As you see it, the best you could hope for, going forward in life, is for your wedding, should you ever have one, not to suck quite as much as your cousin’s. That, and, hopefully you’d remember to wear slightly less uncomfortable shoes to the next one, be it yours or someone else’s. Also,
“Ung. Thirsty,” you whine.
“then go get you somethin’ to drink,” says Sans, slumped over in his chair, bowtie disheveled and sweat dotting his collar.
“But it’s so far,” you whine again, but knowing how annoying you sound, even to yourself, just makes you feel like whining more. It’s the heat. “Come keep me entertained while I wait in line?” you plead.
At this, he opens a single eyelid.
“dealer’s choice?” he asks, sounding markedly less lethargic than only seconds ago.
“Yeah, just come with me. It’ll help me keep my mind off of my feet and all the electrolytes I’m losing.”
“alright,” he says, too agreeably, swinging his legs down off the chair he’d been resting his feet in.
You plod across the grass together to stand behind other people waiting on refreshments, and he begins:
“a skeleton walks into a barber shop.”
“Oh, god,” you say, “why do I get the feeling you’ve actually done this?”
He clears his throat.
“Sorry. Continue.”
“so a skeleton walks into a barber shop. goes up to one of the chairs, sits down, spins toward the mirror. says, ‘ok, fix me up.’ now the barber, he’s- he’s totally in the fuckin’ weeds with this guy, but he’s not about to shoo away a payin’ customer, right? so he says, ‘ok, how do you want it?’ hopin’ the guy’ll give him a hint, somethin’ to work with. skeleton says, ‘just go nuts, gimme the works,’ y’know? so the barber goes and gets a hot towel, leans the skeleton waaay back, and puts it on his face. he goes, ‘aaaaahhh, that’s real nice, thanks.’”
“the barber starts mixing up the uh, you know, the shaving soap? in a bowl? and moves the towel to the top of his head so he can start spreading the soap around on his face. skeleton goes, ‘yeah, nice. nice’ as he’s doin’ it. Then the barber brings out his razor. the skeleton goes, ‘hey man, what the hell are you doin’ with that thing? i clearly ain’t got a beard to shave.’ y’know, like- ‘come on.’ barber apologizes and takes the towel off his head and starts latherin’ up the top of his head. once he finishes that, though, he starts lookin’ kinda nervous ‘cuz he clearly doesn’t have a clue what’s supposed to come next.”
“Sans?” you interrupt, “How long is this joke, exactly?”
“long enough,” he says. “dealer’s choice, remember?”
He clears his throat once more, pointedly.
“anyway, he goes in his drawer and gets his scissors, kinda shyly turns around with them. guy just shakes his head. barber turns around and gets his electric clippers. guy shakes his head again. barber says, ‘uh, okay then,’ and takes him to the sink to wash off all the soap. they wash off the soap, wipe his face an’ all that. the barber offers him some nice moisturizer and aftershave, and he gets that, looks in the mirror, smiles like he likes what he sees, and thanks the barber. says ‘how much do i owe ya?’”
“the barber thinks about it for a minute. the whole thing didn’t really take all that long, and didn’t really use any of his skills, so he’s really just tryin’ to figure out how much his time and a little product is worth to him. He says, ‘five dollars.’ the skeleton hands him a twenty, tells him to keep the tip, and leaves. the barber just writes it off as a fluke and goes on about his business.”
“until the next week. the skeleton comes in again, same day of the week, same time. says, “ok, fix me up.” and the barber does the exact same stuff as the last time: hot towel on the face and head, soap on the face and head, no shave, no haircut, wash it off, moisturizer and aftershave. says, ‘still five bucks?’ barber says sure. skeleton hands him another twenty and leaves.”
“he comes again, the next week an’ the week after that, an’ the week after that, an’ so on an’ so forth. they become buddies. the barber starts lookin’ forward to it, cuz frankly it’s the easiest money he makes all week. he starts tellin’ his friends about ‘im, this crazy son of a bitch who comes in every week just wantin’ a hot towel, some soap and some aftershave and pays him quadruple in tips for it. he thinks it’s a hoot. anyway, one day, san- uh, the skeleton, he doesn’t come in. the barber’s checkin’ his watch, but nothin’. all the way to the end of the day. he’s not too broken up about it, he’s got plenty of regulars, but still, he’s curious.”
“anyway, the next week, the skeleton comes in on his regular day and time, and hops into the chair, spins around, and says, ‘ok, fix me up’. the barber’s hands are shakin’ as he puts the hot towel on his face, he’s never seen anything like this before. the skeleton’s got this beautiful, luxurious ginger hair, all the way down to the floor, and a beard to match it. like i mean, shampoo commercial, zoom in close to see the ‘proteins’ working, flippin’ it all around, kinda beautiful hair. and he grew it in the span of two weeks or maybe less.”
“well, he kinda shakes himself out of it, figures the guy’s playing some kinda prank on him, so he tugs on some of it, see if it’s glued on or something. the skeleton says, ‘ouch, hey man, what’s the idea?’ the barber takes a step back, totally in awe. it’s real hair, alright. he says, ‘how? how’d you- this isn’t possible.’ he says, ‘i started takin’ some new vitamins.’”
As he says this, you’ve reached the refreshment table. He grabs himself a plastic cup and ladles himself a drink, and one for you. He presses it into your hand with a wide grin.
“Okay?” you say, clearly not getting the joke.
“oh, you’re waitin’ for the end of the joke, huh? well, kid, we’re in it.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
“or didja forget? this was the punch line.”
His satisfied grin remains in place all the way back to your table. It’s suspicious.
“Okay,” you finally say, “what is it?”
He leans forward, elbows on the table and fingers steepled together.
“you’re probably wonderin’ what the skeleton in the barber shop had to do with anything.”
“i was not, but you clearly want to tell me, anyway, so.”
“well, i’ll let you in on a little trade secret: sometimes,” he says, leaning in conspiratorially, “the trick to timing a good joke is to throw in a pretty long red hairing.”
Dream I had of Sans. We were falling through the night sky and the scene was just so pretty and beautiful, I couldn’t get the picture out of my head for days.
And Sometimes a Potato 