Jewish Humor in the Bathroom

Yep. Humor. Jewish. In the bathroom. But it's not what you think. At least, it's probably not. For one thing, I'm not Jewish (though my wife is half). But this just had to be shared. Tonight. Or rather, this morning--it being 3:10 a.m. at the moment.

Normally, this is cool-down time, the last half hour on the computer. It's normally reserved for things like a few games of relatively mindless solitaire or maybe some low-intensity Internet Checkers.

Not work.

So...why am I punishing myself, writing on the topic of Jewish humor in the bathroom?

Well...it happened like this, see....

Some weeks back, I came into the possession of a Playboy magazine. Now, I don't subscribe to Playboy, in part because it seems like a dumb way to spend money I don't have to spare. Additionally (and perhaps most importantly), the centerfold Playmates never seem to do a thing for me. No idea why not. Too airbrushed, maybe. Or I think I could do a better job with the camera.

Whatever.

But I don't turn down free stuff, either.

Wait a minute. I did say I wasn't Jewish, right? Right. Maybe Pam's half is rubbing off on me a little.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Free stuff. Playboy. I was at the Post Office, just picking up mail. The Playboy magazine was just lying there on the counter, left behind by someone who either agreed with me on the ugly girls therein or didn't dare take the thing home to his wife.

Free stuff.

Okay, so, to show you I'm not fooling around here, and to set up the Hub's punchline for later on down the page, here's a photo of the moderately prurient publication in question. Cropped, of course, so the censors don't have a hissy-fit.

Here's the bathroom part: That's where I do a fair amount of my best reading. At least one book is always within reach, pleasant company when the king is on his throne. At the moment, there are two books (Sarah Palin's America By Heart and a fantasy novel) plus the Playboy mag in residence.

I had to go. Duh, been drinking coffee for hours at the keyboard, doncha know.

Got settled in. Shined my flashlight--the only light available in that room at this point in time--on the available reading material...and started laughing.

On the inside.

Didn't dare giggle, chortle, or guffaw aloud. Not with my wife asleep in her room. There's only one wall between our two mirror-image bed-and-bath combos, and while it's a sturdy thing (I built it), it's not exactly soundproof.

One of the books happened to be lying partially atop the Playboy, obscuring most of the thing.

Here is what was left showing.

Jewish humor in the bathroom.