A woman who was taking care of her aging father was growing weary of a bad habit he’d developed over the years. You see, he couldn’t say a sentence without including the word “damn” in it at least once, whether as an adjective, verb, or exclamation. One day she finally had enough and sent him to her therapist friend for help. The therapist, recognizing that while his patient was base in his language he was also somewhat clever, gave him a simple challenge: “Instead of cussing,” he suggested, “try telling a little joke instead.” While the old man thought the idea was ridiculous, something deep inside him entertained the notion on the way home. By the time he pulled into the driveway he decided he’d give it a shot. Upon entering the house he sat down to sup with his daughter who had prepared a delicious dinner of lamb chops with a side of baked bread and mashed potatoes.
After sitting in silence for a few minutes, the woman took a chance at conversation and asked her father how his appointment went. He thought a minute and then, rather than replying with his usual, “It was a damn waste of my damn time,” picked up a piece of the main course, used his hands to pretend to make it talk, and said “Not baaaaaaad.”
His daughter, dropping her fork in shock, asked him if he was feeling alright. Resisting the natural temptation to blurt out “I’m fine, damn it!” he instead reached for the yellow stick next to the bread plate, held it up to his mouth like a microphone, and answered, “Never been butter, Sweetie.”
The woman, now struck speechless, attempted to hide her bewilderment by keeping herself busy. Nervously she dished up some mashed potatoes for the man across the table who she thought, until only minutes before, was most certainly her foul-mouthed sire. But when she went to hand him the plate her trembling hands betrayed them both as she dumped the squishy mess all over his lap. In another universe the man whose legs were buried in hot saucy spuds might have shouted one simple “DAMNATION!!!” for all of heaven and earth to hear. But on this night the only utterance to be discerned in that place was a cheerful, “Good gravy! Oh, well. I was planning on having these trousers starched anyway, haha.” At that the woman collapsed on the floor and didn’t wake for some hours.
When she finally opened her eyes she found herself laying on the couch and was comforted to see that her therapist friend was there with her, holding her hand. Before she could say anything, he seemed to read her mind. “No, you’re not dreaming,” he assured her. “Strange things have happened tonight. And they will continue to happen. It may take some getting used to, but I think it will be for the better, ultimately.”
“But how,” she asked, “How will things be different?! What do you mean?!”
“What I mean…,” began the doctor, struggling to find both the right words and the right manner of saying them. Eventually he realized he must get straight to the point and declared his honest assessment of the situation.
“What I mean is that you’ll have puns puns puns now that Daddy put the d-word away.”
Forgiving Gollum 