The Hungarian-born author and humorist George Mikes, who sadly passed away 10 years ago almost to the day, once remarked that it was about time that jokes should be taken seriously. He insisted that jokes, particularly political jokes, are “the king of minor arts like folksongs, pop music, comics and cartoons”.
Minor they may be, but equally and indubitably they are art, and their historic and social influence raises them way above the rest on that same Mikes list. Just two days before Christmas, I felt it would make more sense to let readers sample a few good ones rather than dishing out another column from this angle of the media’s weekend army of self-appointed pundits.
By way of introduction, though, it is fair to say that the political joke has quite a different role in a democracy compared to that in a totalitarian or fundamentalist State. In Malta, as elsewhere in Europe, a political joke is a joke the subject of which happens to be politics, and it needs no greater courage to tell a joke against Prime Minister Gonzi than to tell one about national idiosyncrasies. In a tyranny, however, socio-political jokes are acts of defiance and of great courage.
Arthur Koestler wrote that analysing humour is at least as delicate as analysing the chemical composition of a perfume – some ingredients are never consciously perceived, while others, when sniffed in isolation, would make one wince.
One last point – jokes are transferred across boundaries, cultures and generations and in this process they are also transplanted and reshaped to fit the new environment. So don’t be shocked to find a joke here that you’ve heard or read somewhere about someone completely different. Enjoy!
Religion
A Jew collapses in the street and is on the point of death. A Catholic priest, who happens to be passing by, takes the man in his arms and says: “Do you believe in God the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost?”
The Jew opens one eye and croaks: “Here I am dying, and he asks me riddles.”
***
Paddy the Irishman was on his deathbed and let it be known that he had decided to renounce Catholicism and become a Protestant. When the village priest heard of Paddy’s sudden conversion, he hurried over to see him.
“What in God’s name made you do it, Paddy?”
“Me time is up, Father. So I said to meself: if anyone’s got to die, then let it be one of those Protestant Orange bastards...”
***
An Orthodox priest, a Catholic priest and a rabbi are talking about how much of the collection they give God, and how much they keep for themselves.
“I divide all the money coming into the church into a big pile and a small pile; the big one is for God and the small one is for me,” says the Orthodox priest.
“Well,” says the Catholic priest, “I divide the money into even piles, one for God and one for me.”
“I put all the money on a tray and throw it up into the air,” says the rabbi, “and what God wants God keeps.”
Reality check
A man walked into Mater Dei Hospital and asked for the eye and ear section. A nurse tells him that the sections have been separated.
“Oh, but I must go to both. In the last few years I don’t know what’s happened to me. I don’t see what I hear and I don’t hear what I see.”
***
During his lifetime, Goebbels was allowed to inspect both Heaven and Hell to help him decide where to go when he died. He found Heaven very dull and boring; nothing but saints exuding goodness and angels sitting around on clouds playing harps. Hell was altogether more appealing and convivial, full of excitement, debauchery and drunkenness. So his decision was clear.
When his time was up, naturally enough, he found himself in Hell. On arrival, he was led straight away to a cauldron of boiling oil by the Devil himself. Goebbels protested most vehemently, declaring that on a previous visit Hell had been quite different.
The Devil smiled. “Of course,” he said, “What we showed you then was the propaganda.”
Boundaries
A Soviet scientist went to Prague to speak about the conquest of space. “Soon,” he told his audience, “We’ll be able to go to Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Venus...”. One of his listeners timidly raised his hand.
“Please, comrade. When can we go to Vienna?”
***
In heaven, the French do the cooking, the Germans do the repairs, the Swiss run the government, the English are the policemen and the Italians are the lovers.
In hell, the French do the repairs, the Germans are the policemen, the English do the cooking, the Italians run the government and the Swiss are the lovers.
***
Mintoff
Mr Mintoff buys a length of cloth and goes to a tailor in the south of Malta (where he used to be most popular) to have it made up in a suit. “Only enough cloth here for a jacket,” says the tailor.
As he travels elsewhere in the south, he gets the same answer from other tailors. Finally he goes to a tailor in Sliema, then the heartland of the opposition party, who makes him a fine suit with a waistcoat too.
“How did you do it,” he asks.
“Listen,” says the tailor, “you’re not such a big man here.”
***
Mintoff, the Prime Minister of Malta, complains to Brezhnev about Soviet un-cooperativeness in trade and other matters. Finding no response, he gives an ultimatum:
“Either you help us or we’ll declare war on you.”
“Is that wise, given your size and position in the world,” asks Brezhnev. Mintoff is indignant:
“We have our Bofors guns and an army of 800 men.”
Brezhnev again counsels caution, and Mintoff hesitates.
“Ah, you are beginning to see reason,” says Brezhnev.
“I was wondering,” says Mintoff, “where we could put all the Russian prisoners of war.”
A Happy Christmas to all readers of The Malta Independent on Sunday.