight of his life in the peace and quiet of his farm, growing enough food to feed himself, and he thought he was happy.

One afternoon while he was out hoeing the crops in his field, he came upon a snake. Not wanting snakes in his fields, the farmer raised his hoe above his head, ready to chop the reptile into bits, when the snake looked up and cried, "No, don't kill me!"

The farmer was quite taken aback, and lowered his hoe. "Why, you can talk!" he exclaimed.

"Of course I can talk," the snake said brightly. Bemused, the farmer lowered himself to the ground beside the snake, and started chatting with him. After a few hours of conversation, the farmer began to realize how much he'd missed having someone to talk to. He realized how lonely he'd really been all these years. And so, he invited the snake to live with him. The snake was pleased to have found a friend, as well, and happily accepted. The farmer decided that he couldn't simply refer to the snake as "Snake", so he named his new friend Nate. Nate was ecstatic, and he and the farmer soon could not imagine a time when one had lived without the other.

One evening, the farmer was in his favorite armchair in front of his fire, and Nate was in the kitchen reading, when there came a knock at the farmhouse door. The farmer got up to open it, curious as to who it could be, so far from the nearest city. Standing on his porch was a well-dressed man, who explained that his car had broken down on the highway a few miles away, and asked if the farmer had a phone he could use to call a tow truck. The farmer said, "Of course. Phone's in the kitchen," and pointed towards it. The man thanked him, and entered the kitchen, where he saw Nate.

"Woah," he shouted, alarmed, "there's a snake on your table!"

"Oh, that's just Nate," the farmer explained.

"Hi!" Nate offered.

The man was quite taken aback. "Why, you can talk!" he exclaimed.

"Of course I can talk! I'm Nate!"

The man stared for a moment, then a thought occurred to him. "Heey," he said slowly, "I happen to be a TV producer. Why don't you come work for me? You would be famous!"

Nate pondered this, and decided he really liked the idea of being famous. He talked it over with the farmer. The farmer knew he'd be very lonely if Nate left, and that he'd miss his snake buddy terribly, but he didn't want to stand in the way of Nate's dreams, so he encouraged Nate to go out and become a famous TV star. So Nate left, and sure enough, within months he had his own TV show. Fans flocked to him, he was interviewed for the most famous magazines, and even made a movie. However, as time passed, his novelty wore off. "He's just another talking animal," people would say. "Just another gimmick. And he's not even a very good actor." His friends started leaving him, he ran out of money, lost his home, and the producer fired him. Devastated, Nate went back to the farmer, hoping his old friend could forgive him and take him in once again. The farmer was overjoyed to have Nate back, and so their lives fell back into their old rhythm, and they were happy.

One morning, the farmer was trying to remove a gnarled old tree stump from the corner of one of his fields. He dug and dug, two feet, six feet, but the stump didn't seem to end. Finally, fifteen feet down, the ground opened out into a small cavern, with a strange shining lever on a pedestal in the center. Baffled, the farmer decided not to mess with it, and called in some expert archaeologists. Two of them showed up to take a look at the lever. "Wow!!" they said upon seeing it. "Do you realize what this is?" The farmer shook his head. "This is the World Lever. If it's pulled, the world will be destroyed!" The farmer didn't want this to happen, and said so. One of the men had an idea. "You know.. why don't you build a park here? You have this terribly dangerous artifact on your land, but you could get some good out of it by charging people to see the Lever. They'd come from all over the world to see it, and you could live in luxury, without breaking your back farming" The farmer hated to admit it, but he wasn't getting any younger, and was starting to feel arthritis setting in. The thought of not having to farm anymore was rather appealing. So the farmer hired workers to clear the area, and people started coming from near and far to see the amazing World Lever. The farmer made a hefty profit, and in fact became quite wealthy.

One sunny day, the farmer and Nate were out chatting with some of the tourists, when another tourist drove up in a jeep. Suddenly, the man behind the wheel of the jeep had a heart attack, and slumped forward with his foot on the gas pedal. The vehicle went out of control and started heading straight for the Lever! People started pointing and screaming helplessly. Only Nate was close enough to do something, so he jumped into the jeep, shoved the man's body out of the way, grabbed the wheel, and swerved aside just in time. Unfortunately, he swerved right off the edge of a nearby cliff, and fell to his death.

Later, when the reporters came to interview the farmer about the whole sad affair, they asked him how he felt about losing his closest friend. The farmer replied, "Well, I'm sad he's gone. But, you know, better Nate than Lever."

Note: Don't get it? It's a play on the phrase, "Better late than never." As with the clown story, details and side stories within the joke - i.e., Nate meeting the producer - can be added or removed at the teller's discretion, in order to be convoluted enough that the listener is wholly surprised by the bad ending, but not too long that they lose interest before you get there. N.B This joke only works with the US pronunciation of lever (levər rather than li:vər)

The Fisherman

There once was a rather down-on-his-luck fisherman. He had been out in his small fishing boat for several days, but had not caught a single fish. After several futile throws of his nets, he suddenly felt something very heavy in them, and began hauling them in with all his might, his excitement mounting as he drew the nets in. Finally, he wrestled his nets onto the deck of the boat, and was bitterly disappointed to see, not scores of fish, but a single very large dolphin. He didn't like to kill dolphins, but the animal was the only food he'd seen in days, and was the biggest dolphin he'd ever seen besides, so he raised his knife.

"No, don't kill me!" cried the dolphin.

The fisherman dropped his knife in surprise. "Why, you can talk!"

"Of course I can talk. I am a magical, immortal dolphin. I have lived for centuries, being caught by fishermen and telling them the secret to great wealth in return for my freedom."

It took the fisherman a moment to digest this. Finally he said, "Well, then, tell me the secret to great wealth."

"Across the vast sea, there is a large continent. At the far northern reaches of the continent, there is a mighty river. At the head of the river, there is an inhospitable mountain range. Within the mountain range, there is an immense mountain. Halfway up the mountain, there is a deep cave. Within the cave is great wealth. Go then, and find your fortune."

And so the fisherman set out.

Note: At this point, the teller can add to the story as they please, embellishing upon the fisherman's journeys and experiences as he travels towards his destination to make the story even longer than it already is.

After many adventures and many years, the fisherman managed to cross the vast sea, made his way far to the north, swam across the mighty river, entered the inhospitable mountain range, and climbed halfway up the immense mountain. Finally, his goal was in sight. The fisherman hauled himself over a final crag, and stopped short. Sure enough, there was the entrance to a deep cave. But lying in front of the cave was a lion. It was the biggest lion the fisherman had ever seen, and it had a dignified air, with its paws crossed elegantly at the wrists and its tail curled precisely. The fisherman was frozen in terror, and could do nothing but shake for several minutes. Slowly, though, he realized that the lion was sound asleep. He felt foolish, and berated himself, telling himself that he had come too far to turn back now. So, ever so slowly, ever so carefully, he crept forward. Gingerly, he lifted a foot and stepped over the lion's back. It didn't wake, and ever so quietly, he moved into the cave, sighing in relief. He looked around, and immediately, he knew what the dolphin had meant. Sticking out of the walls of the passage into the mountain were thousands of diamonds, the biggest he'd ever seen, growing pre-cut, and breath-takingly beautiful. As he walked further into the cave, the diamonds in the walls just kept getting bigger and bigger. He wandered deeper into the cave, simply gazing at the gems, and began to hear a rhythmic tapping. Curious, he followed the sound until he was at the opening of a large cavern. He peeked into the opening, and saw an enormous seagull, pecking at the rock surrounding the largest diamond he'd seen yet. Chips of stone flaked away under the bird's iron-tipped beak. After only a few moments more, the diamond fell away from the wall, and the seagull started to polish it with a wing.

The fisherman suddenly decided that that was the diamond he wanted, so he darted forward to grab it away from the bird. The seagull was so startled at the fisherman's appearance, however, that it gave a squawk and accidentally swallowed the diamond. Refusing to be thwarted, the fisherman grabbed the seagull around its middle, and clamped a hand over its beak to keep it quiet. In that fashion he began to head out of the cave. When he reached the mouth, the lion was still sleeping, so once again, ever so slowly, ever so carefully, he crept forward. Gingerly, he lifted a foot and stepped over the lion's back. It didn't wake, and ever so quietly, he moved away, sighing in relief.

He had only gotten a few steps however, when suddenly everywhere around him lights started flashing and sirens started sounding. From behind rocks and trees policemen appeared to surround the fisherman. One of them raised a bullhorn and said, "Stop where you are! You're under arrest!"

"But, but whatever for?" gasped the fisherman.

The officer fixed him with a stern look and replied, "For transporting a miner gull across a stately lion for an immortal porpoise."

Note: Don't get it? It's a play on, "Transporting a minor girl across a state line for an immoral purpose."

The Man and the Clown

There once was a young man who loved the circus. Throughout all his childhood, he had loved the clowns, big tents, acrobats, the animals, the ring master. But this young man had never been to the circus. He had only heard about it from family and friends. The circus had never been to his town, and he could not afford to go to a big city to see a traveling circus. But one day, the young man was reading a newspaper with his breakfast as usual, and out of the blue, something caught his eye. The circus was coming to his town! The young man was so excited, he could not sleep. He counted down the days on his calendar until finally, the day came. The circus had arrived. The man rushed to his car, but he realised he'd almost forgotten his ticket, so he rushed back inside to fetch it. Then he drove to the big top, eagerly anticipating the culmination of all his childhood dreams. He had a front row seat, right in the heart of the action. He was so excited, he could not wait for the show to start. And when it did, the man was gobsmacked. It was better than anything he could have expected. He loved every minute of it. But there was a part he wanted to see more than anything else. The clowns. This circus' clown had a reputation for being the funniest in all the land. The clown looked around the audience looking for a ripe target, and before long he found one. By amazing coincidence, it was the man, who had been waiting all his life for this moment. And the young man was overjoyed when he managed to capture the clown's attentions. The clown stopped, waddled over, doing a little funny dance. Everyone giggled. The spotlight came down over the clown as he walked to the edge of the ring. He paused, and peered at the man, then glared knowingly at the audience. There was a long silence. The man was on the edge of his seat, thrilled by what the clown might say to him. Finally the clown said "Are you the back end of an ass?" The man was a bit taken aback. This wasn't quite what he was expecting. But he was still excited, and wanted to hear what would come next. So he replied, "No". The clown stared at him, and placed his hands on his hips, then lifted a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. "Are you the front end of an ass?" asked the clown, glaring at the man. The man again was quite surprised, and by this point was beginning to wonder where this was leading. He hesitated, before answering again. "No, no I’m not." The clown leaned forward. And then looked round at the audience, everyone on tenterhooks, waiting for the clown's response. "Well then," said the clown. "You must be no end of an ass!" And with that, the tent came alive with shrieks of laughter. The whole audience was in stitches, and so was the clown, in fact, everyone was, but with one exception. The spotlight remained on the man, his mouth agape. He had just been utterly humiliated. A lone teardrop rolled down his cheek. The man burst into tears. His childhood dreams had been shattered, his idol, his role model, the very thing he adored most in the world, had just made a complete fool of him. The man drove home and collapsed on his bed, shivering and crying for hours on end. He slowly sank into an extreme depression, he was unable to work, lost all his friends, his social life, the ones he loved.

Many years later, the man was still not the same as before. He had lost his lust for life, and nothing seemed to matter to him any more. He even attempted suicide. For the man's dreams and one true love had been destroyed in that split second, and his life was ruined. More months passed. The man grew increasingly resentful. He wanted to get revenge for what the clown had done to him. He relived the events over and over in his head, trying to think what he could have done differently. Eventually, the opportunity the man was waiting for arrived. The circus was coming to town again. The man, still distraught by his first encounter all those years ago, determined that the best way to overcome his depression would be to face the source of his torment once again. He put on his shoes, got in his car and drove to the circus once more. He had bought a front row ticket once again, almost in the same position as before. Once again, the other events of the show passed by without incident, and for a short while, the man could forget about his troubles, and just enjoy the spectacle. But then the clown came again. And it was the same clown. He looked a fair bit older, but as soon as he set eyes upon him, the man recognised him immediately. The clown did a few tricks, but then he decided to turn upon the audience once more. At first the clown wandered to the opposite side of the ring, but then slowly made his way back toward where the man was sitting. He was about to call upon another member of audience when suddenly he saw something in the corner of his eye. The same man from all those years ago. The clown could not pass this up. He strolled over to the man once again, and the man looked straight back at the clown.

The spotlight came down over the clown as he walked to the edge of the ring. He paused, and peered at the man, then glared knowingly at the audience. There was a long silence. The man was on the edge of his seat, eager to get back at the clown for what he'd said all those years before. Finally the clown said "Are you the back end of an ass?" It was happening all over again. But the man, despite his planning, was paralysed. It must have been the heat of the spotlight, the atmosphere of the audience, or perhaps just the clown, the same clown, looking straight into his eyes. The man didn't know what to do. He had no control over what he was about to say. All he could do was reply, "No". The clown stared at him, and placed his hands on his hips, then lifted a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. "Are you the front end of an ass?" asked the clown, glaring at the man. The man still could not think of anything else to say. The same thing that happened before was happening now. The man seized up in fear. "No, no I’m not." The clown leaned forward. And then looked round at the audience, everyone on tenterhooks, waiting for the clown's response. "Well then," said the clown. "You must be no end of an ass!" And with that, the tent came alive with shrieks of laughter once again. The whole audience was in stitches, and so was the clown, in fact, everyone was, but with one exception. The spotlight remained on the man, his mouth agape. He was reliving his nightmare, and this time it was worse. He had known what was coming and he had no power to stop it. A lone teardrop rolled down his cheek. The man burst into tears. After the culmination of all his suffering, and his chance to exact revenge, the man failed in his mission. He drove home and collapsed on his bed, shivering and crying for hours on end.

20 years later. The man was an old man, a soulless husk of his former self, so scarred by what had happened that he could barely speak. This time he was going to kill himself for sure. He decided he would drink himself to death. He drove to a pub, not his local, but one as far away from home as he could find. He sat down at the bar, and began to drown his sorrows, this time, for good. He glanced around the room woefully, looking at all the smiling faces and laughter of the patrons. A man sitting a few stools away was watching him. He began to pity the man, this poor old man, drowning himself in drink. He shifted his seat, moving adjacent to the old man. After a few failed attempts to break the ice and start a conversation, the old man eventually got himself drunk enough to reply to the stranger. He confessed what he had told no-one over all these years. He told his whole story, about his childhood, the clown, his depression, and enduring the same torment 20 years ago. The stranger sympathized, but then he smiled. "I may have an answer for you." He began to whisper to the man. "I happen to know of a very special thing. A scathing retort that can be used that's so perfect, so powerful, that not even the wittiest, most cunning clown of them all could muster a reply." The old man's ears perked up. Could what he be hearing be true? Was there something he could say to the clown and finally get him back after a lifetime of misery? The man shook his head. "I can't do it," he sighed. "It'll just happen again, I couldn't take that." The stranger patted the old man on the back. "Okay," he said, "Why don't I come with you, and then I can tell him this scathing insult, so you don't have to?" The man looked at the stranger, his eyes glistening with hope. Here was his chance to get even. So they shook hands, exchanged numbers, and parted company. Until the circus returned to town.

The man counted the days once again, and this time when he drove to the big top, he met with the stranger from the bar. They both took front row seats, once again. The man was still nervous, he thought it could only go wrong once more. So he said to his new friend, "I can't go through with this. I have to leave." His friend smiled reassuringly and said, "Don't worry. I told you before, this insult is bullet-proof. Nothing can go wrong." And with that, the show began once again. The two men watched the show, it seemed better than ever. The old man knew that this time, it was now or never. There was no turning back. The clown came onto the stage. He was a very old clown now, and with him was a young apprentice, humorously usurping the antics of his forebear. The old clown announced that he was soon to retire. But he still had time for one last joke. He walked slowly around the ring, looking for prime targets, a final victim for which he could go out in a blaze of glory. He peered around carefully. He couldn't believe it. There was the man, once more, sitting, in almost exactly the same position as he was all those years ago. The clown could barely contain his delight, here was his chance to make a fool out of the man who just kept coming back for more. As he approached his old adversary, the old man trembled in the audience. He knew what was coming. But his friend grinned calmly. The clown stopped. "Are you the back end of an ass?" he asked. The man, now too old and frail to even think of a comeback, muttered hesitantly. "No". The clown stared at him, and placed his hands on his hips, then lifted a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. "Are you the front end of an ass?" asked the clown, glaring at the man. The man still could not think of anything else to say. "No, no I’m not." The clown leaned forward. And then looked round at the audience, everyone on tenterhooks, waiting for the clown's response. "Well then," said the clown. "You must be no end of an ass!" At that point, the old man's companion leaned in to the spotlight. He called to the old clown above the din of the roaring laughter of the audience. The clown could hear him, and he gestured for the spectators to quieten down. Gradually the laughter subsided, and a strange hush fell over the arena. Everyone was fixated upon this strange man, who had broken all the rules by interrupting the clown in his moment of triumph. The clown cupped a palm to his ear. The old man's friend said, "Er, excuse me? Excuse me? Sir?" The clown, who was now paying full attention to this strange man, replied "Yes?" The old man sat bolt upright in his seat, peering nervously at his friend, anxiously waiting to hear what he had to say. His friend said, "FUCK YOU, CLOWN."

Note: Don't get it? It's the concept of the yarn taken to its full extent, designed to meander and be embellished upon so relentlessly that the recipient of the joke, presuming you still have their attention, will either be infuriated at the amount of their time you have wasted, or immensely amused. This reaction is largely dependent upon personality type, taste in humour, and other factors. Best told aloud (like all shaggy dog yarns), details can be added or removed at the discretion of the 'performer'; the goal being to find the optimum balance between length and interest to the listener.

The Ping-Pong King

A very wealthy king has a son. On his son's fifth birthday, the king says to him, "Son, what would you like for your birthday? You may have anything in the whole kingdom," to which the son replies that he would like five ping-pong balls. The king thinks that this is a rather silly request, but figures that the boy is just a child and shouldn't be expected to know better.

The next year, the king asks again what the boy would like, to which the young prince replies that he would like six ping-pong balls. The king again feels that this is silly, but shakes away any worries with the rationale that at the tender young age of six, no child can really comprehend the vastness of this kingdom or all it has to offer.

On the prince's seventh birthday, the king asks him again what he would like. Figuring that by age seven a child should be able to think of something less mundane to play with, the king makes several suggestions for his boy, ranging from ponies to video games to baseball fields, but the boy replies that all he would like is seven ping-pong balls.

Now, by the boy's eighth birthday, the king is becoming concerned about his son's mental health. Although he did fine in his studies and got along with others his age as well as the beloved son of a fantastically rich and powerful king could reasonably be expected to, the king knew that it wasn't best for a child to be completely spoiled growing up and knew therefore that the child didn't ask for ping-pong balls merely because he already had everything else; far from it. Thus worried, the king covertly set up a camera in the young lad's room, in hopes of determining what he did with these ping-pong balls.

When the king asked him what he wanted for his birthday, again listing many fantastic suggestions, the boy responded that no, all he would like was eight ping-pong balls. His wish was granted, but the king watched on the monitor as the boy took his prize up to his room. He opened a drawer and put the ping-pong balls inside, then ignored them for the rest of the year. This flabbergasted the king, who became more worried than ever.

Although he had enough respect for his son's privacy to initially install a camera without sound capabilities, he was so worried that he had a camera that would capture both images and sounds installed. The months passed, and the king dreaded the arrival of his son's birthday. Finally it came, and the king steeled himself and asked as calmly and patiently as he could what his son would like for his birthday.

The boy requested nothing but nine ping-pong balls. The king practically ran to his hidden viewing chamber to watch his son, and watched as the boy retreated to his room, opened the same drawer, and deposited his present, all the while muttering "Ping-pong balls, ping-pong balls" over and over. The king was absolutely distraught, and asked his wife the queen what should be done, but she was concerned enough about the effects of growing up in a royal family on a young boy's development and firmly advocated a policy of non-interference with such vehemence that the king feared both for his marriage and his life.

By the advent of the son's tenth birthday, the king finds that the only way he can question his son about his upcoming birthday without collapsing in nerves is by the use of various relaxing drugs and medicines. The son requested ten ping-pong balls for his birthday, and though the king is nearly crushed with disappointment, he is good to his promise that the boy may have anything he desires. On his screen, the king watched the boy go to his chambers, place his ping-pong balls in the drawer, all the while muttering "Ping-pong balls, ping-pong balls" to himself. By this time, the king is so upset that he can barely rule the kingdom, and his subjects start putting pressure on him to abdicate. He flatly refuses, but is still nearly paralyzed with worry for his son.

Once again, a year passes and the king asks his son what he wants for his eleventh birthday, and the son requests eleven ping-pong balls, once again storing them in his drawer while muttering as the king watches in dismay...

Note: Don't get it? This joke does not actually have an end, rather, the teller of this joke should continue the pattern for as long as his or her audience will tolerate. This story forms a subversion of the shaggy-dog style by increasing the suspense and anticipation of a shaggy-dog style punchline yet never actually delivering. As with many shaggy-dog stories, it is vitally important that the one telling the joke have a good understanding of his or her audience's sense of humor and willingness to tolerate tedium in the name of a joke. Embellishments may be added or removed at the teller's whim, such as the prince gaining independence and purchasing his own yearly incremental ping-pong balls, the king's paranoia resulting in further espionage details in his son's room, the king meeting his death and the son yearly calling back his spirit to celebrate his birthday with the incremental ping-pong balls, and so on. This joke is best told in a large group, and if the audience stops paying attention, clever references to that may be inserted, especially if the king has installed guards in the boy's room to watch his ping-pong ball deposit.

Note 2: An alternate version of this joke has the annual ping-pong ball request continue for years. The son becomes ill, and when he is on his deathbed, the father asks about the ping-pong balls. The son dies before he can answer, leaving the father (and the listener) hanging.

Note 3: Another version of this joke involves the boy asking for ping-pong balls and hammers which he uses to cause a great amount of noise from his room. The father listens for years to the racket his son makes, frustrated by curiosity about what he's doing with all the ping-pong balls and hammers. After several years and several ping-pong ball requests, the son is in a car accident and lays dying on the ground. The father has to know, and asks his son what he was doing all those years with the balls and hammers. The son replies, "Oh father, I was..." and promptly dies.

The Monks

One day, a mountain climber was nearing the peak of an extremely treacherous slope, when he was caught in a blizzard. Freezing, starving, and convinced he was going to die, he started praying for divine intervention. At that moment, he caught a glimpse of a light through the shifting sheets of snow. He struggled towards it, and was amazed to see a the outline of a large, spired monastery emerge from the darkness and fog. It was carved straight into the rock, and there were lights shining within! With his last ounce of strength, he managed to reach the heavy wooden door, knocked once, and collapsed.

When he awoke, he was in a comfortable bed, being tended by a group of monks. They immediately brought him a simple but hearty meal, and listened to his story sagely. They informed him that he had pneumonia, but that with a week of rest, he would be alright.

That night, as he was about to fall asleep, he heard a mysterious scritching noise that, though soft and faint, seemed to come from everywhere at once. The next morning, the chief of the monks asked him if he had slept well. "The food and the bed are wonderful," said the man, "but I was kept awake by a persistent scritching noise. What was that?"

The chief of the monk's face grew grave. "I am sorry that you heard that noise," he said. "Unfortunately, I cannot satisfy your curiousity. It is a secret that only the monks know. I can't tell you because you're not a monk." The man was disappointed, but soon forgot about it.

However, the second night, it seemed that the scritching noise was even louder than before. This time, it kept him up all night. The chief of the monks, seeing his bloodshot eyes the next day, asked if he was feeling alright. "It's that damned scritching noise," said the man. "It kept me up all night. Please tell me what it is."

The chief of the monks solemnly shook his head. "To reveal it to an outsider would be so shameful, that I would be forced to kill myself. I am sorry, but I cannot tell you, because you're not a monk."

Note: The teller can embellish this portion of the story and drag it out for the entire week, having the man change rooms, etc, but every time he hears the noise, and every time the chief declines to satisfy his curiousity.

The man heard the noise every night. After the week had passed, he was strong enough to leave, but his curiousity about the noise burned so deeply, that he was seriously considering a drastic course of action. He toured the monastery, and was so impressed by the simple and fulfilling lives the monks led, that he asked the chief of the monks if he, too, could take their vows and become a monk like them -- and of course, he knew that once he became a monk, he, too, could share in the secret that was driving him mad.

The chief of the monks smiled. "Provinence indeed had brought you to us!" he said. "But those who wish to join our monastery must first pass... a test."

"Anything!" said the man. "Any test you give me, I will pass."

"Very well," said the chief of the monks. "Your task... is to find out the source of the noise that has tormented you every night. You may come to me for any object your search may require. I will even give you your first clue -- look behind the chest of drawers in the bedroom where you spent your first night.

Excited almost beyond comprehension, the man rushed up to his room and pushed the heavy chest of drawers aside. He saw behind it a small, sturdy door, no more than 3 feet high. At the same time, the scritching noise began. Almost beside himself with anticipation, he turned the handle -- only to find the door was locked. He was about to try to break it, when he remembered that the chief of the monks would give him anything he needed. Also remembering the extreme secrecy surrounding the noise, he took the time to push the chest of drawers back in place; then he turned back, ran to the chief of the monks, and asked for the key to the door.

Smiling, the chief of the monks produced a large ring of twenty keys and wordlessly handed it to the man. The man rushed back to his room, pushed the chest of drawers aside again, and began trying the keys. The first key didn't work. The second key didn't work. The third key didn't work. The fourth key didn't work. The fifth key didn't work. The sixth key didn't work. Finally, the seventh key turned the tumblers within the lock, and the door swung open. The scritching noise increased in volume -- it was clearly coming from somewhere down the hall. Marking that key so that he would not lose it, he ventured within.

He had not gotten more than ten paces before he realized that he was totally blind in the absolute darkness of a stone passageway. He knew that he would need light. So, remembering the chief of the monks' promise, he turned back. He went out, closed and locked the small door, pushed the chest of drawers back in place, went to the chief of the monks, and asked for a candle.

Smiling, the chief of the monks wordlessly produced a candle in a holder from behind his back, where he had been holding it all along. The man, breathless with excitement, grabbed the proferred gift and ran back to his room. He pushed the chest of drawers aside, found the marked key, opened the small door, ventured inside -- and then realized that, in his haste, he had forgotten to ask for a book of matches to light the candle. He patted all of his pockets, but did not have any way to produce a flame. So he turned back, closed and locked the small door, pushed the chest of drawers back in place, and ran to the chief of the monks.

Before he could even ask, the chief of the monks, smiling, handed him a book of matches. Nodding his thanks, the man turned and sprinted back to his room, pushed the chest of drawers aside, found the marked key, opened the small door, went inside, lit the candle, and peered around him.

The walls were ancient stone that seeped water, and nitre hung overhead, reminding the man of scenes from Poe. The arched ceiling was low, so he had to stoop. He made his way forward cautiously, every step bringing him closer to the source of his mental torment, the mysterious scritching noise that echoed off the stone walls.

He came to a stairway, and started down it. It wound down, down, for what seemed like an eternity. But then, he came to a place where the stone had crumbled away, leaving the last stair hovering over an empty void. Peering over, and stretching his hand down to cast the candle's rays as far down as possible, he still could not see the bottom. So he was forced to return. He went back up the winding staircase, back down the tunnel, and out into his room, where he snuffed out the candle to save it for later, closed and locked the small door, pushed the chest of drawers back in place, and ran to the chief of the monks.

Smiling, the chief of the monks handed him a rope. The man murmured thanks, and rushed back to his room.

Note 2: At this point, the imagination of the storyteller takes over. The man faces all sorts of trials and tribulations in the catacombs, including forked passageways, cave-ins, moats, creatures, whatever the storyteller can conjure. Each time a new element is added, the man must return to the chief of the monks recounting everything on his way back, and each time, the chief of the monks smiles and gives him what he needs to advance. Each time, the entire length of the catacombs is rehashed, so each trip takes longer and longer to tell, giving the storyteller time to think of the next trial. As the man advances, the noise grows louder and louder, eventually becoming a thunderous roar. This can be dragged out for over an hour.

Finally, after hours and hours of struggles, the man reached a door that literally shook each time the noise thunderously sounded. The man was positive that it was coming from behind that door. Almost dead from exhaustion, yet given new strength by a surge of adrenaline, the man reached out and boldly swung it open. And there, before his eyes, was -- he could scarcely believe it -- the source of the maddening noise. He rubbed his eyes and looked again in astonishment -- and what do you think it was??

(At this point, the audience will be expected to say something like What!? ... to which the teller shrugs and replies,)

I can't tell you because you're not a monk.

Note 3: Don't get it? Like the above, the humor is in the fact that the anticipation and suspense is built up to an intolerable level, then left unresolved. When telling this one, be prepared to physically defend yourself from the furious attacks of your frustrated audience.

The Horse Who Plays Cricket

This was featured in the BBC Comedy trail.

The captain of the local cricket team walks into the local pub. He is very unhappy, because recently the form of this team has been utter rubbish, and the next fixture is a very important match against their bitter rivals.

So the captain decides to put an advert in the window of the local shop: "Bats-person Wanted".

A month goes by and he has heard nothing, when out of the blue, there's a knock at his door. And in walks a horse.

"I understand you're looking for some new blood" says the horse.

The captain's completely gobsmacked: "But you're a horse!"

"I know," replied the horse "but actually I'm really pretty good at cricket. Why not just give me a go?"

So the captain lets him play, as it seems that there is nothing to lose.

So, that Sunday, the whole village turns out to support their team. Needless to say, their performance is as dismal as usual, and with only 2 overs remaining, they need 37 runs to avoid another humiliating defeat.

Then, from the pavilion, the horse comes trotting onto the field. But unfortunately for him, big Bernard Armstrong, the village blacksmith, is next to bowl. He sets off on his runner and hurls down a vicious delivery. And the horse thumps it right out of the ground.

Six!

And the next 5 deliveries?

Six! Six! Six! Six! Six!

There is now 1 over left and only 1 run needed to seal an historic cricketing victory. The crowd is now on tenterhooks, because facing the bowling is young Cuthbert O' Toole, who is not particularly sporty. How he survived the first 5 balls, nobody knows, but he survives.

As the final ball is bowled, he shuts his eyes and swings with all his might, and just clips the ball with a fluky thick-edge.

And O' Toole sets off up the wicket for his winning run, but to his horror, the horse doesn't move!

O' Toole shouts "Run!", but still the horse doesn't move.

And from the pavilion the captain bellows "Run! Run! Run! Run!", yet still the horse doesn't move.

And the crowd lining the pitch screams "RUN! RUN! RUN! RUN!"

And the horse looks up, raises an eyebrow and says "Me? Run? Do me a favour! If I could run, I'd be at Haydock Park!"

Haydock Park Racecourse is a racecourse in Haydock, Merseyside, England. ...

Contents

The shaggiest dog you ever saw

The Bellringer

Nate the Snake

The Fisherman

The Man and the Clown

The Ping-Pong King

The Monks

The Horse Who Plays Cricket

See also