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well, its been 5 years since I posted this Christmas joke

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This is a very bad joke. The punch line is going to hurt. What is really sad is I drag it out so long. I wouldn't be surprised if Dave Baker kicks me off for this one. Exit now before it is too late.

Ok. You were warned.

Our story takes place in Russia, back in the good old days, before the glorious revolution, before there was talk of ‘proletariat’ and ‘bourgeoisie’ and other terms I have no idea how to spell. And it concerns a certain Rudy Rudovich, who lived in one of the small villages that surrounded Moscow. Rudy was a poor dirt farmer. That is being kind, perhaps in a good year he had a bumper crop of ‘dirt’. You see, Rudy was missing a few screws, so to speak. And our hero was quite the hen-pecked husband.

Once when I was telling this joke someone stopped me and said I shouldn’t be redundant. Hen-pecked and husband go without saying. Now, I have to take the individual’s word for it. I have never been married, and as I am in my mid 40’s maybe I will never find that out. Well, anyway, it was “We need more firewood, Rudy” and all he could reply was “Yes, dear.” Or “Are you done with the dishes?” “I will get to them as soon as I finish the sweeping, dear”. Poor Rudy. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year.

If I had more time, I would explain where the term ‘hen-pecked’ comes from. But that is another bad joke, and it’s Christmas, and having you hear one bad joke is unkind enough for the season.

One spring day, the sky was dark and threatening. But it was mid-April, and Rudy always sowed the seeds that day, and he wasn’t about to break his pattern. His wife had invited some ladies over. They were playing bridge, and drinking tea, and eating cupcakes with frosting on them. You know, the ones cutely decorated with those little round silver candies on top. Yeh, I thought you knew. Well, Rudy grabbed his seed pouch and headed out the door. Oh, maybe some of you don’t know. Those little silver candies are called dragees. You can get about 2 ounces of them for a couple of bucks. Well, maybe if they are on sale you can get them cheaper, but they are not that expensive. And you get so many of them, I don’t think they would ever sell them in bulk. Did you ever read the label on them?

It says ‘Use only as a decoration’ and ‘Non-edible’. I’m not kidding. That’s why they make them out of sugar so kids won’t eat them. Yeh, right. But seriously, look at the ingredients: Sugar, corn starch, gelatin, acetic acid and silver. Honest. They actually use silver in making these. That’s why you aren’t suppose to eat them. You could get silver poisoning. Oooohhh. A plot for a muder mystery. Slowly poison someone by…oh, that’s another story. Anyway, do the math, silver sells for around $4.50 an ounce [gee whiz, 5 years ago, now its around $14.50] and you purchased 2 ounces of these things for a couple of bucks. There must be enough silver in these things to, hmmm. And that would be if you ate the whole container of them. Guess I wouldn’t lose sleep over whether you ate any or not.

Ok, see you learned something new, so maybe it was worth reading this far. Now leave before you get to the punch line because it is going to hurt.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Rudy was going out the door to plant the crop. About 5 minutes later there was a clap of thunder, and the skies burst forth with a torrential downpour.

Of course, one of the ladies blurted out “Guess it won’t be long before your husband comes back, huh?” to which his wife replied “Rudy? That idiot hasn’t got enough sense to come in out of the rain”

And so it was true. One hour, two hour, all morning rain, rain and more rain. And still Rudy had not returned. Finally, about lunch time Rudy swung open the door, soaking wet. The ladies looked up at this somewhat pathetic looking figure, but rather than express any words of comfort or sympathy, there was nothing but giggles. And then his wife let into him.

“Don’t you dare track mud in the house”

“Yes, dear”

“And don’t you dare hang your wet things over the furniture”

“I won’t. dear”

“Rudy, I swear, I don’t think you even know what rain is, do you?”

“Guess I don’t dear”

Looks like it’s gonna be another banner year for the dirt farmer!

So spring passed by, summer followed. One Wednesday evening, about 7 there was a knock at the door. Rudy’s wife looked up from her book and shouted “There is someone at the door”

“I’ll get it, dear” Rudy said, emerging from the kitchen, soapy hands, apron and all.

He opened the door, and standing there 6 individuals – members of the newly formed communist party. They had a very good sales pitch. “Be a Red, or be dead”. A convincing argument, especially when accompanied by the guns they brandished. They wanted Rudy to go their meeting that night, and, though he wasn’t the brightest, Rudy knew it was in his best interest to go. He had started to walk out the door when that old familiar voice resounded “Not until you finish the dishes, mister”

Rudy returned to the kitchen “Of course dear. How silly of me”

One of the communists took a step in and said “Listen lady…” but that was as far as he got.

“Excuse me. Did I invite you in?”

Wisely, he took a step back. Perhaps the world of events might have been different if there were more Mrs. Rudovich’s!

It took Rudy about 5 minutes to finish his chore and off he went. Secretly, his wife was glad. She put her book down, got up from her chair, went over to the bookcase, and behind the third book on the middle shelf pulled out a chocolate bar.

The Wednesday night meetings went on for about two months.

(By the way, I could have picked any night of the week, it has nothing to do with the joke if you are trying to figure out where this is headed. I will warn you again to give up on this one, it will save you a big groan at the end.)

After about two months, the communists (or Reds, if you will) decided they weren’t making much progress with Rudy. They convinced him he would best serve the party by simply growing food – they would handle the nasty end of things. They even managed to convince him it wasn’t a good idea to plant in the rain, as the seeds washed away. And to top things off, they gave him a red bandana to wear. “Remember Rudy, be a Red or be dead” Wear it for your health. Rudy was only to happy to comply.

Fall came and went, followed by winter. Rudy put up a Christmas tree (well, this is a Christmas joke, I have to fit Christmas in somewhere). It was one of the few times of the year there was peace in the house. Ok already, the rest of the year his wife gave him a piece of her mind. But that’s not the punch line I have been warning you about. It is coming. Beware!

Spring came at last. And it was almost like déjà vu. Threatening skies. The wife had the ladies over for bridge. There were iced cupcakes, but no silver candies on top this year. No, not because they were worried about the warning labels, but simply because Rudy’s wife was on a diet.

Rudy headed out the door armed with his seed bag. And just like last year the skies opened up. Terrible rainstorm. Of course the ladies started in with some nasty remarks, remembering last year’s fiasco. Finally, to climax the snide remarks Rudy’s wife said “I told you that dolt doesn’t know what rain is”

And at that moment, the door swung open, and banged against the wall. Now Rudy’s wife was sitting in the chair with her back to the door. She didn’t know Rudy was dry – he had been standing under the eves on the porch rather than being out in the garden. The other ladies were somewhat speechless, so his wife, bidding 2 hearts, added “Don’t track mud in the house”

“Not muddy dear” Rudy replied.

“Well don’t drip water all over the place”

“Not wet dear” came the reply.

“Look, Mister. Don’t get wise with me. I know you don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain. Like I was telling my friends, you don’t even know what rain is. Just what have you got to say for yourself?” And turning, her jaw dropped as she saw her husband standing there, dry and clean.

And the Rudy, waving that red bandana the communists had given him simply said

“Rudolf the Red knows rain ….dear”

I warned you it was bad.

All kidding aside, may God bless your holidays! Much Peace in your homes!

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Reminds me of the world chess championships, held in New York City a few years ago. The "official" hotel for the tournament was the Ritz. As the players gathered in the lobby to check in at the front desk, there was a computer glitch which messed up all the reservations, requiring some time to correct. Naturally enough, the players fell to discussing their exploits and great matches of the past. Very shortly, the manager came out, and asked them all to leave immediately. When asked why, he replied that there was nothing worse than,

"Chess nuts boasting in an open foyer."

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  • 2 weeks later...

If you can dig up that old joke, I can dig up my response from New Year's eve 2002/3:


You are confused--this punchline actually belongs to a similar joke about a communist TV weatherman. Concept is the same, and that version is shorter but, alas, no funnier than yours.

Happy New Year.


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