I’m writing this column on the morning of Tuesday, November 5: Election Day.
By the time this column runs in the newspaper, the next President of the United States will likely have been selected, hopefully with a minimum of chaos and pandemonium.
However, I have no idea what’s going to happen. And so, in what I am officially establishing as a tradition since I’ve now done it for three Presidential elections in a row, I’m instead going to tell you one of my favorite jokes. I hope you enjoy.
A guy moves out to a little cabin in the mountains. He’s been living there for about a month when he gets a knock on the door. He opens the door to reveal a hulking mountain man, easily seven feet tall, with a big bushy beard. The mountain man wipes his hand on his dirty overalls, sticks it out, and the guy shakes his hand.
“Howdy,” the mountain man says. “Like to apologize for not stopping by sooner. I live on the other side of that ridge to the south. Reckon I’m what you’d call the local welcoming committee.”
“Nice to meet you,” the guy says.
“Pleasure,” the mountain man says. “Since you’re new to the area, I wanted to be neighborly and invite you to a party at my place this Friday night.”
“Of course,” the guy says. “I’m free that evening and I’d love to come.”
“Great,” the mountain man says. He starts to walk away and then pauses.
“Now I gotta level with you,” the mountain man says. “At this party, there’s gonna be some drinking.”
The guy chuckles. “Sounds good to me. I pledged a frat in college, I think I can handle myself.”
“Good, good!” The mountain man starts to walk away and then pauses again.
“Of course, I gotta be up front with you,” he says. “At this party, there’s liable to be some fighting.”
The guy smiles. “I did a little welterweight boxing in college, as well. I might not look it, but I figure I can handle myself.”
“Good, good!” The mountain man starts to stroll away and then pauses again.
“Now, I don’t mean to be telling any tales out of school,” the mountain man says, “but at this party … well, there’s liable to be some hugging. And some kissing. And who knows where all that might lead, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.”
The guy nods. “Hey, I’m a swinging bachelor,” he says. “You won’t hear any complaints from me!”
“Good, good,” the mountain man says. “Like I said, I live right on the other side of that south ridge, just swing on by about 7 on Friday night.”
“Looking forward to it,” the guy says. “By the way, should I bring anything?”
The mountain man laughs. “Aw, it don’t matter none,” he says. “It’s just gonna be you and me!”
