Male bonding and acceptance ritual

One of the reasons I like to wash dishes is that I can let my mind wander while I scrub and stack.
Today I was remembering a time that I shared in a male bonding ritual. It's not a sacred or secret ritual, or anything like that, but it is one where all the males that participate let each other know in a subtle way that they are accepted in the pack. I'm talking, of course, about the Dirty Joke telling session.
For you ladies, I'll explain how it works. There have to be at least four males, but optimally about six or seven. They sit around a table or circle of chairs, drinking beverages, and they take turns telling dirty jokes. But not just any dirty joke is acceptable. They must be jokes that everybody at the table is likely to have heard a number of times. The idea is that as each joke is told, all the other men nod and pretend that they've never heard the joke before. A chuckle is considered very good form after each joke, and that is actually the device that expresses acceptance to the teller of the joke. Now, it's important to be present when the ritual begins, because if you join once it's under way, you run the risk of telling a joke that someone has just told. If you do, nobody can reasonably pretend to not have heard the joke, so you see the problem. Of course, it's your own risk, so nobody is going to object to having you join, but every man knows he is taking a chance, especially if the ritual has been well under way for some time.
So one day I found myself at a party - it was at A.S.'s house - and I was sitting at a table with H., C., J., and a couple of others I can't recall at the moment. And it started.
Now, I don't remember who actually told the first joke, but as the second joke began, I realized that I was in the middle of this moment, and therefore I was accepted in the tribe. I took note of the joke currently being told so I wouldn't repeat it, and began rummaging through my mind's knapsack of dirty jokes. Hmmm, there was a nice bundle of farmer's daughter jokes, but I decided to set them aside for later, in case somebody began running a string of those. Once somebody tells a farmer's daughter joke, it's mandatory that each participant tell one in turn. And the new guy should never tell the first one.
And J. began telling a joke. Now, I was not surprised that she would be accepted as an honorary guy, because she's one of those exceptional women who are feminine enough to be fun to look at, but earthy enough to be included in guy things. But now I had to be careful. I had to make sure the jokes were old enough that everyone had heard them, but not so old that dust flew off them when told. Wait - she was telling the one about the space alien that lands at the gas station and threatens the gas pump! Excellent choice - only about twenty years old, and it has a classic phallus metaphor, which has a nice punch coming from the female of the group. J. is good, you have to admit that.
Now C. makes his move. He starts with good form, wearing a dirty joke grin and a subtle sneer, but something is wrong. Oh, no, it's a new joke! Nobody has heard this one, and it gets a good laugh all around. At least it's funny - maybe he can get by with it. Or, it's possible that everyone has heard it but me. I am from another county, after all. But no - C. explains that his sister told it to him. That's a serious faux pas, admitting not only that it was a new joke, but that it was told to him by a female. There is a moment of awkward silence, as we consider what to do about it. H. saves the day. He ignores the mistake and plows right into the next joke. Everyone relaxes. And H., to my delight, is telling a farmer's daughter joke! I have mine ready, and tell it next. And C. makes up for his earlier error by following suit with a very good joke about a farmer's daughter that lives just down the road. It's a fairly young joke, but it's been aged just enough to be appropriate.
Now it's time to take it to the next level. I tell a joke in first person - you know, as if it really had happened to me. H. is on the ball, and follows suit with one of his own, told in first person. J. does the same, and it's almost like passing the ritual pipe on the midwestern plains as the sun sets.
And A. comes out to join us.
We all sit up a little straighter. Will he sit quietly, or will he risk it by telling a joke? It can be done, and I have done it, but you really want to have a joke that isn't likely to have been told yet. Something obscure, and forgettable. But no matter what you do, it's risky. It takes serious guts.
He begins his joke. And we all gasp in surprise. He's telling the same joke C. told earlier! There is no way we can pretend not to have heard it! Well, there is nothing to do for it - we have no choice but to laugh at him in total unrelenting scorn, and we must do it before he reaches the punch line. Poor A. He withers in humiliation.
Fortunately, the party is at his house, so according to the rules, he gets another chance to tell a joke and save himself, even if he is wearing nipple rings. And so he does, and we all laugh, and welcome him to the table.
By now, the ritual is over and has served its purpose, and so we down the last of our drinks, and begin shuffling politely to the door. I feel accepted and part of the group, and I go home knowing I am blessed to be part of this small west Texas family of theatre boys who never grew up and never will.


(The preceding is a work of fiction, based loosely on an actual event.)