Stop me if you’ve heard this one:
A guy walks into a restaurant, sees me and says,
“Hey, Big Guy.” His eyes shift to my enormous gut.
I say, “Hey, Little Fella.” He grimaces. I’m huge.
I swallowed my momma whole as a baby.
She still resents me for it. Growing boy’s gotta eat.
I’m bigger than the sun.
A man walks into a bar and he drinks the whole thing.
Then he went out for a soda. He was me. I am thirsty.
I take a bath in my swimming pool.
I dress myself in a cloud, brush my teeth with a tree.
I wore Big Ben as a watch one time, but I don’t anymore.
I outgrew it, pawned it off for beer money.
A priest, a rabbi, and a shaman are on a plane to Spokane.
They take bets on whether or not my seatbelt will click.
I step off, and the shocks on the plane gasp in relief.
A little boy points at me, says, “Look at that Big Fat Man.”
His mom swats his finger away, and shoots me a dirty look.
Her eyes tell me to have a little self respect,
but I’ve never had a little of anything,
so I go out for burgers instead.
A man walks into a doctor’s office. The doctor tells him
it’s a cold but then asks me if I’ve considered going on a diet.
Knock, knock. Who’s there? It’s me, elephantine.
This is the punchline.
This is the part where you laugh.
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