I'm halfway to becoming a stand up comic: Get on your feet and head over to the Museum of Comedy!

 "You know where we should go..." my friend Geri mused one day. I immediately stopped what I was doing. Geri always chooses the best places to go. "Where?" I asked, already picturing my home calendar to start setting a date. "The Museum of Comedy," Geri said. 

Cue up trombone sound effect.

Wah-wah-waaahhhh..... 

Epic fail, Ger. Drive ALL the way to Jamestown to look at hand buzzers and rubber noses? Puh-leeze.

But, a week later, I found myself strapping on my clown shoes and heading off to Lucille Ball's hometown with Geri and Katriel. If The Museum of Comedy was a bust, maybe we could head over to the Lucy Museum. I know for a fact that it's a grape-stomping good time over there. We didn't have to drive too far for laughs. Geri's "Caravan of comedy" provided plenty of entertainment as I admired her moon roof. "Oh," she exclaimed, looking up, "I didn't know that was there." Not a fan of GPS, Geri pulled out an artifact that none of our 4th graders would have been able to recognize:  A road atlas. We were on the wrong page but, fortunately, we were on the right road.

I was a tad trepidatious when, upon purchasing our tickets, staff members wrestled us into interactive wristbands and then ushered us over to computer kiosks to determine our comedic profiles. I alternated bending at the waist and semi-squatting as I reluctantly made my screen selections. "What...do they think we're all three feet tall?" I hissed at Katriel who, of course, flew through the survey and was now trying to help me. "You chose a handi-capable kiosk," Katriel informed me, grabbing my wristband in some sort of mystical judo move to log me out. According to the analysis, I have the humor of a nine-year-old boy. What a shock.

We entered the museum and I squealed with happiness. "The Puffy Shirt!" I yelled, racing to the display and demanding that my picture IMMEDIATELY be taken with this iconic Seinfeld artifact.

I read, with delight, Andy Kaufman's quirky formal letter to Elvis expressing his desire to chauffeur the King of Rock & Roll around town. I lounged on sofas to watch a myriad of comedic movies, interviews, and memorable moments. I made memes. I performed comedic karaoke. I was transported back in time to "Charlie the Unicorn," my laughter at the inappropriate but hysterical viral sensation proving my comedy profile more than accurate. With a green screen at our backs, we took turns leaping into TV shows and movies. Geri and I sat at the fast-moving chocolate conveyer belt to desperately make our quota. Katriel side-dove away from an explosion.

But all that paled in comparison to "The Blue Room."

Warning signs...everywhere.

A separate elevator.

A fobbed entrance linked to your wristband.

Now...y'all know I love the salty language. But when those doors slid open, I encountered a wall of profanity of which I was NOT emotionally prepared. I may have fanned myself like one of those sweet old ladies with their lace hankies in a sweltering hot Southern church. Oh dear. 

Well...we were in it now. 

We were adults, for goodness sakes. We could handle this.

I appreciate the idea of "pushing the boundaries of language." I support taking control of derogatory labels to direct the narrative away from hatred and ignorance. I am grateful for the First Amendment.

But, oh my. 

Geri was ensconced at a little display, headphones on, giggling at a Celebrity Roast. Katriel was in the vicinity trying to look like she regularly dropped four-letter words (and failing miserably). I was inspecting the wall. With dozens of hinged shutters arranged like framed pieces of art. Hmmmm. No sign said "Drink me." No sign read "Eat me." But still...like Alice, I felt compelled to open a portal INTO THE FILTHIEST QUOTED COMMENT THAT I HAVE EVER READ IN MY WHOLE LIFE. I slammed the little door shut and shouted at Katriel, "DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR!" Startled, she looked at me. I could read her mind as she reached forward in slow motion..."How bad could it possibly be?" SLAM! She whirled around and shouted at Geri, "DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR!"

Sigh.

Geri and Katriel had to drag me away from Lenny Bruce's display of extensive writings. I am not a big fan...he is too cerebral for me (I think). But boy, did that man possess incredible self-editing skills. He was ruthless with his own words...heartlessly chopping out pages and paragraphs of his own material. Cutting away the gristle and fat...getting right to the bone. I do not possess such self-discriminating skills.

As we moved towards the exit, we encountered the reverse side of the entrance wall and were horrified to see that, like many amusement park rides, a bank of monitors displaying photographs had captured us at "just the right moment," chronicling our horror at the expletives that adorned the partition. We immediately marched back out the automated doors for a second, third, and fourth take to make up for the initial "stick up our asses" experience. I'm not sure we caught the cool vibe we were trying to throw down as we were giggling too hard but at least we attempted to un-prude our reactions to the rude language. Truth be told, that Blue Room sure made my face turn red.

Long story not-so-short, the Museum of Comedy was delightful! 

Not a giant fan of naughty jokes, I will, nonetheless, share two...only because they made me giggle.

Why can't you hear rabbits making love?

Because they have cotton balls.

Why did the squirrel swim on his back?

To keep his nuts dry.