My co-worker seriously started a story like this the other day:

“My cousin Vinny…”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I rudely interrupted.  “You have a cousin named Vinny?”  She nodded her head and continued her story.

 

Later, a group of us discussed our high school teachers and how we only remember the naughty ones.  You know, the ones that did something memorably bad.

Her story started like this, “I remember my high school science teacher.  He was arrested for cooking meth and having students sell it.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I rudely interrupted.  “Your high school teacher cooked meth and had students sell it?  Was his name Walter White, by chance?”

Hmm.  I’m starting to notice a pattern here.

I asked her if she also used to live across the hall from a room full of nerds

 

 

this, of course, was after her mishap in space,

 

 

but before her ship was taken over by Somalia pirates.

 

 

 

Now, in her spare time, she is a homicide detective teamed with a popular, arrogant writer.

 

Yeah, she didn’t get it either.

But  I don’t need the laughter to know I’m funny.