Book Review: Jokes For All Occasions
Bennett Cerf's 1956 pocketbook of pleasantries still holds up today
Browsing Nanaimo’s Arbutus Used Books is a scavenger hunt of dust, damp boxes, and aisles choked with toppling stacks of obscurities. So when I happened upon this 1956 joke collection in the humour section (tucked between Herman Classics: Volume 5 and Dave Barry’s Boogers Are My Beat), I took it as a sign from the comedy gods that it was waiting there, just for me.
I was to attend a dinner party that very night, and was rattled about my table repartee. What witticisms and waggery would I contribute?
“Bennett Cerf to the rescue!” I exclaimed. His wellspring of humour provided me with over 700 jokes to curate my conversation with quips of the finest variety. And as the nifty cover promises, not only does the book fit handsomely into my vest pocket, it truly fits every occasion I require.
Benett Cerf’s Vest Book of Jokes for all Occasions is a treasure trove of modern topics and situational giggles. Subject matter includes: Salesmen, Indians, Courtship, Jewish Stories, Lady Drivers, Campus Wit, Barbers, Banquets, Railroads, Horses, Negro Stories, and Candy.
One might contest, “are not some of these categories a bit risque? Bennett Cerf doesn’t think so, but he does address ‘tact’ in appropriate settings (what we now call “reading the room”) in the Vest Book’s appendix:
“Don’t tell your stories at the wrong places. A quip that convulsed the boys in the club car can fall awfully flat at Mrs. Waxelbaum’s tea for the bishop.”
Cerf certainly knows what he’s talking about—he was born two centuries ago in 1898, for god’s sake, so he brings a world of experience to the lexicon of laughter. A regular on the CBS quiz show What’s My Line? in the 1950s and 60s, and author of over 20 books of humour, Cerf also has the distinction of co-founding Random House Publishing. I have him to thank for many of the book spines that colour my shelves.
For the quickly approaching guestmeal, I crammed Cerf’s masterclass of joke-telling in front of the bathroom mirror. Razor in one hand, Vest Pocket Book of Jokes for all Occasions in the other.
On Girls:
Voice on the phone: Is this the Salvation Army?
Answer: Yes, it is.
Voice: Is it true that you save young girls?
Answer: Yes, it is.
Voice: Well, please save me one for Saturday Night.
On The South:
A draftee from Detroit came home from a camp way down South for his first weekend leave. “That Southern drawl is right up my alley,” he reported with delight. “You ask an Alabama gal to kiss you, and before she can say no, it’s too late.”
On Bridge:
“Will you tell me,” rasped an outraged wife. “How you could make a bid of three no-trump when I was sitting there with all four aces and a king in my hand?” “If you must know,” admitted the husband sheepishly, “I bid on three queens, two jacks, and four highballs.”
I know. Next level stuff.
I continued to loosely memorize other wisecracks about Florida, Florists, Booze, Beggars, and The Atomic Age. If it was difficult to keep my own self from snickering, this material was bound to make the chaps and their consorts double over at dinner.
With a spring in my step, I dressed for the dinner party, reciting each rib-tickler under my breath. I donned my vest—the inside pocket tailor-made for Cerf’s Vest Pocket Book of Jokes. I was now armed with topical shtick to segue into every occasion for the fete. I walked out my door, confident I was about to kill with comedy gold.