Only joking

I have always wanted to invent the perfect practical joke. All jokes are based on making a shift in the assumptions of the listeners and then guiding them by sheer force of logic to consequences that are so ludicrous that the real world can only be restored by laughter. Thus: two Martians met in the street, and one said, “What’s your name?” The other replied, “29876 – 82”, to which the first said, “Funny, you don’t look Jewish.” Practical jokes require more than merely telling because they include performers and often very elaborate props and settings. There is a script, which is known only to the prime actor and which, by logical extrapolation, commands the participation of others. Since a practical joke is run in real time, the laughter at the end is usually at the expense of the unwitting actors. Many practical jokes are extremely crude and can often be cruel, especially those that involve a large number of actors and one victim. These are designed to display the superiority of the perpetrators. The perfect practical joke should have an economy and convey enough of the conjurer’s art so that nobody is totally dismayed. An excellent example with some of these features was carried out in Cambridge by an undergraduate. Noticing some workmen digging a hole in the street he went and told them that a number of students dressed as policemen would shortly arrive and tell them to stop their work. He then telephoned the police informing them that a group of students dressed as workmen were digging a hole in the street. Together with many passerbys, he enjoyed the ensuing confrontation turn into realisation. I have not met anybody who actually observed this and so it may only be a theoretical joke, but it it is certainly both economical and artful in concept. I once quite spontaneously performed that sudden shift which can lead everybody to accept what cannot be true. I was visiting the W--Pharmaceutical Company in Japan and at the end of the tour I was taken to a meeting room where everybody had gathered. This company made a Japanese herbal remedy concocted from fermented garlic, which was widely used. It was called something like Lycopentane, which sounds like lighter fuel for werewolves, and was so vile tasting that it had to be taken in gelatine capsules. The dose was large, however, and the capsules could not be filled and sold without leaking, so a kit was provided with a dropper bottle and empty capsules. I said I would like to try the remedy and with much amusement a kit was brought in. I filled a capsule and swallowed it. As it went down, I gave a strangled cry, followed by a gurgle, rolled off the chair and lay motionless on the floor. Through one half-opened eye I observed the reactions of my hosts. They were thunderstruck; the blood had drained from their faces and in the few seconds that I lay there, I could see running though their minds questions such as how to dispose of the body and what to do about my colleague who had observed the event, also with surprise. The laughter when I rose from the floor was almost hysterical, and, in the end, everybody enjoyed themselves. I am quite famous in Japan for this and every now and then, somebody comes up to me, shaking their head, nudging me and saying “W--Pharmaceutical Company.” I also consider a signal triumph an occasion on which I turned a practical joke on Max Delbruck. He was a great player of practical jokes, arranging for people to be invited to lectures and then embarrassing everybody. My chance arose after I had been invited by friends to talk at CalTech, where Max then was. On accepting, I said I would prefer to talk to a small group, but as it happens, this was unknown to Max. When I arrived, I was carefully taken to Max’s office, where a small group of people had assembled.They guided me to a small seminar room, where another two or three people were waiting, and everybody sat down. I assumed that my friends had arranged the small seminar I had requested, and without further ado, I began to talk. I noticed there were signs of dismay, and Max stood up, saying he was going to look at the notice board to check which room had been reserved for the talk. Though a crack in the door, I noticed that Max was just standing there, and I realised what had happened. A grand lecture had been arranged, and somewhere there were 300 people patiently waiting for my arrival. Seizing the opportunity, I immediately increased speed, took off my jacket and began to settle in for a full hour. Max returned, puzzled by what he should do next; the looks of dismay had turned to panic and people had started to signal to each other. Eventually I had to be stopped and the small party made its way to the large lecture room where Max merely signalled me to talk with a limp wave and no introduction. I had turned the joke, but of course I didn’t let on that I knew. And every question asked of me that might test this, I answered completely ambiguously. This was perfection, as some people knew that I knew, but Max did not. R825