It’s not funny how jokes are being recycled in those SMS forwards these days. You read the first line and you know you have heard it before. The punch is lost then and there. Boring.
It’s also not funny how most of these puerile, sexist, and mildly obscene jokes are attributed to one Mr Santa Singh and often, his equally unfortunate friend Mr Banta Singh.
Recently, I received on long SMS involving Mr Santa, Singh not Claus. I read the first two sentences and I knew, I have read this before. I know this joke. I myself have told this to many people, various versions of it, spiced and buttered as the occasion demanded.
I remember reading the joke for the first time a long time ago, in, hold your breath, ‘Denonair’, in those days of adrenaline rush when getting your hands on a battered copy of the adult magazine was itself an act of excitement. Now, they have purged the magazine of all the nudity. What a pity! Oh, those innocent days. Internet destroyed this innocent completely, mercilessly.
Anyway, back to the joke. It goes like this:
Mr X calls home from office. An unknown voice picks up the phone. Who are you? Mr X demands to know. I’m the new maid, sir. I have just joined today. And I’m your Malik, says Mr X and asks, call your madam. I need to talk to her. The maid puts the phone on hold, and returns a few minutes later, little agitated. Sir, she says in whispers, madam is busy. Busy doing what? Mr X screams. She is in bedroom, naked, and there’s also a man there. What? Mr X screams louder, if it’s possible. A pause. What do I do sir? the maid asks in a solicitous voice. Mr X waits for another second and then makes up his mind, firm and unwavering. You want to earn a quick buck? he asks the maid, and she immediately says yes, of course. Okay then, instructs Mr X. Go to the closet on the ground floor. There is a gun there. Pick up the gun, go to the bedroom and shoot both of them, the woman and the man. I will give you a bonus. The maid puts Mr X on hold. She returns after four and half minutes. Done, sir. Clean shot. Both dead. Now, what do I do with the bodies? Okay, Mr X thinks for a moment and says, drag the bodies out of the bedroom and dump them in the pool. What pool? the maid asks. There’s no pool in the house. Pause. Is this 123456779? asks Mr X. Wrong number, replies the maid.
Talking about Debonair, someone asked, what do you call a handsome Keralite man: Debo-Nair, of course.