research

[dragonlady7]

So a while back I posted either here or in one of the communities I freqent asking people to help me come up with a good joke to use in my novel.

At one point, the hero, a Norseman, tells a Dumb Saxon joke to another character, a Welshman: the one thing the two men have in common is that they hate the Saxons, so this is them sort of bonding.

But I couldn't come up with a good joke.

I didn't get many responses, so I'm looking again. I need a Dumb [Ethnicity] or Hated [Occupation] kind of joke. Preferably a short-ish story joke.

And it has to be able to be adapted to mid-10th-century technology.

Dave's plundering the Fortune files and has been wandering through Gopher a while. So below are the best results he's come up with so far. If nothing else, they've made me laugh.



These are the ones I've adapted so far.

This one was originally a Southerner vs. New Yorkers, with a little guy from the Bronx delivering the punchline.

A gigantic Saxon comes swaggering into a Danish feasting hall, looking for a fight. He sits down next to a Dane. "I'm big," he says, "and I'm bad, and I love to fuck Danish women!"
The Dane, disgusted, gets up and leaves.
The Saxon moves on to another man. "I'm big," he baosts, "and I'm bad, and I love to fuck your women!"
The second Dane, as disgusted as the first, gets up and leaves.
Feeling even braver, the Saxon gets up and comes to sit down beside a Norseman. "I'm big," he boasts, "and I'm bad, and I love to fuck your sister!"
The Norseman eyes him over his drink, gives him a look up and down, and says finally, "I don't blame you one bit. She's got to be an improvement on yours."

This one was a Texan moving to Alaska, with moonshine, grizzlies, and Eskimo women, and a bit less detail.

A big Saxon decided to try his luck in the Danelaw, and made his way on foot across the country until he reached York. He walked up to the city's guards and hailed them. "How do I become a resident of York?" he asked.
The guards looked him up and down, and one of them finally answered him. "Well," he said, "there are three things you have to do. First, drink a quart of our aquavit without blinking. Second, kill a wild boar. And third, fuck a Scottish woman."
"That's easy enough," the Saxon said.
"Oh, I don't think so," the guard said. "Our aquavit is pretty powerful, wild boars are savage, and Scottish women are frigid."
"Bah," the Saxon said, "I say those are all easy. Where do I get a quart of aquavit?"
"I have one right here," the guard answered.
The Saxon drank the whole thing at one draught, without a blink.
"So where can I find me a wild boar?" the Saxon asked.
The guard pointed. "In those woods, back in about a mile and a half, down by the stream, is a wallow where the boars go every day."
The Saxon lurched off drunkenly, and the guards snickered to each other.
But sure enough, about an hour later the Saxon came back, his clothes mostly torn off and his body a mess of scratches and welts. Still, he was grinning broadly.
"Now," he roared out, "where's that Scottish woman you want killed?"

This one took a stab at New Zealanders:

Rumor has it that the intrepid Saxons have finally discovered two new uses for sheep:
Meat and wool.

I couldn't immediately figure out how to adapt this one but it made me laugh, so here it is. It's an Irish joke but it's not so much anti-Irish as I don't know what.

Paddy is walking down the street one day when a man lurches out of the shadows and hails him. "Here, now, don't you know your old friend Mick?" the man asks, aggrieved. Mick is unrecognizable, covered in bandages and bruises.
"Why, Mick, it's you," Paddy says, astonished, "but were you hit by a train?"
"Ah, no," Mick says, "I was fucking Mrs. O'Reilly and O'Reilly himself came home early and didn't he beat the shit out of me."
"Couldn't you lay your hands on something to defend yourself?" Paddy asked.
"All I had my hands on was Mrs. O'Reilly's ass," Mick says, "which is a beautiful thing in and of itself but not worth a damn in a fight."

Any more suggestions?

This one, I can't adapt at all as it's a very specific quote but it made me laugh quite hard.

In any world menu, Canada must be considered the vichyssoise of nations --
it's cold, half-French, and difficult to stir.
-- Stuart Keate

Comments

[mother2012.livejournal.com]

I think what you have works really well. I personally never remember jokes, so can't contribute.

[reverend-dave.livejournal.com]

I suppose you can't use any variation on "How many Saxons does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

[dragonlady7.livejournal.com]

I don't know what the punchline would be.

[reverend-dave.livejournal.com]

Considering the time-period of your novel, I guess the answer would be "What's a light bulb?" followed by decaptiation and spirited dancing?