Jokealong: POT LUCK

January 25, 2013 § Leave a comment

Since people are continually stumbling onto The Oldest Jokes in the World in search of actual jokes, not just abstract theories about them, every other week we have a joke-along post. I’ll search through the site’s stats for a specific joke people have been searching for, comb the internet for the best existing examples, and try come up with one of my own. And then you all can add your own in the comments, so the next time someone comes searching, they won’t leave disappointed.

This week, we’ve got the jokealong of jokealongs as we yuck it up over pot lucks! potluck

Last year, I took part in a lovely pot luck/reading put on by Cracked Walnut Readings and Red Bird Chapbooks and wrote up a post about how literary readings are always like pot lucks with everyone bringing their own voice to share. In the same way, I feel like these jokealongs are humor pot lucks, as I gather some tasty jokes from around the internet and ask y’all to supply some of your own.

Unfortunately, there isn’t a great diversity of pot luck jokes available; most every joke I found came from either a Baptist or Lutheran related website. Many of them were lame and tame, such as:

“It has been said that the only thing that ever changes in the Lutheran Church is the color of the Jell-O® served at the monthly potluck dinners.”

(Take note, joke writers: starting with “It has been said…” makes it seem like you know your joke is well-past its prime.)

Or, number 4 on the list of top 10 reasons you might know you’re a Lutheran:

At potlucks all the men have tableware and napkins in their shirt pockets so their full plates are easier to carry.

But there were a few gems, such as this item from an actual church newsletter:

Thursday night will be a potluck supper. Prayer and medication to follow.

Or this excerpt from an advertisement for Lutheran Airlines:

If you are traveling soon, consider Lutheran Air, the no-frills airline. You’re all in the same boat on Lutheran Air, where flying is an uplifting experience. There is no First Class on any Lutheran Air flight. Meals are potluck. Rows 1-6, bring rolls, 7-15 bring a salad, 16-21 a main dish, and 22-30 a dessert. Basses and tenors please sit in the rear of the aircraft.

After finding little but this sort of in-group joking, I realized that that’s just the nature of the pot luck joke: they are usually for an audience no bigger than could gather politely in a church basement. With this in mind, it is nice to note that all the jokes I found were of the self-deprecating kind instead of the sort that builds up the group at the expense of outsiders.

Since this spirit of community seems an essential part of any pot luck joke, I chose the following definition from Urbandicitonary.com as my favorite; it comes from a different community, but is about the same polite respect as the church newsletter jokes above:

POTLUCKITALLY CORRECT: Preparing a dish for a potluck where you’re overly conscious about it being low-fat, gluten-free, hypo-allergenic, kosher, soy-free, low sodium, peanut-free, non-offensive to the majority of religious groups and not too spicy.

Sam: What are you bringing to the potluck tomorrow?

Ralph: Well, I don’t know because Sally is a vegan, Jim is a diabetic, Lisa needs a kosher dish, Anne has ciliac disease, Bob’s allergic to shellfish and Amy gets hives from chocolate.

Sam: Dude, you don’t have to be so potlucktically correct!

As for my contribution:

Like all Canadian youths, I had a powerful slap-shot long before I’d developed fine-motor skills. Training for the day that the bigger kids would finally let me join their pond pickup games, I’d set up a net at the end of our dirt drive. But no matter how long I aimed and concentrated, I always sent the puck far over the goal into some distant snowbank, sometimes as much as half a klik away. As frustrating as it was, though, I kept at it all winter; on the few afternoons I spent inside our warm house, usually because I was fresh out of pucks, I would always catch sight of a puck crashing into one of the snowbanks outside my window and realize one of the neighbor kids half a klik down the road was working on his shot while mine was stagnating.

Maybe to stifle that sense of competition into a more Canadian camaraderie, the older kids passed a tradition down to us: during the first thaw, all the young kids cleaned up their yards and met at the rink in town to laugh about who’s shots had missed by the longest distance: the lost puck pot luck.

What dish are you bringing to the pot-luck-joke pot luck?

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