All Fake, posted by Byron J
Prompt: So the other night I got locked in the closet with Bill Cosby.
It’s not a walk-in closet; so don’t get all “well how bad can it really be?” It’s pretty much the size of a large refrigerator box. Picturing it? Good. Because, contrary to popular belief, Bill Cosby is not very funny. Especially when he is freaking his shit out in a dark closet that smells like a locker room from the previously stored sweaty shoes and an old resale shop—you know, musty. And it smells like Stetson. Bill Cosby is totally wearing Stetson.
“Bill. Dude. I’m begging you to stop trying to kick down the door. Someone will come to look at the house and find us. Tell some jokes… that will make you feel better.”
“Now-a-Byronnnnn,” Bill says, “Byronnnn, I’m… I’m a gonna tella somethinnnng that a… that a you might not like.”
Yes, He does talk like those Pudding Pop commercials—which I had always adored as a kid. I mean Bill is so good with his voice and the whole “Pudding Pops in the sleeping bag!” COME ON! Classic! From where I’m sitting, the very dark corner, I can only faintly see the shape of Bill lifting his leg. His shadow looking like an old Ninja karate chopping at the large wood door.
“What is it Bill?” I ask chewing on my nails. It’s what I do when I’m nervous… and apparently locked in a closet with a former television star. Becoming his realtor probably wasn’t the best idea… but after a few martinis with him at his Cosby show reunion I was a guest at and, you know, being a good liar… things happen. Things like pretending you are a realtor so you can tell this funny story to your children one day (who will most likely not know or care who Bill Cosby is) and then showing Bill the closet that you didn’t really know would accidentally lock from the inside.
“I, ummmm, well, ummmm, I’m actually not able to tell jokesBill says will his voice cracking. He has stopped kicking the door. “I’m uhhhh, I’m actually not able to tell jokes.”
“Bill. What are you saying?”
“I, uh, don’t write ‘em.”
“What?” I mean… I’m shocked. I could hear Bill trying to sit down in the dark. I imagined his old man body folding in—knees to his chest as he starts to talk.
“You know Ruddddddd-yyyyyyyy, that-a girl from the Cos-by show?”
“Yup.”
“She wrote everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yesss sirrrrr.”
I can hear Bill softly breathing. I sigh. I mean what do you say to someone who you never thought was that funny(besides the Pudding Pops! Come on! Classic!) in the first place that it’s OK not to be funny when you’ve been making money off a former child star that’s probably fat and eats boxes of Twinkies or shoots up to get through the pain of failure.
You say this: “Well, Bill, suck it up. We’ve got time… tell me a joke.”
Bill gasps. Literally inhales air like it’s going out of style.
“Byronnnnnn, I can’t do that. I just…”
“Do it… do it, Bill. Do it for little Rudy.” I say this as if I really care if this guy is funny. I don’t really. I mean, I used to watch the show… and it was funny… and now that I am thinking about it… Rudy with her bad girl rolling eye attitude was pretty damn funny. Speaking of eyes, mine are adjusting more to the dark and I can see the outline of Bill’s mouth when he starts to stammer out:
“So… a guy walks in to a bar…”
“No Bill… those are never funny.”
“Oh… ahhh… Knock KNOCK…” Bill says with a second attempt.
“No.”
“So a Catholic Priest…”
“NO!” My foot is starting to fall asleep and so is my patience. Bill Cosby… folks, Bill Cosby is NOT funny!
“Why did the chicken…”
“BILL!”
“Byronnnnnnnnnn, I can’t do this.”
Just like J-E-L-L-O, Bill Cosby is all fake.
It’s not a walk-in closet; so don’t get all “well how bad can it really be?” It’s pretty much the size of a large refrigerator box. Picturing it? Good. Because, contrary to popular belief, Bill Cosby is not very funny. Especially when he is freaking his shit out in a dark closet that smells like a locker room from the previously stored sweaty shoes and an old resale shop—you know, musty. And it smells like Stetson. Bill Cosby is totally wearing Stetson.
“Bill. Dude. I’m begging you to stop trying to kick down the door. Someone will come to look at the house and find us. Tell some jokes… that will make you feel better.”
“Now-a-Byronnnnn,” Bill says, “Byronnnn, I’m… I’m a gonna tella somethinnnng that a… that a you might not like.”
Yes, He does talk like those Pudding Pop commercials—which I had always adored as a kid. I mean Bill is so good with his voice and the whole “Pudding Pops in the sleeping bag!” COME ON! Classic! From where I’m sitting, the very dark corner, I can only faintly see the shape of Bill lifting his leg. His shadow looking like an old Ninja karate chopping at the large wood door.
“What is it Bill?” I ask chewing on my nails. It’s what I do when I’m nervous… and apparently locked in a closet with a former television star. Becoming his realtor probably wasn’t the best idea… but after a few martinis with him at his Cosby show reunion I was a guest at and, you know, being a good liar… things happen. Things like pretending you are a realtor so you can tell this funny story to your children one day (who will most likely not know or care who Bill Cosby is) and then showing Bill the closet that you didn’t really know would accidentally lock from the inside.
“I, ummmm, well, ummmm, I’m actually not able to tell jokesBill says will his voice cracking. He has stopped kicking the door. “I’m uhhhh, I’m actually not able to tell jokes.”
“Bill. What are you saying?”
“I, uh, don’t write ‘em.”
“What?” I mean… I’m shocked. I could hear Bill trying to sit down in the dark. I imagined his old man body folding in—knees to his chest as he starts to talk.
“You know Ruddddddd-yyyyyyyy, that-a girl from the Cos-by show?”
“Yup.”
“She wrote everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yesss sirrrrr.”
I can hear Bill softly breathing. I sigh. I mean what do you say to someone who you never thought was that funny(besides the Pudding Pops! Come on! Classic!) in the first place that it’s OK not to be funny when you’ve been making money off a former child star that’s probably fat and eats boxes of Twinkies or shoots up to get through the pain of failure.
You say this: “Well, Bill, suck it up. We’ve got time… tell me a joke.”
Bill gasps. Literally inhales air like it’s going out of style.
“Byronnnnnn, I can’t do that. I just…”
“Do it… do it, Bill. Do it for little Rudy.” I say this as if I really care if this guy is funny. I don’t really. I mean, I used to watch the show… and it was funny… and now that I am thinking about it… Rudy with her bad girl rolling eye attitude was pretty damn funny. Speaking of eyes, mine are adjusting more to the dark and I can see the outline of Bill’s mouth when he starts to stammer out:
“So… a guy walks in to a bar…”
“No Bill… those are never funny.”
“Oh… ahhh… Knock KNOCK…” Bill says with a second attempt.
“No.”
“So a Catholic Priest…”
“NO!” My foot is starting to fall asleep and so is my patience. Bill Cosby… folks, Bill Cosby is NOT funny!
“Why did the chicken…”
“BILL!”
“Byronnnnnnnnnn, I can’t do this.”
Just like J-E-L-L-O, Bill Cosby is all fake.
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