Read Online Changing the Past by Thomas Berger - Free Book Online

leaves and performed an accidental pratfall to the asphalted surface of the schoolyard. At first it seemed unfortunate that he was at the time amidst many of his homeward-bound schoolmates, all of whom, having no other distraction at the moment, laughed uproariously. He was no stranger to the derision of a few persons at a time, but the response to what could be termed a real audience was unique to him, and far from being crushed by their laughter, he hungered for more of it. He proceeded to fall three more times before reaching the limits of school property, doing so now on purpose, and on each occasion making a more elaborate thing of it than he had on the last: throwing his books into the air, kicking off his loafers at the moment of impact, finally producing a shattering Bronx cheer that simulated a fart—the best effect of all, for though most of the girls professed to be disgusted by this, everybody made some kind of reaction, and Kellog, who had heretofore experienced far more disregard than condemnation, realized that he had stumbled upon a principle essential to him who seeks acclaim from his fellows: viz ., that even to inspire derision is to have made one’s mark.
    Now other people in groups no longer averted their heads on his approach, nor as individuals did they continue to find pressing engagements elsewhere. They stayed, often greeting him with an expectant smirk. After taking the pratfall to its limits without putting himself into the hospital—he did suffer a sprain, and was lucky it wasn’t worse, when trying to add to one plunge a leap-twist that could only have been performed by a gymnast—he turned towards the verbal for his comedy. In this he exceeded himself. He had always been inarticulate in the written language, and writing themes and book reports was nightmarish. ( “ Black Beauty is the story of a horse. This horse is black, and real nice. Some people arnt so kind to horses, but luckily some people are.”) Nor when called upon in class to respond vocally was he more eloquent, translating Caesar’s dying words as “Brutus, you also are a brute,” sniggering and blushing. But now he found that putting words in certain combinations could make people laugh. Of course there was more to it than the context. Some comedy (usually successful despite or because of the revulsion it evoked) was founded simply on bad taste: most schoolboy sex jokes were of this character (“The Reverend Fluff, a minister of the gospel, is putting it to the choirmaster’s daughter in a parked car, when a policeman pokes a flashlight into the window. ‘Officer,’ indignantly says the preacher, ‘I’ll have you know I’m Pastor Fluff!’ ‘Buddy,’ replies the cop, ‘I don’t care if you’re all the way up her a-hole, you gotta move on.’”) And sometimes there was virtually no point at all, nothing to laugh at whatever, except foul language (‘“How can you tell if a girl will put out?’Joe the jerk asks Vic, the local authority on nooky, whose answer is, ‘If she talks dirty.’ So next time Joe sits on a couch next to a girl he asks her, ‘What would you do if a bear came down that chimney there?’ ‘I’d shit,’ says she. ‘Let’s fuck,’ says Joe.”)
    Timing was crucial. The same joke, hilarious when told with the proper intervals between its elements, was lame when poorly timed (e.g., when one bum asks another, “Did you shit in your pants?” the question must be preceded by the visible and audible sniffing of the joke-teller, pause; and then a longer pause comes before the answer … “Today?” ). And other acting skills were helpful: being able to suggest the bodily movements of a spastic; to produce accents (“Vot are you doink, children?” “Fucking, Mamma.” “Dot’s nice, just don’t fight,” or as Rastus addressing