Since so many of you commented on this joke in my other thread, I took the time to type it out in full. I promise you it is the funniest in the world, whatever you may think...
CHAPTER ONE
Quentin lives in Middle America. He has always been a cripplingly shy boy, whose lack of social skills have left him with few friends. One day he wakes up and realises everyone he knew has moved away from his one-horse town. He can't face college; can't face a job, can't even face stepping outside the door and the terrifying prospect he might blush at the simple question, "How are you today, Quentin?"
One day Quentin's mother is buying some food from the grocery store and notices an advert for a cabaret act. The advert is headed "The Put-Down Clown". It says simply: "The Put-Down Clown - he's the best around. He'll put you down."
This could be the shock therapy my Quentin needs, she thinks. And buys a ticket.
The day of the performance comes round. Quentin is sick to his stomach. He tells his mother he cannot possibly go.
"I love you, Quentin," she says. "But if you don't go, I will never forgive you."
With trembling hands, Quentin puts on his coat and pulls up the hood. He steps out of the door.
Somehow, he manages to get to the venue - a smallish town hall - without making eye contact. He hands over his ticket without a word. He takes up a seat right at the very back. He has to fight every instinct in his body just to stay in the chair.
Time passes. The hall fills up. The Put-Down Clown is late. The clock ticks agonisingly on.
Eventually - finally! - the lights go down. And on to the stage steps the clown. He is dressed like any other clown but has a devilish grin and a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
"Hello," he says slowly. "I'm the Put-Down Clown. The best around. Tonight, I'll put you down."
The act is brutally simple. The clown picks on a member of the audience and subjects them to the most vicious, penetrating, personal abuse possible. He is magnificent. They simply wither before his mighty tongue.
The show is drawing to a close. Quentin - by now an utter wreck - has somehow managed to avoid being noticed. He is desparate for the clown to leave and the lights to go up so he can return to his house, his room, his pathetic life.
But the clown is a pro. He knows this game, knows what a victim looks like.
"You!" he says, pointing at Quentin with a cold stare. "What is your name?"
"Q-Q-Quentin."
"Ladies and gentleman!" says the clown. "I think we have found our finale."
What follows is sheer torture. Quentin is utterly destroyed by the clown's perfectly-placed barbs. The crowd is pointing, clapping, crying with guilty laughter.
Quentin wants to run but finds he cannot move.
It seems like a lifetime. When it is finally over, the clown departs from the stage with a simple "Thank you and good night!". The crowd depart, still talking and chuckling about Quentin's destruction. And Quentin sits alone until the very end, sobbing at his miserable existence.
CHAPTER TWO
One day, a funny thing happens to Quentin. He looks at himself in the mirror and finds himself slowly clenching his fist. His face becomes contorted in an unfamiliar expression (he does not know it, but it is rage).
Suddenly he strikes out, shattering the glass across the bathroom floor.
"Enough is enough!" he cries.
Hours later, Quentin is on the Internet when he comes across a prestigious-looking academic website.
"THE VIENNA INSTITUTE OF RETORT", it says. Quentin learns that the institute is the highest-ranked body in the world for verbal retaliation. It's courses in practical and theoretical retort are unrivalled. It's professors are simply the best in the business.
Can't hurt to apply, thinks Quentin. I know I won't get in, but still...
Two weeks later an expensive-looking white envelope drops through Quentin's letterbox. It bears an Austrian postmark.
Surely not, thinks Quentin...
But it is true. He has been accepted to study for a BA in Retort at the Vienna Institute. He is already beginning to feel a little better about himself.
It is tough for Quentin in Vienna. No one overcomes crippling shyness overnight, let alone in a strange country where there is a new language to be learned. But he applies himself 100 per cent to his studies. Gradually, it becomes clear that Quentin has a real talent for retort.
Over the three years of the course he blossoms completely. He is almost unrecognisable from the blushing, stuttering man who entered the institute all that time ago. He finishes top of his class. It is taken for granted that he will take a masters' degree, which he does. His dissertation on Advance Retort Techniques is praised throughout the retort community. His proudest moment comes when the head of the institute calls him into the office and says, "Quentin, there is little more we can teach you. You are truly a prodigy in matters of retort."
Quentin stays on to take his PhD. His work takes him into some of the most difficult aspects of theoretical retort. At the end of the further three years he is truly a master. By now he is a confident man, quite sure of his razor-sharp practical retort as well as his vast theoretical knowledge.
"Quentin, we assume you will want to take up a teaching post?" says the head of the institute.
"Of course," replies Quentin. "But there is something I must do first. A bit of unfinished business, you might say..."
He laughs to himself. The clown doesn't stand a chance.
CHAPTER THREE
Quentin is back in Middle America. His neighbours are startled by the transformation. Within days, everyone realises not to mess with him. Quentin is in complete mastery of his retort - and completely terrifying.
Over the next few days and weeks he travels the area looking for the Put-Down Clown. He looks in every town, in every store. Nothing.
A month has passed. Quentin is beginning to run out of funds and wondering whether it is really worth it. He knows what he knows. He knows what he has become.
He is just about to abandon his quest and return to a lucrative post in Vienna when, in some Godforsaken town, he sees it. That same pathetic flyer.
"The Put-Down Clown! He's the best around! He'll put you down."
Quentin smiles.
The night of the performance arrives. Quentin takes a seat at the very front. He sits, apparently bored, leafing through a copy of the Retortionists Periodical and occasionally shaking his head. Others, sensing his power, sit a respectful distance away.
Suddenly the lights go down and a funny thing starts to happen. Quentin gets an odd sensation in his stomach. Can it be... nerves?
The clown comes on stage. He looks exactly the same. And Quentin can deny it no longer. It is fear creeping through his body. The same fear he knew as a child.
The clown begins his act. He is in no rush. It has a dread familiarity; he will pick on an audience member and reduce them to frustrated stammering or horrified silence. By now Quentin is shrinking back into his seat. Why, Quentin, why do it?
But time is passing. The act will soon be over. And the clown appears not to have noticed his old whipping-boy.
"Well, ladies and gentlemen, I guess that's all I---"
Suddenly the clown stops dead. He has seen Quentin. A quizzical look comes over his face, gradually replaced by a sickening wide grin.
"Well!" he drawls. "If it isn't my old friend Quentin! Ladies and gentlemen, you are in for quite a treat! Seven years ago I reduced this pitiful specimen to a shivering wreck! And tonight, for one night only, I'm going to do the same again!"
It can't happen, can it? Not to _this_ Quentin? And yet it does. He finds himself glued to his seat, powerless to react to the clown's devastating, well-polished patter. The crowd are laughing uproariously. The spotlight is fixed on Quentin's face...
And then it happens. From deep inside, that same feeling. Anger. Not today, not tonight! I am Quentin. I am the master of retort. I am the star pupil at the Vienna Institute of Retort. The best of the best.
The knowledge starts coming back. All those lessons learned, those books read. Pulsing through his brain, his heart, his very being. For he is Quentin, master of retort!
He stands bolt upright, spilling his seat as he points at the Put-Down Clown and says:
"F*** YOU, PUT-DOWN CLOWN!"
Is this the one that had that film about it? I think it was called 'Aristocrats' or something; it showed lots of comedians telling the joke in different ways because it was only funny if it was said by one of them.....
or am I thinking of something entirely different...
PS: I wrote this only having read Cptr 1
Originally posted by dottewellI love it!!
He stands bolt upright, spilling his seat as he points at the Put-Down Clown and says:
"F*** YOU, PUT-DOWN CLOWN!"
But i can understand why people might be disappointed when you tell it to them.
I won't be telling it to anyone.
It's still brilliant though