She stops at the front desk and talks to the admitting nurse. "Good day," she says. "Something is wrong with my husband. He was very difficult to wake up this morning, he barely touched his breakfast, and he hasn't done anything all day. Can you find out what's wrong?" She and her husband are whisked into a room. A couple of big, burly orderlies come in and lift her unresponsive husband onto the examination table.
A doctor walks into the room and begins examining her husband. He puts on a stethoscope, then gets out a sphygmomanometer and measures his blood pressure, nodding grimly as he takes the measurement. Then he uses this stethoscope to listen carefully to the husband's chest, then he gets out a tool and uses it to peer into the husband's eyes. Then he sighs, steps toward the woman and delivers his verdict.
"Madam, this man is dead. That will be fifty dollars, please."
"He's dead? Really? Are you sure?"
"Yes ma'am, he's definitely dead. Fifty dollars, please."
"But how can you be so sure? You haven't run any tests or anything."
The doctor sighs, goes to the back door of the room, and knocks on it twice. He opens the door, and a black Labrador retriever comes into the room and trots quickly up to the examination table.
The dog walks around the table, sniffing the husband thoroughly. He walks around the table twice, sniffing as he goes, and licks the man on his cheek. Then he looks down at the floor, gives off a soft, plaintive woof, and trots back through the door, which closes.
The doctor knocks on the door again, three times this time, and opens it. An orange-and-white cat comes in, walks to the table, and with a graceful leap lands on the husband.
The cat walks around on the husband's body, kneading and purring loudly. It walks up to the man's chest and flicks Its tongue out several times, lightly tasting the husband's neck. Then it lets out a sad meow and shakes its head slowly before jumping down and leaving the room. The doctor turns back to the woman.
"Yes, he's definitely dead. That will be $1,500, please.*
*$1,500?! I thought you said it was fifty bucks!"
"Yes, but that was before the Lab report and the cat scan. Those can be really expensive."
Joke Poo: The Tech Support Call
A gnome calls a tech support hotline, his voice echoing oddly from inside his mushroom home. "My crystal ball," he says, his voice trembling with agitation, "it’s been showing nothing but static! I can’t scry the future at all! It’s completely useless."
The tech support wizard, a bored-sounding orc named Grungle, sighs audibly. "Alright, sir, let’s try some basic troubleshooting. Have you tried turning it off and on again?"
"Of course!" the gnome squeaks. "I’ve shaken it, I’ve chanted ancient spells, I even tried polishing it with unicorn horn polish!"
Grungle mumbles, "Okay, alright. Can you describe the static? Is it white noise, black noise, maybe some swirling patterns?"
"It’s… well, it’s little gnomes, Grungle!" the caller said. "Millions of them! Running around! On the crystal, in the crystal, behind the crystal!"
"Little gnomes, huh? Alright, sir. Just a few more questions before the technician comes. Can you try to catch one, please?"
The gnome sighs heavily. "Fine, just a second…" A muffled rustling sound, followed by a triumphant yell. "I’ve got one! Tiny little blighter. What now?"
"Okay, now, sir," Grungle says slowly, "I want you to hold that gnome up to the crystal ball."
The gnome grumbles but follows the instructions. There’s a pause, and then a gasp. "Oh, by the Great Oak! I see it now! The crystal ball is working perfectly!"
"Excellent!" Grungle says brightly. "Just so I understand, you see the future again?"
"Yes, perfectly! I can see droughts, wars, plagues, marriages, goblin raids, everything!"
"Fantastic! That will be 40 copper pieces for my assistance."
"40 copper pieces? But… it was just a tiny gnome! What’s with the extra charge?"
Grungle sighs again, even louder. "Sir, that was just the Gnome Preview. To unlock the full features, like colour and high resolution, you need to purchase the premium Gnome Filter package.
"
Alright, let’s dissect this joke.
Key Elements:
- The Absurd Premise: A woman brings a clearly dead husband to the hospital in a wheelbarrow.
- The Unexpected Diagnostic Method: The doctor uses a dog and a cat to confirm the death, playing on the animals’ sniffing and sensory abilities.
- The Wordplay/Pun: The "Lab report" (Labrador retriever) and "cat scan" (cat) as replacements for laboratory analysis and a CAT scan.
- The Punchline: The sudden, exorbitant price increase for the animal diagnoses, highlighting the absurdity and the woman’s gullibility.
Comedic Enrichment:
Now, let’s leverage some facts and observations related to these elements to create a new comedic piece.
Focus: Animal Diagnostics & Medical Costs
Humorous Observation/Alternate Joke:
You know, I took my goldfish, Finny, to the vet the other day. He was floating belly-up, and I was worried. The vet gave him a thorough examination: he poked him with a toothpick, shined a tiny flashlight in his eye, and even held him up to the light like a rare jewel.
"I’m sorry to say," the vet told me, "Finny’s gone to the big fishbowl in the sky."
I was devastated, but then he handed me the bill: "$800 for the ‘Bubble Wrap EEG’ and the ‘Aquatic Resonance Imaging.’"
I nearly fainted! "But all you did was poke him with a toothpick!"
The vet shrugged. "Well, that was the ‘Non-Invasive Stick-to-itiveness Assessment’. The flashlight was the ‘Photonic Life Force Probe’. We have to cover our overheads, you know. Did you know that vets spend about half their time filling out insurance forms?"
Why it Works:
- Heightened Absurdity: Taking a goldfish to a vet is already silly. The expensive "tests" and their ridiculous names add to it.
- Truthful Element: The joke incorporates the real-world frustration of high medical costs and the paperwork burden faced by healthcare professionals, making it relatable.
- Play on Expectations: Like the original, it sets up a situation where a simple problem is solved with unnecessarily complex (and expensive) procedures.
Alternate joke playing on human diagnostics:
I went to the doctor the other day. He took one look at me, listened to my breathing, and said, "You have WebMD-itis."
"WebMD-itis? What’s that?" I asked.
"It’s a rare condition," he replied gravely, "where you think you have every disease known to mankind because you Googled your symptoms for five minutes."
"Is there a cure?" I asked, terrified.
"Yes," he said, "it’s called logging off." That will be $300, please.
Why it works:
- Relatability: Self-diagnosis using the internet is something that many people can identify with.
- Subversion of expectation: the cure to the disease is a very simple task that we are more than capable of doing.
- A modern twist on an old frustration. Expensive medical bills with simple solutions.
In essence, the goal is to take the core comedic elements – the unexpected solution, the absurd justification, and the underlying truth – and reapply them in a new, yet familiar, context.