Our dumb country (an occasional series)
Meet Dr. Mark Walport, whose existence the government cannot confirm or deny
Readers should be warned that today’s post will take the form of a “shaggy dog story,” the term of art for a very long joke whose punchline is underwhelming. The point of such a joke is that you stick with it for what seems like forever, following all the complications, relishing the mountain of detail, only to get to a conclusion that is so unspectacular it makes you wonder why you bothered. Then, ideally, you notice yourself feeling like you’ve wasted your time, and that noticing is the source of the joke’s humour.
So, for example: A guy has an extremely shaggy dog. His friends can’t get over how shaggy the dog is. It is a subject of heated conversation. He is increasingly ostracized by people who can’t stand how shaggy his dog is. His wife leaves him: “I can’t live with a dog this shaggy!” His boss lets him keep his job, but only if he swears he will never bring the dog to the office: “That dog is too shaggy, I say!” He realizes there may be some advantage in having such a shaggy dog. He enters the dog in the local Shaggy Dog Contest, he wins, he goes to the regionals, the nationals. All along, many shaggy-dog-related adventures occur. He gets caught in a blizzard. Someone says, “You call this a blizzard? I can barely see your dog! He’s too shaggy!” Etc., etc. Finally he goes to the World Shaggy Dog Championships in Tibet. The judges walk down the line, taking careful notes. Finally the head judge studies his dog thoughtfully, takes notes, continues to the next dog, keeps going all the way to the end of the line of stupendously shaggy dogs from around the world. Finally he comes back to our guy. Points at the dog. “I mean, he’s not that shaggy.”
That’s it. That’s the joke. I love this kind of joke. Ask me sometime about the Old Man On the Mountain.
All of which is the prelude to the strange tale of Dr. Mark Walport.