I'm so disappointed, I forgot how to spell!

A few weeks ago, I told Other a joke I'd heard that started, "How many surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"* He was talking to a woman at his work who he's kind of buddies with, and she mentioned going to an art museum with her arty friends. Seeing the best opening one could ever hope for to tell this joke, he asked her how many surrealists it takes to screw in a lightbulb. She found the joke unamusing, and walked off in something of a huff.

We were thinking about this, and agreed that we embrace self-deprecation when it comes to writing and studying literature in a way that probably not everyone does when it comes to their own fields. So we came up with a few jokes to tell her about the writing life.

Other: We should have one that plays on outdated media.

Me: Okay, so, how many writers does it take to turn a novel into a screen play?

Other: I don't know, how many?

Me: What's a novel?

--and--

Other: How long does it take a writer to finish a novel?

Me: I don't know, how long?

Other: I don't know either, let's ask the waiter when he comes back.




*fish.