Ode To A Funny Bone

“Two cannibals are sitting around an open spit, after killing and roasting a clown. Pulling a piece of meat from the julienned joker, one of the cannibals takes a bite, then recoils from the odd taste.

How old do you think that clown was? Asked the first cannibal, before offering a taste of the stringed bicep to his companion.

No idea, came the reply from his hungry friend. Why?

“Does he taste funny to you…?

Taking a bite of the barbecued human flesh, the second cannibal shakes his head. Then, with a gesture of masticated dissatisfaction, he spits out the meat.

…No, not funny, was the delayed reply before asking. Why do you think that is?

With a wry smile, the first cannibal paused a moment, then jokingly replied, Because it’s not the humerus…”

“What was a clown doing in cannibal country?” Asked a short-statured man listening to the barroom tale.

“It’s an anecdote,” the joke teller replied.

“Maybe he got lost,” came an unsolicited suggestion from one of the other listeners-in.

“Perhaps, he got kidnapped from a travelling circus,” a third man piped up.

“Gentlemen, you’re missing the point,” the tall tale stretcher frustratingly tried to halt the unsolicited analysis of his joke. “It’s not the humerus, you know, humorous?” He repeated the punchline, unsuccessfully attempting to correlate the similarity between the two words.

Charles D. Bonerz stood amongst a group of his peers in the auditorium bar at the second annual Doctors Of Gender Science Conference. Earlier in the evening, he had given a speech to a full house of several hundred peers from the medical science profession on the identifiable nature of bone gender – namely, the elbow. In his speech, he distinctly outlined how the degree of sexual dimorphism in the humerus, can positively identify the gender of human remains, and that the results unambiguously countered the non-binary gender claims of those seeking to not be exclusively labelled male or female. He further added fuel to the Woke ideology debate of there being more than two sexes by stating that the humerus results scientifically debunked the toxicity of the Woke gender identification, utilising modern medical and scientific testing to categorically prove it.

“Humerus gender identification was nothing to be laughed at,” he concluded to a round of applause as he rushed off to get a well-earned drink.

“How would the cannibals know it was the humerus?” The first inquisitive doctor sought further clarification.

“Because it would have tasted funny!” Charles once again attempted to emphasise the punchline. “Sorry, you are?”

Charles squinted to read the name tag of his socially inept heckler.

“Doctor William Stroker,” he accentuated the surname, then hesitated as some schoolboy humour tickled his brain. “Yep, Dr Willie Stroker. That’s funny. Seems I’m not the only comedian in the room. Where did you come up with that one?”

“My parents,” was the unimpressed reply.

“…Really? Oh, sorry,” Charles stifled a chuckle. "What was your father’s name then, Richard?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

Bursting into hysterical laughter, Charles quickly controlled his spontaneous ridicule, as he noticed no-one else in the group was laughing.

“Forgive me,” Charles apologised. “That was quite juvenile of me. In answer to your question on cannibal Osteology,” Charles again tried to lighten the mood. “I believe they have a history of studying old bones…”

Waiting for the slightest of responses, Charles found himself disappointed at the lack of his group’s sense of humour.

“That may be so,” said, Dr Stroker. “But it still doesn’t explain why a circus chose to tour a region widely known for its headhunters.”

“If I may,” an older Asian-looking gentleman spoke up. “My name is Dr Anass Rhammar.”

He briefly stopped as Charles’ inner schoolboy hung on for a giggle at the sound of the Indian doctor’s name.

“Yes, it is a common reaction,” Dr Rhammer explained, before smilingly adding, “And I can see how humerus it is to you, Dr Bonerz.”

Capturing Charles’ attention with a shared adage of humour, Dr Rhammer continued.

“A little jocularity of my own, gentlemen. Perhaps, you have read my book, The Rhammercations of Indigenous Nomadic Life. I’ve spent many years studying the behaviours of indigenous tribes of the Mapuche people of Southern Chile and can attest to their love of the ritual of the clowns. I found that clowning is a sort of social commentary enacted by them in response to their own lack of agency amidst the suffocating Chilean colonialism they have had to face for centuries.”

“You’re referring to their feeling of disempowerment, unable to act on their own behalf to control their own destiny. That, that sort of stuff?” Dr Stroker stammered.

“Precisely, my esteemed colleague. Your analogy is as sharp as a curare-tipped dart. Let’s hope you never sit on one accidentally. My goodness gracious, it will take your breath away and make you shit yourself clean.”

Before continuing his story, Dr Rhammer paused for the laugh that never materialised.

“Moving on, I would imagine in the scenario of Dr Bonerz’ story of the poor misfortunate clown, he may have been completely cognisant of his own roasting, as curare doesn’t cross the blood brain barrier. The one consolation from being roasted alive, is that he wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

The open mouths of Charles and the rest of the group prompted Dr Rhammer to quickly sum up his medical and social study of the remote Chileans, before he got labelled, a Quack.

“My point is that the indigenous people of Southern Chile feel unengaged with matters relating to governance. A kind of moral indictment to their belief that they are denigrated as being too Mapuche. So, the ritual of becoming clown-white, allows them to come to terms with their own plight.”

Head bowed and eyes closed, Charles had sincerely tried to listen to the conversation circumventing his joke, but the ineptitude to get past the fact that Willie Stroker was discussing indigenous culture with Anass Rhammer, clouded his interpretation of the earnest and intellectual discussion.

“What do you think, Dr Bonerz?” The older doctor brought him back to the moment.

“I think I need another drink.”

“But wait. Dr Stroker requested – halting Charles’ exit. “That still doesn’t explain how the clown ended up being eaten.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Stroker.” Charles snapped. “Maybe they were hungry!”

“Hungry? Hungry?” Interrupted another listener-in. “That’s my department,” the cheerful new member of the group announced as his face darted back and forth over the right shoulder of Charles.

“Doctor Geremy Feelgood, at your service. Feelgood’s the name, feel good you will, when I make you feel good… Delighted to meet you all.”

Restrained from leaving by Dr Feelgood’s arm around his shoulders, Charles remained tight-lipped as he fought off a case of indifference, and politely nodded his head, hoping the interruption was momentary.

“What’s your specialty, Dr Feelgood?” Dr Stroker asked.

“Nutrition, old chap,” was the enthusiastic reply. “What’s hot in gut rot, is my motto.”

“Nutritionists aren’t doctors,” Charles rudely mentioned – hoping he could deter Dr Feelgood from staying.

“Nonsense, dear boy. Utter rubbish,” Feelgood replied – speaking in a rapid response. “Seven years as a Gastroenterologist led me to seek out the practice of why we should eat what we eat and not why the hell did we eat what we ate… Bit of a tongue twisting analogy, there. Give it a try after a few drinks. Heaps of fun. However, to toot my own horn, I’m a fully qualified professional. Certificates to prove it on my website, drfeelgood.com - abbreviated.”

“Dr Feelgood, I’m Dr Rhammer. I studied a little nutrition during my last trip to the jungles of the Amazon, seeking out the similarities between indigenous people of the Amazon basin.”

“Fascinating, Dr Rhammer. I wasn’t aware that Chile was included in that geographic range. Sorry, I was rudely eavesdropping on your earlier conversation. I’m a great fan of the Betel Nut.”

“Your little compass is pointing straight at my wide geographic location, Dr Feelgood, but unfortunately, your nuts point elsewhere. Different continent, I’m afraid.”

“Is it? My goodness. I’m always getting them mixed up with Brazilians,” he laughed. “Which one’s the rounder one?”

“That would be the Areca Nut - commonly known as the Betel.”

“No, I’m sure it’s the other one.”

“Answering your question, Dr. Feelgood,” Dr Rhammer continued. “You are correct. Chile is not part of the Amazon Basin. My study was purely to ascertain what type of common denominators exist in the natives of that vast continent. I quickly discovered that my search uncovered similarities more so in social standing than in cultural practices. Indigenous is a label we like to tag native people from a certain region with. However, when you journey into the interior of the region, it becomes apparent that it is a vast area encompassing many interpretations of various cultures – some, hidden for centuries from the rest of the world.”

“Lucky fellows,” Dr. Feelgood commented. “I would suffice to say that they’re better off unmolested from modern man.”

“Your statement holds a certain degree of truth, my friend,” Dr. Rhammer responded. “However, civilisation is fast encroaching on all remote areas of this planet and if nothing is done to halt it, so many things will be lost to the benefit of medical science.”

“Okay,” Charles took advantage of the thought-provoking pause in the conversation. “Anyone else care for a drink?”

“Darling!” The loud female voice landed in the middle of the group. “What have I missed?”

With the look of someone frozen in time, Charles managed to squeeze out a surprised, “Sarah?”

“Charles, darling. Great speech earlier. Have a few things needed to be discussed, argued – in fact. A few small points of Tacitus interpretation. In your language, a bone of contention.”

“Very amusing,” Dr Rhammer commented. “Perhaps next year, the conference could include an open mic night for doctors with droll. Nothing like humour to break the ice.”

“Sarah Bonerz, everyone! Well, that’s ex-Bonerz, now. Was married to this pineapple head for a while, until I found my true self. You could say that I am the driving force behind Chuck’s pointless quest to prove that there are only two sexes in our gene pool.”

“Delighted!” Dr Feelgood said. “Feelgood’s, the name, to feel good is the game. I help a lot of women your size deal with weight loss, while helping them onto the righteous path of nutrition health.”

Charles saw the look on his ex-wife’s face change into a disdainful grimace from Dr Feelgood’s tactless and shameless solicitation for business, so acted quickly to diffuse any potential inbound retort.

“Dr Feelgood…”

“Call me Geremy, old chap. No need for us all to be on a formal basis. It’s all peer-to-peer here, I suspect.”

“Yes, thank you, Geremy.”

“Charles.”

“Geremy…”

“Charles.”

“For fuck’s sake, man. I’m trying to tell you that my non-binary ex-wife does not identify with gender labelling. She made that abundantly clear in our divorce papers. I quote, Inseparable indifferences to gender identities.”

“Most sorry for your marital troubles, Charles,” Dr Rhammer consoled.

“Thank you, Anass.”

“Non-binary is not something that has cursed my culture, yet. In fact, we have become such a technological force to be reckoned with, that binary or non-binary solely exists in the digital space only.”

“Cursed?” Sarah asked. “It is not a curse. It is a way of life.”

“It’s a life choice,” Dr Stroker interjected.”

“What, like crocheting or yoga?” Sarah insultingly asked.

“Treat loads like you, I do,” Dr Feelgood attempted another overture. “Word of mouth among your kind paid for my new plush offices.”

“Loads like me? My kind?” A wounded Sarah repeated.

“Yes, the unidentifiable,” Dr Feelgood stated – not realising a level of ignorance beyond any modern-day comprehension.

“Are all doctors blind to social change?” Asked Sarah in an accusatory tone of voice. “Or are you too busy bonding at events like this to notice the world evolving before your eyes?”

Glad that he had been delayed from getting that drink, Charles felt a sarcastic smile envelop his face, while watching Sarah being put on the defensive.

“You never could argue objectivity, could you, Sarah? You change your mindset and the whole world has to accept it, against all logic and common sense.”

“Did you know that the right type of foods can help clear a muddled mind?” Dr Feelgood once again tried to drum up business.

“Shut up,” Sarah barked. “I’m not staying here listening to you and all of your archaic ways of thinking.”

“It’s a big room, Sarah,” said Charles. Find a corner and go brood in it. That’s what you always used to do with me.”

“Fine,” she indignantly replied. “But first, let me leave this one with you Neanderthals, then…

A doctor walks into an operating theatre for a life-saving surgery. Seeing the patient on the operating table, they turn to the anaesthetist and say, I can’t operate on this person, because this person is my son… Who is the surgeon?”

“That is simple,” said Dr Rhammer. “It is his father!”

“No, you Dinosaur.”

“His Stepdad,” Dr Stroker guessed.”

“How did you ever pass your medical exams?” Sarah bluntly asked.

“I know, I know!” Dr Feelgood bounced around. “It’s his illegitimate father!”

“How does that work?”

“His parents didn’t get married?”

“You are dim, Dr Feelgood,” Sarah insultingly stated. “But I must admit, feeling more intelligent than you has made me feel good, Feelgood.”

Turning to Charles, Sarah waited for his answer to the operating room refusal.

“Charles?”

“No,” Charles declined. “I’m not taking the bait.”

“Whatever! Then, do you know how to keep idiots in suspense?”

Without anyone answering, Sarah turned to leave, then dismissively waving her hand at the group, she bid them all a curt farewell. “Goodbye!”

Sauntering into the crowded bar, Sarah quickly disappeared among the revellers – leaving the group of men in a collective suspenseful state of mind.

“Charles, do you know?” Dr Rhammer asked.

“It’s his mother,” Charles revealed.

“No, I meant do you know how to keep an idiot in suspense?”

“Yes,” replied Charles. “I do.”

“That’s rich, old chap,” Dr Feelgood changed the focus. “For someone not identifying with a gender, your ex-wife managed to easily label the refusing surgeon in that little riddle.”

“Yes, that’s Sarah to a tee. It’s her way or the highway. I’ve spent the past three years trying to prove her wrong.”

“How ironic, Charles,” said Dr Rhammer. “Sarah gave you the proverbial elbow and you dedicate your life to studying the humerus. Very funny, indeed!”

“So, anyone for a drink?” Charles asked.

Letting out a huge laugh, Dr Stroker energetically patted Charles on his back.

“Does this taste funny to you?” Dr Stroker repeated. “I get it! He’s a clown!”

“Well done, William,” Charles congratulated him as they all headed toward the bar. “You got there in the end…”