The Elf Joke

For some years now - three or four at the very least - I have had a weapon of unquestionable power that I can wield whenever I choose. Readers, I've given you a number of useful tools over the months I've had this blog. Peanut can hardly go a day without someone coming up to her and going 'Tubes!'. In fact, someone even wrote it on her locker in whiteout. I doubt Giuseppe will ever truly be able to escape the anchovy/artichoke incident (Anchovygate?), especially now that she has a job in a fruit and vegetable shop. Whenever Shoelace tries to convince us that she isn't, in fact, as gullible as we think, we merely have to look at her with a steely eye and say 'So, Shoelace, how did you get that scar? Attacked by a tuna fish, were you?' And Marie-Clare is now known to the whole of Year 10 - in fact, I wouldn't be surprised to find out it was the whole school by now - as 'that girl who's obsessed with 25', although that's less down to the blog and more down to the fact that everyone knows she spends lunchtime trying to spy on him.

The point that I'm trying to get across here is that while I've imparted a number of useful secrets in my time, the one I'm giving you now - a free gift, if you will, for putting up with this blog for so long - outdoes them all. And the beauty of it is in the pure simplicity of it. For, friends, this isn't an embarrassing anecdote, complicated code word, or flagrant obsession.

It's a joke.

And not just any joke.

It's THE joke.

It's not the funniest joke ever told. That honour has to be given to this joke.

I have a long-held conviction that the joke they're talking about is, in fact, the joke that is my secret weapon. It wouldn't surprise me to discover it went back that far.

But I truly believe that, notwithstanding the video above, the joke I'm talking about has the most power of any ever told on this planet.

I first heard it from a cousin of mine, Salamander, several years ago. I've heard it from her two and a half times in total. The first time, I'm not sure I realised quite how much power the joke had. I remember thinking it was quite funny, even if it did seem to go for an excessively long time. The second time (a year or so later, she didn't just sit down and tell it to me two and a half times in a row) she couldn't get it out, she was laughing so hard. I had to tell the ending for her. The third time I think I realised exactly what this joke could do when she was forced to stop at the third house (read the joke, you'll understand which point I mean) due to time restrictions. After twenty-five minutes of joke-telling.

The odds are that if you're reading this, I've already told you this joke. I've certainly told it to most people I know. The first person I told it to was Gwen. Now, if I so much as get halfway through the first line of it, she runs away. It's the same with Chinny. I admit that I tend to be prone to exaggeration when writing. This isn't exaggeration. I only need to say 'So, there's a man who lives in a big house . . .' for her to make her escape. The only thing I've found to be more effective against Gwen is to start recounting Tony Slattery's life story ('Born on the 9th of November 1959 to Irish immigrants . . .' usually does the trick, if you want to give it a go). But that's less practical. Very few people will want to stop and listen when you say 'So, can I tell you about an obscure British comedian?', while they're more likely to hang around for a joke.

Peanut sees this joke as my secret weapon, and has asserted that it could cause serious damage if listened to too frequently. Or, indeed, listened to at all.

I don't doubt that most of you will by now have realised what joke I'm referring to, and a good half of you will probably have stopped reading by now. You may have worked it out from all the references I've been giving it. Or possibly because the name of it is in the title. Subtle things like that. But if you don't know what joke it is, well, that's the reason I'm writing it up here. It's time this joke was in the public domain. For a start, once certain people have realised I have devoted a good two thousand words to the discussion and telling of this joke, my life may be in considerable danger.

And so, to the few members of the audience left after that extremely long introduction, I bequeath my secret weapon, to be used as and when the time is right (in my experience, during an awkward pause in a conversation is generally a good time to tell it). I present to you this joke, known only as:

THE ELF JOKE

© Salamander & Leslie M. Harper

WARNING: May cause motion sickness if not read with appropriate safety equipment.

So, there's this man who lives in a big house. A mansion, in fact. He's got a full staff of servants to tend to his every whim, the walls are plated with gold, and he has a television half the size of a movie screen in his living room.

One rainy night he's sitting at home, watching TV and drinking hand-ground coffee from a cup carved out of diamond when he hears this knock on the door. He assumes his butler has answered it, and stays sitting in front of the television. However, a couple of minutes later there's another knock on the door. This time the man gets up, walks down to the front door, and opens it. He looks around but can't see anybody there. So he goes back up to the living room and turns the television back on. Just as he's beginning to forget about the mysterious knocking, though it happens again. So he goes back to the front door, opens it, and this time he looks down. Standing there is an elf, shivering and dripping wet after being out in the rain. The elf looks up at the man and goes 'I'm sorry to have disturbed you, but it's freezing out here, and I don't have anywhere to go. Can I stay with you for the night? I promise I'll be on my way in the morning.'

So the man thinks about it, and he can't think of any reason as to why the elf can't stay - after all, he's got a giant house, and lots of empty rooms - so he agrees. He invites the elf in, calls the butler to bring him a cup of coffee, and then he and the elf sit together in front of the television for a while. After some time, the man decides it's time to go to bed, so he directs the elf to one of his nicest spare rooms, with silk curtains and a door made of solid silver, and then heads up to bed himself.

At about midnight, the man wakes up. He is shocked to realise that his whole house is on fire. He quickly grabs his dressing gown and runs outside. Then he remembers the elf, runs back in, grabs the elf, and runs outside again. The man quickly calls the fire brigade, and then stands there watching his house burn down, the gold-plated walls melting and the rooms collapsing, one by one. By the time the fire brigade arrives he remembers the elf again, and looks around to see if he's all right. However, the elf is gone.

So it's a couple of years later and the same man is living in a slightly smaller house. It's still nice, of course, but his insurance couldn't pay for everything. He's got a wide-screen TV but not a massive one, a single servant instead of a whole staff, and diamond coffee-cups are a thing of the past. He's sitting in the living room one night, drinking a cup of coffee out of a porcelain mug and listening to the hail outside, when he hears this knock on the door. His servant's gone home for the night so he has to answer it himself. So he does, and, looking down, he sees this elf standing there. The elf looks sadly up at him and goes 'Look, it's hailing, I'm cold, I'm wet, I don't have anywhere to go, can I please stay with you for the night?'

So the man thinks about it, remembers that he has a spare room, and agrees. He and the elf sit chatting in front of the wide-screen TV for a bit, then they both go up to bed.

In the middle of the night the man wakes up uncomfortably hot. He is horrified to realise that, once again, his house is on fire. He rushes outside, remembers the elf, goes back in to rescue the elf, and rushes outside again. He calls the fire brigade, hoping that they'll be there in time to save his house. When they arrive, he looks around to see where the elf's got to, but the elf is gone.

So it's a couple of years later and the man has had to downsize once again, this time to a normal house. He doesn't have any servants, but he's managing to live quite comfortably. One night during a thunderstorm, while he's sitting at home drinking a cup of instant coffee in front of his regular-sized television, he hears this knock on the door. So he goes outside, and there's this elf standing there. The elf is clearly soaked through, and he looks up at the man and goes 'I'm freezing. I've been stuck out in this storm for hours. Please, can I come in and stay the night? I promise I'll be on my way in the morning.'

The man doesn't have a spare room, but he decides that the elf can sleep on the couch. So he lets the elf in, they have a nice chat, they share some instant coffee, and then they both go to bed, the man to his bedroom, the elf to his couch.

So the man wakes up in the middle of the night and knows that something is wrong. He can't figure out what it is . . . until he looks around and realises that his house is on fire. So he runs downstairs, passing the elf on his couch on the way out. He grabs the elf, rushes outside, and they both stand together, looking at the ruin of his house. The man calls the fire brigade. By the time they arrive, however, once again, the elf is gone.

So it's a couple of years later and the man has been forced to settle into a tiny two-roomed house on the outskirts of town. He doesn't have a television, but he does have a radio to listen to. He sleeps on a couch because he hasn't been able to afford a bed. He doesn't make coffee anymore, he has to buy it on the way home from work.

One night it's snowing, and the man is sitting indoors, listening to his radio, when he hears this knock on the door. He opens it and looks down to discover this elf standing there, covered in snow. The elf goes 'Look, friend, I'm absolutely freezing. If you don't let me in and let me stay the night, I think I'm going to die of cold.'

So the man considers it - he has no spare rooms, and only the one couch, so the elf would have to sleep on the floor. The elf assures him that this is fine, and so he comes in, they listen to the radio for a bit, and then both go to sleep.

The man wakes up in the middle of the night and realises that his house his own fire. He races for the door, nearly tripping over the elf on his way out. He grabs the elf, drags him outside, and they both stand on the pavement to watch the house burn to the ground. The man doesn't have a telephone, he can't afford one anymore, but luckily someone else calls the fire brigade, and they arrive within a matter of minutes. When the man looks around, though, the elf is gone.

So it's a couple of years later and the man is living on the streets. He has no television but what he can see through people's windows. Every night he climbs into a cardboard box and tries his best to sleep, even though it's always bitterly cold. One night, a colder night than most, he's nearly drifted off when he hears this knock coming from the side of his box. He looks down to see this elf standing there. The elf goes 'It's freezing. Can I share your box for the night, please?'

So the man is a little dubious, but he remembers what it was like to freeze on the streets before he'd found his box, and so he lets the elf in and they go off to sleep together. In the middle of the night, the man wakes up suddenly to realise that his box is on fire. He grabs the elf, pulls him out of the box, and they both stand there and watch it burn. The man is, by this point, a little suspicious. He turns and looks at the elf, so he can't sneak off like all the other times, and goes 'Look, we've known each other for a long time now, you and me.'

The elf agrees. The man goes on. 'I don't want to offend you, but I just have to ask you. Every time you've come to stay with me for the past ten years, my house has burnt down. Tell me, did you have anything to do with it?'

The elf stands there, looking guilty. Eventually he looks up and goes 'Yep.'