I found them in the op-shop, sitting in a corner turning the pages of a huge book. They were sharing the joys of this book and happy in each other’s company. We exchanged greetings and I left them to their animated chatter.
They are my neighbours , an extraordinarily quaint old couple who I think may have been married for forever and a day. I find their gentle company comforting and I smile to see the warmth and respect they have for each other. They have an almost antique charm, a rare quality seemingly unaffected by their long journey through life together, and oblivious to the madness of today’s world.
Their lives are simple, pleasant and humble. They love their garden, their books and their cat.
Every few months they discuss the fate of the huge frangipani outside their front door. They stand together gazing upwards, nodding and nattering to each other, smiling then frowning. A decision must be made to cut some branches off –it is getting too big. Then they go back inside to think about it.
Another six months passes by and there they are again, standing in front of it, pointing and doing imaginary cuts with their hands. I sometimes wonder if they have short term memory loss and have forgotten that they discuss the fate of this beautiful tree at such regular intervals ? Meanwhile the tree gets more magnificent every year.
I will miss them when they are gone; I will miss their quaintness, their quiet ways, and their love for the frangipani.
Manne rushed in through the side door of the pub. He was breathless. From exercise and other things.
“Mr Merv. Mr Merv” he gasped. It was unlike Manne to get excited about anything and Merv was going to exhort him to calm down, but since Merv had no clues as to the process of exhortation, he motioned for Manne to sit down next to Foodge at the bar and he poured Manne a limp Pink Drink and acknowledging Foodge’s “I’m parched” pantomine, Merv filled a Glass Canoe to capacity and placed it with some delicacy on the unfamiliar coaster that had appeared on the bar.
Catching his breath in his right hand and extinguishing his thirst with the contents of his umbrella-adorned Pink, Manne went on to demolish the fruit and keep his tendency to vitamin deficiency at bay.
“Ahem” said Merv. “Now that we’ve kept scurvy away for a week or two, my Manne, Why the fuss ?”
“You know the Pink Merc that’s appeared across the road next to Miss Rosie’s Tattoo Emporium and House of Pain ?”
“Yes, I have noticed that”
“Well, behind the Merc is a new shop front”. “Yes, and what would that be ?”
“It’s a doctors surgery”
“Is it now ?”
“But not just any doctor’s surgery”.
“No, well then WHICH doctor might be practicing his craft there ?
“No, not a witch doctor”, said Manne, who had clearly not read the script for the day.
Merv took out the stub of an HB pencil, turned over the new beer coaster and drew breath. Manne looked puzzled. Merv wrote “What is the name of the doctor, Manne ?”.
Manne read the note – just like the rest of us. “Oh, I see what you mean. Godfrey Adelsteen or something like that”, said Manne. “Here, I decided to take a peek inside to see what kind of doctor he is and I picked up a complimentary beer coaster from his secretary. My goodness, she’s a handsome woman”, said Manne. “And quite a good penist, Mr Merv. She was tickling the good doctor’s ivories when I looked in”. Merv withheld judgment pending a report from the video referee.
Merv turned the coaster over and read the argument “Geoffrey Endelstein”, cosmetologist to the stars. Bring me your tired bodies and I’ll take a look and see what I can do to for you”.
Word got around the front bar of the Pig’s Arms at an astounding rate, possibly due to the conga line of attractive but modestly endowed ladies snaking past the surgery and Rosie’s Tattoo Emporium and House of Pain.
Word managed to get through to Jail, who was known to do a bit of birdwatching – which was why, Foodge said, Jail hadn’t been around much since O’Hoo’s failed liver transplant. Merv had trouble joining the dots and gave Emmjay the kind of look that suggested he thought Foodge was having a pixie excursion again. But closer inspection of Jail might have revealed that he was nursing a certain secret pertaining to the mysterious disappearance of Inspector Rouge and his deeper than usual lack of conversation reflected the imminent hatching of a plan.
“So, this doctor across the road is some kind of plastic surgeon ?” inquired Jail.
“No, nothing to do with plastic or recycling or anything”, said Manne. “He works on people. Women mostly with small, you know, um, ah… ” “Front verandahs” Merv assisted.
“That’s right”, said Manne. “Oh, I see”, said Jail, finishing off his “Trotter’s Ale” with a flourish and “Shit, look at the time ! Got to go.”
Merv and Emmjay exchanged meaningful looks. They both new that Jail wouldn’t normally break into a run even if he had cholera.
” I have a friend who might be able to, ah, benefit from Dr Edelberg’s wonderful surgical skill”, said Jail to the receptionist, handing her a photograph of a rather well-endowed woman in police uniform.
“How might that be?” inquired the receptionist.
“Well, she’s very keen to enhance her appearance and I’m sure that the good doctor has the hands to create an even greater vision of loveliness”, said Jail.
“A friend of yours?” she said, cocking an eyebrow. “A rather good friend”, said Jail. “I’ll bet”, said the receptionist. “They’re probably both good friends of yours”.
She scribbled a figure on the back of another beer coaster. It was a round number, which was appropriate under the circumstances. Jail glanced at the number and said “When can she have the procedure?”. “For that many clams, whenever she likes”, said the receptionist, suddenly breaking into Foodge’s pulp fiction channel. “In half an hour?” suggested Jail.
“She’ll have to fast for six hours”, said the receptionist, beginning to push Jail over the mental touch line ready for a 20 metre drop out. “Oh, she’s fast alright”, said Jail. “Tomorrow at 8:00”, said the receptionist. “And the deposit?”. Jail drew a wad of crisp new fifties out of his coat pocket, peeled two dozen off and not waiting for the receipt or to check whether Dr Steenedell had any qualifications or a Medicare provider number, he sloped to the door and in passing said “See ya tomorrow… at 8:00”.
“I don’t know” said Inspector Rouge. “It looks a bit over the top”.
“Nah, it’s a perfect disguise”, said Jail. “Nobody’s going to clock that it’s you. It’s the last thing that anyone would expect from a Chief Inspector”. “No way will anyone notice you then”, said Jail. “I’m just not sure”, said Vinh Rouge. “Show me the ‘after’ picture again
Jail took out the glossy promotional brochure with Rouge’s new computer simulated ‘after’ picture.”
“See, discreet and no likeness at all”, he said.
It was true, Vinh Rouge was taking breast enhancement to a new level. For some reason she started thinking about triplets.
Merv had really started to relax. Janet’s new hearing aids had done wonders for his sleep, after the first few nights when she woke up screaming because the twins were crying (she’d never heard them at night, before). Now the little buggers were starting to sleep through. He guessed that they were just crying for their mum all along. Merv and Granny had been back at boxing training. He wasn’t back in top form, but was enjoying himself. He’d even followed Foodge’s advice and enrolled in a course ‘For Old People What Can’t Read Proper’, as Merv liked to say. Merv ran the cloth across the bar for the umpteenth time that morning, catching a few extra droplets of Trotter’s best, human hair, and the occasional drop of blood from last night.” Can I pour a drink for you, young sir?” Foodge had wandered in for his ‘elevenses’.
“Oh, well…err…. ah, I don’t mind if I do.” replied Foodge, as he wedged a plump cheek on the nearest stool (Foodge hadn’t been training, and the Paleo diet had been taken over by wedges, sour cream, bum nuts on toast and ‘mata’ sauce). Foodge had been helping Merv with his homework, and had a few good tips, such as, keeping the ‘g’ at the end of ‘ing’ words, and not using ‘youz’ as the plural of’ you’. Merv felt like he was quite ‘plumb in the mouth.’
“Have you managed to visit O’Hoo, yet?” Enquired Merv, as he filled a tiny glass with cold green tea for Foodge.
“He’s in Switzerland, or Norway, or is it Sweden?”
“No, Foodge, he’s in rehab, after his liver transplant, transplant. You were here when Emmjay was telling everyone.” Emmjay had spent an entire day quoting on the provision of WiFi, as Merv had seen this as the missing piece in the Boutique Brewery/Pub he had always envisioned. In the end it was going to cost too much to install, and even more to run, ‘just so a pack of ponces can sit around with their laptops and iPads.’ Of course, the 800-inch plasma TV remained.
“So, Emmjay flew to Switzerland?” Foodge was still convinced that O’Hoo was in some exotic continental sanatorium.
“Yes, mate, that’s right, flew to Switzerland for the arvo.” Merv shook his head. “Anyhoo, excuse the pun.” Merv leant forward to speak sotto voce. “Do you think you might find time to proof read me essay?” Merv surreptitiously slipped an A4 page across the bar.
Foodge was already wearing his black framed reading glasses that he had purchased at a new boutique they called ‘Vinnie’s’. “Oh, this is an unexpected honour…thirsty work, though” A glass canoe instantly appeared at Foodge’s elbow. “Is this a response to a set question?
Merv was even quieter than sotto voce. “We had to write about a childhood fear.”
Foodge burst out laughing. “Rabbits…scared of rabbits!!” As he scanned the page.
“Shh.” A red-faced Merv pounced out from behind the bar. “Sir may feel more comfortable here.” As he manhandled Foodge into an ancient, cracked Chesterfield, in front of the disused fireplace. “If you can just shut up, I’ll get you a day ticket to bloody Switzerland.”
Foodge had no idea of the level of embarrassment that he had caused Merv. His mind had already wandered to Swiss clinics, with Swiss nurses, and Swiss timepieces, and Swiss banks, and, of course, Swiss drinks near Swiss fireplaces after a day of Swiss alpineering. “S’pose I’ll need a new passport.” Merv had already gone back to his station by the bar. “Mr Merv, I suppose there aren’t any leftover wedges, or bacon, or eggs from breakfast?”
“Might be.” Merv knew that there would be because Granny had a soft spot for the occasional private dick, but she never let on. She treated Foodge with the same contempt as most people.
Foodge had taken his proof reading quite seriously, and had noted a couple of spelling and grammatical errors in blue pencil. When he put the paper down, he thought to himself. “Those rabbits really can be quite scary.” His musing was interrupted by a plate of wedges, eggs, bacon, and another glass canoe of Best. “Thanks Merv. This story is rather well constructed. You should receive a good mark.”
Merv quickly took the paper back, with a slight shiver. “Those bloody rabbits.” He thought.
It was Merv’s turn to have musings interrupted. The voice from the giant plasma droned on. “…And our continuing story of pleece corruption, Detective Chief Inspector Rouge is still at large, as we have been reliably informed is disgraced detective O’Hoo. The Pleece Commishnar has just announced a ten thousand dollar reward for information leading to the alleged whereabouts, of either, or both, or one individual of the pair.”
Editors Note: Many moons ago, ‘Shoe and I discussed the story behind the story of the making of a now famous (some might say infamous) shaggy frog joke about a frog going into a bank and asking for a loan. I first heard the joke told on radio by none other than Kerry O’Keefe as an alternative to commentating on a major cricket match played at the Gabba.
By way of introduction to this major work, proudly published by the Pig’s Arms, here is Kerry O’Keefe’s retelling of the joke – the joke that was written by Christina Binning Wilson (Sandshoe to the interweb tubalists or ‘Shoe to her mates at th Pig’s Arms).
So get yourself some pleasing refreshments and a comfortable chair, settle back and begin our odyssey …
Part 1 –Owning (up)
Story and photo by Sandshoe
Acknowledgements
It is not easy being pink. Yet fortune itself I threw in my lot with the Pigs Arms and became a piglet. Thank you,Mike Jones, proprietor and editor-blogger for your kind encouragement responding to my enquiry you are happy to publish this Special Feature at the Arms.
To Astyages, the troubadour who posted the shaggy dog ‘Herbal T for Two’ at the Pigs’ Arms.1
That was a while ago. I was living in Adelaide. I said I wrote one of those. I said I would post it. This is its story.
I do really get the joke
The half-a-dozen perhaps people who I originally read my joke to laughed. I had supposed they thought I gave it my best shot.
Now, when I find a version of it again to send it off to the Pigs Arms, I get it. My friend, Wojciech, comes by. Now, convulsed with laughter I read it to Wojciech.
Wojciech laughed and laughed, possibly at my laughing.
I rewrote and wrote it again, teased at it to make it topical and meander, wrote an introductory reference given it was address to astyages, his “shaggy dog” and I chortled. The pseudo-truth tickling my funny bone no end was that soon it would be revealed “a shaggy frog”.
Before mailing finished copy to Mike Jones, illustrations, and a link to information about the natural history of a local frog I chose to promote, I settled to search online might anyone by an incident of synchronicity have spun a yarn like it and I supposed–surely–I would find “a shaggy frog”.
I grouped and googled key words out of the text:
frog
bank
loan
My blood ran cold. I added:
shaggy frog
rolling stone
It is an extreme sensation feeling mortified.
When I found its original replicated near faithful word for word online, bloody icicles instantly formed in my veins I swear and began to counteract immediately–somewhere in the pit of my stomach– an inferno of heat I felt drain from my brain. Blood coursed the extent of my body from my head to my toes and back again. A WHOOOOOSHHHHHHH.
I read it first on Page 9 of Charismatics, Articles of Spiritual Enlightenment for Christians, Charismatics, the Halo on the Internet, at http://www.sfSpirit.com, San Francisco, Volume 9, Number 6 June 2002
The Golden Gate Breakfast Club newsletter in San Francisco – ‘the nicest people in the world meeting each week for breakfast, friendship and enlightenment. Since 1946!’ –reported (link archived):
‘Marty Mijalski was able to deliver his joke postponed from last week this morning. It was the frog applies for a loan joke. The punch line: knick-knack, Patty Whack. Give the frog a loan. His old man’s a rolling stone. Alan Garber told that joke five years ago.’
FIVE YEARS AGO!
My stomach knotted.
Self conscious anxiety is a debilitating condition.
Three failed and abandoned computers with files I hauled around until I could afford to no longer are scattered. I saw in the bowels of the world’s computer parts dumps or reassembled into recycled metal toys for small and larger boys and girls. I do have Apple floppy disks that might have on them a file of the original text. I have the rudiments only of the vintage Apple computer and software in unsealed packaging I bought on eBay in the last year attempting to put together another system.
I have not got in my possession any of the original email or files–and no original hard copy.
I did write one comment only on a website, Author Culture, and not hearing a word from that site I felt embarrassed at my naivety and little did I know how naïve, not even half. I shelved all thought about it as best as I could and didn’t search it in detail any further beyond recognising it was feral. I felt overwhelmed with a sense of loss. Astyages asked once how I was doing with it and when would I present it. I think I mumbled ‘Tell you soon’. I confided in no-one other than Wojciech.
Having moved from Adelaide to accommodation in Bordertown last year, I was ill from overwork and circumstances previous to my deciding to move from Adelaide to housing I could afford, from the hardship of moving house and home and having to abandon possessions to do that. In retrospect I can see a complex set of circumstances not overlooking I dealt with a struggle to rebuild an existence in Bordertown on my own. I was in hospital for a while and recovering and I took a case to the Tenancy Tribunal as the piglets will recall. I was busy as people get. I eventually confided over a shared meal with a newly-met local friend I had written a joke. I was flattered yes, but acutely self conscious and I showed her online.
Christine was empathetic. In a matter of days, I heard the news from her I would, she said, never believe, but she “heard thejoke on the radio” and that she yelped in recognition, “That’s Christina’s joke!”
RADIO!
Over my head.
I missed who exactly the fellow was, although I was entreated he is famous. Something something you know the cricket. He travels all over the world doing his thing, she said, looking a little disconcerted I did not seem to understand her meaning.
I was–instead–in shock again. I begin feeling excruciated. Isolated, particularly isolated.
I do not have ABC Radio National reception, neither local ABC radio reception that is reliable, but neither can I use my online download internet quota playing radio all day and meanwhile, not a hint even of the NBN. No SBS reception. Media is a sensitive issue for me out of all life’s niceties I do not have living in Bordertown and I’ve a list.
Fancy excruciated. I have never used the word, but I vacillated between the healthy stirring of curiosity, feeling tickled pink and miserable.
Jim came down to potter around the cottage doing odd jobs and I referred the matter to Jim. Jim is my landlord. Jim knows about stuff. He might know about cricket. I braced myself.
“I wrote a joke a few years ago.”
“U…huh.”
I describe the gist…a frog…um…he goes for a loan and that I am ridden with guilt…because I owe the joke to the Pigs Arms…but…online…multiplying…like rabbits. I hang my head on the inside.
Jim and I had never exchanged an opinion about joke telling. Neither had ever told the other a joke.
“Oh,” says Jim, as he worked, “I know that one. Is that the one…
THE ONE!
…about a frog who goes into… I start to feel hysterical… a bank and wants a loan?”
“Yes.”
“My son has it on his phone.”
PHONE!
“He’s been carrying it around for a while now–PAUSE–That’s an old joke.”
I have an ear for nuance. I sat up out of the mud of embarrassment.
“It’s a fair age now,” I agree to showI appreciate a duty of care.
“O, yes, it is” Jim says, glad we agree on that.
“I wrote it,” I say as calmly as possible. I saw consideration I wrote it dawn.
I mumble and dash off, “I remember the day I wrote it… formula… can’t find the original… sigh… never mind… I wrote it.”
I did ask Jim who ‘the cricket chap’ is. I find a recording of Kerry O’Keefe, broadcaster and the commenter lisabella’s reference added at 10PM AEST on March 12, 2006 on the whirlpool forum online where she posts a link to a recording–
‘When Kerry first told it, the joke took nearly 3 overs of cricket before he finally got to the punchline!!!’
If lisabella is right, putting to the universe a month earlier, on 19 Feb 2006 at 11AM she was hoping for ‘an audio link or does some one have it on their hard disk’ to provide her for her brother, the broadcast by Kerry was at the Brisbane Cricket Ground at Woolloongabba (the gabba) during the ABC’s cricket coverage Tuesday 14 February 2006 at approx. 2pm on the 3rd One Day final between Australia & Sri Lanka.
Of all the versions, Kerry O’Keefe’s meticulous reading is as close to the original as any. The ironies are out of sight. No irony as mind bending that it was not unlike from my viewpoint as a former facilitator of a writers’ group listening to a writer read to an audience in a community centre (cfThe Making of that Joke. Part 6 – Creative Writers) except they’re reading my stuff.
fstx posts on the same forum as lisabella at 11AM on Feb 20 AEST, before saying ‘Not that it makes the joke any better!’:
‘I’ve heard a version where it’s a chocolate bar and the banker’s name is Caddyshack, so the punchline is…
“It’s a Kit-Kat, Caddyshack…” ‘
It was kicking around as it turns out well before Kerry’s choice to broadcast the joke at the cricket in 2006, not intending to detract from Kerry’s choice or performance of it–to the contrary.
On the forum of DFWStangs.net selling Mustang Fords, where the page loading near rolls over from the weight of flickering animation and advertisements reckoned to disappear out of sight were I to become a registered user, it is called ‘The Frog and the Elephant’ uploaded 05-30-2002, 03:58 PM by the contributor whose location is listed as Las Colinas (Texas I assume). A commenter, lilgeezy, at Irving in New Brunswick, Canada writes 07-06-2002, 02:11 AM–in reply to a query ‘were its origins Sesame Street’:
‘that WAS on the disney channel when those lil kids go out and tell their favorite jokes… not that i was watching it or nething, i just … heard….
The Independent Daily is the English language newspaper of the Island of Mauritius. The joke is published in Vol. 1, No.250, Port Louis, Thursday September 2, 2010, Section 4>‘Listings’ viewable through the website of Stanford University, headed with the caption ‘J USTINJEST BY HILAMA’ and illustrated with a cartoon frog.
I feel substantially queasy about my impoverished status when I view in a bottom left hand quadrant the glossy colour ad for ‘LM Live Jokes in your Daily Life’ in which a beautiful young woman naturally laughs at her mobile phone in hand. The contrast between the status of her clothing and the implied delight the lovely lass is provided by her subscription is in marked contrast to my own circumstances when I imagine a customer’s laughter may conceivably be at my feral.
I wonder, I cannot help but, that the $50,000 amount the frog asks for, and not the original $30,000, might inspire enhanced donation to the church building fund where, for the pastor at Willingham Church, Cambridgeshire, UK it fits illustration of ‘a case of mistaken identity’.
Harry Mooring of Leeds submitted it to The Parishioner magazine of the Kiltarlity Church and Kirkhill Church where it is published on P 17 of The Parishioner Newsletter Issue 57 – November 2012 alongside The Moosie’s Prayer’ described, ironically, as ‘This anonymous, humorous poem…clearly aimed at children …lends yet another twist to the story of the “poor church mouse” –
Greg Jones, a pastor at the Church of Brethren, at Bunkertown, McAlisterville, in Pennsylvania, USA published the joke and the comment Dialegomai (see below) in the Bunkertown COB newsletter. The analytical method of Dialegomai interested me considered from the viewpoint of the method I used to construct the joke (cf. The Making of That Joke. Part 2 –Building the Joke)
Dialegomai
By Pastor Greg
1 Corinthians 7:1-11 April 11, 2010 Bunkertown COB
Chances are that your mind was racing ahead trying to figure out how all the things in that story would fit together. Why a frog? Is Patty’s name significant?
What’s up with the little pink elephant? The answer came when we viewed the whole story, not just the little bits and pieces along the way. I want you to keep this in mind as we turn once again to Paul’s first letter to the Corinthian Church.
My best advice to you continues Pastor Greg, is to keep your eyes focused on the whole story. Look at the big picture. Don’t get hung up on the individual events that are happening in your life right now. Think and reason.
The Pope features alongside in the adjoining column on P 4 of The Knight Register of the Newsletter of Knights of Columbus Council No. 13072, St. Mary Parish, Vancouver, BC, Canada
The member pladecalvo in Valencia, Spain posted the joke on the July 2007 at 09:31 AM in the City Data-Com Religion and Spirituality Forum that demands Let’s Hear Some Nice Clean Jokes!
Received by the MoonlightBlue blogger from Ricky in Salò in the Province of Brescia, Lombardy in Italy and so they seem to know it in in Pembroke Dock in Pembrokeshire in the UK in 2007.
Recreation and hobby clubs have adopted it including have called it their own from hunting and fishing to flying and service clubs among which is Probus in Deloraine in Tasmania and from Rotarians in America to Kent in the UK to ‘Snippets’ (from club bulletins) at the Rotary Club at Diamond Creek (Melbourne, Victoria) where its contribution is attributed December 5th 2012 to the Rotary Club of Rosanna (Melbourne).
Just to give you the idea: the Tourist Information Centre website of Yea, ‘situated at the junction of the Melba Highway and Goulburn Valley highways approximately 100 kms from Melbourne’. includes the joke in The Humour File.
How did I not guess it would be recounted by the Queensland Frog Society. O course I had supposed it would appeal to environmentalists who love frogs. They were my main target group. It is introduced by the editor as follows: Oldies are the best.. I think we have had this before but for anyone who has not heard it here it is again. Thanks Trish (I love it).
Tombro at Lake Macquarie, New South Wales said on the Glasgow (Scotland, UK) Guide Board on 31st Aug 2009, 10:03am thank you to Brian of Maitland, New South Wales for posting it (the day before) because [Tombro] ‘had a bloody great laugh and…sang it out loud. Whoops, he said, now the neighbours know I’m an absolute nutcase ! http://discuss.glasgowguide.co.uk/index.php?showtopic=17189
Bozo in Perth who was met with enthusiasm by GSX in Shed has uploaded it rightly or wrongly on a site called ‘a Dad joke’ on January 3 last, claiming the frog hopped into the new HSBC Bank Branch in Subiaco
September 2005 in Darwin it was enjoyed by a commenter who thought it was very funny when it was posted on the Gold Coast and Milano in Kiev, Ukraine, said ‘Witty, witty stuff’.
Oldershaw and Co Chartered Accountants Newsletter in NZ March 2005 published it on Page 3 under the title ‘Smiley Bit’ above an article on ‘Spicers Wealth Management’ promoting the availability of a review report generated on reccommending finance company debentures.
I couldn’t resist this lesson in choosing character names. I’m serious here. Really. Use care when naming the folks who populate your stories or your masterpiece may become just a bad joke . . .
Linda Yezak May 28, 2010 11:55 AM
I got a kick out of it myself. Of course, I had to stretch to make it fit into a writing site!
Why did someone make up ‘nick nak patty whack, give the frog a loan, his old mans a rolling stone’? don’t ask me why I want to know, I have no clue. But, if anyone has any Ideas, just type them here please
LiveJournal Inc denounces it as an an unwanted house guest under ‘punnybusiness’:
Please don’t post the story that ends in “It’s a knick-knack, Patti Whack. Give the frog a loan. His old man’s a Rolling Stone.” – we’ve seen it way too many times. If you post it, I’ll delete it.
If it is published in the volume quoted (please see link below) using the language represented on the webpage, I would be plain disappointed. I know beyond any question of doubt the mother of the frog did not ‘croak’ as is suggested. My research of variations so far of the joke shows this one is unique that extraneous information has been written into it couched in language generally considered by English language speakers sensitive to the language of death and dying across the board of different cultures to be unsafe language to use, disrespectful, rough. The context is made sad. I think a child will identify it is not a joke made happy by introducing the death of the frog’s mother and will fix that.
You cannot believe everything anyway. Neither did the bank manager ‘scowl’ at the teller. Neither does Patty roll her eyes in any version I had read. Elaborating details of body language as well robs the audience of their individual interpretation which is an element of the humour and the strength of the writing.
Christine on 7 November 2011 on the BB Fans (Big Brother) forum says: This is a joke, which was on one of my Birthday cards. It’s a bit corny though I’m afraid:-
The joke is #7 of 7 chosen for publication by the columnist, Greg Heberlein for the Seattle Times article ‘Who’s Standing Next to Bubba’ Sunday, December 19, 1999 under Wall Street Recap. Consider it [the column] suggests the journalist a holiday gift for putting up with the conventional ramblings. This intro is already too long – our joke cup runneth over. But we must thank all the sources: Steve Leuthold’s clients, who submit jokes for his monthly investment newsletter; Eric Miller of Donaldson, Lufkin & Jenrette, who collects witty stuff for the company’s semi-monthly publication; Don Gher of Bellevue’s Coldstream Capital, who missed his calling as a comic; and, your loyal scribe’s firstborn son Tom, who scoured the Web for every funny story it had.
Sent in an email it seems originally by Personal Growth Concepts which included the following disclaimer:
The information provided in this email is presented for educational purposes only. It is not a substitute for the advice and treatment of a licensed professional clinician, doctor, coach or pastoral counselor.
…and uploaded by blogger mom at frog parenting blogspot who posted the joke on Tuesday, April 28, 2009 under ‘Frog Humour and today’s stuff…Not for Profit but for JOY!’ and her baby born on April 29, 2009 ‘at about 8Amish’.
Earliest References
While one earlier may still be found, the earliest reference I have found is on the website of ‘Silicon Investor’ where it was uploaded on 6/24/1998 8:12:00 AM by Henry Volquardsen. Note the date reads 24 June, 1998 because the date sequence is m/d/y. No, I do not know Henry as far as I am aware, regardless Henry may have known my name at one moment in history in 1987 and I his by sheerest chance just by it passing in front of his or my eyes in a fax or other document, but lucky I am to have a beautifully written text online on Silicon Investor that recalls a Henry Volquardsen from the memory of a colleague.
His friend writing in 2008 says of Henry:
‘And then, of course Henry Volquardsen, was a very dear friend who was on the long dated FX desk in NY. He was a big guy (like me) who started out as a file clerk and was on Citibank NY’s long dated FX desk at 55 Water street I believe. He would hang around in the New York evening to watch our currency and interest rate markets open, some days it was slow and he would talk to the bond dealers the AUD dealer and me as he was trying to get indications in to local market sentiment. Henry and I talked for hours on end about history, he was then studying the 100 year war in Europe, mass psychology, Ownership of central banks…. etc.’
Unmistakeable I am sure, the same. And I might as well have known Henry given insight and experience of the finance industry I have when I based my own methodology as an accounts executive on my training in History and Politics, primarily choosing to telephone dealers and traders I could engage in conversation to appreciate different points of view, and always an AUD dealer. I trained and listened intently and learned and understood the market in this window of time watching trading lights skipping across and up and down in heart stopping patterns on a Reuters screen. Thus far remarkable enough.
The joke was, remarkably, posted on the site Roots Web Ancestry on Tue, 3 Nov 1998 22:51:04 EST
As follows without prejudice the discussion ‘Donna Richoux’ provides her associates in apparent good faith (please see the link below).
‘Donna Richoux:
[nq:2]”It’s a knick-knack, Patty Black, give the frog a loan.”(snip)[/nq]
[nq:1]It’s a knick-knack, Patty Black, give the frog a loan; His old man’s a Rolling Stone![/nq]
That’s lovely but the version I learned didn’t have it. Now I’m wondering whether it was part of a strain that lost the Rolling Stone line, or whether it never had it, and Rolling Stone was added later.
A Google on “give the frog a loan” plus “rolling stone” gives 553. The same phrase with a minus -stone gives 291. So it’s not just me that stops at “loan.”
Okay, here we go. The Google Groups archives show the “Rolling Stone” version only back 1998, with several references to it having been on the Muppets with Kermit the Frog (long before?). I can’t call up the entire posts because of a technical glitch. But the version minus “stone” shows up in posts each year from 1982 to 1986. So I think the very appropriate addition of “Rolling Stone” was a professional addition from the Muppet crew.
Patty Black sure gets a lot of variation.
I appreciate the energy and attention given the frog goes to a bank for a loan joke by Donna Richoux and her associates (please see link above).
The content of the text written by Donna is speculative and based on then incomplete research result of a failed internet connection – as can be derived as was clearly intended by its author, but the speculation is inaccurate that the Rolling Stone addition online is a professional addition by the Muppets team and the content is inaccurate ‘that it shows up in posts between 1982 and 1986’.
Only researching what Donna advises concerning the Muppets did I know the Muppets had a story line in one of their early films that refers to a bank, which might be the source of confusion. I have not seen the films.
I am sure however the Muppets research facility may accord me, as I do the Muppets equal respect if question arises by referring to their archival record of published material to identify the frog goes to a bank for a loan joke is not in their archives as a published article of theirs.
Patty Black I knew nothing of until my recent discovery of the reference only as result of researching the frog goes to a bank for a loan joke; ‘Patty Black’ as a play on ‘Paddy Whack’ is not as far as I can determine in popular ascendance over my original adaptation of ‘Paddy Whack’ that was ‘Patricia Whack’ aka ‘Ms Whack’ and ‘Patti Whack’. I do have a fictional character whose name is ‘Black’ which is coincidence.
Again remarkably posted in rj-jokers Teresa’s Jokers RJ List on Sep 15, 1998 at 1:51 pm
As a source of interest, I note amiright.com makes no claims to copyright of jokes permitted, only their presentation. All jokes are assumed [by amiright] to be public domain.
Preben Ormen telling the joke on Thursday, September 8th, 2011 at 14:14 under the heading ‘Give the Frog a Loan’ prefaced it as follows:
Apropos nothing, I just remembered a cute joke that riffed on a nursery rhyme. What made it all the more funny at the time, was the fact it was told by a biker on the run from the California cops that we met while swinging at anchor in our 32 foot Westsail cutter “Ibis” in Mazatlan, Mexico. He arrived late one afternoon in a terrific downpour in a beat up old Columbia 29 sloop. I watched him anchor and silently reassured myself he had just the right scope out so he wouldn’t swing into us when the tide or weather changed.
When done, he sat under the main hatch and lit up a smoke. We exchanged hand waves in greeting and a short hello and welcome, but the rain was so heavy and noisy we couldn’t really have a conversation. You got to see a tropical downpour to believe it.
We got to know each other better and one day the story rolled around.
…please see the heart these children invest in the acting including a fabulous frog costume and support actors. This is such a lovely video and I hope the children and their responsible adults are happy I post this link here:
Small variations occur telling the joke from only recall, but the adherent loyalty shown the story line is indication of the genuine fondness people feel for the joke.
Variations include the delightful and delightfully satirical and fans have made changes to the name of the teller and frog by way of personal preference and innovation.
The frog has been variously named by his fans Kermit the Frog, Kermit Jagger, Wally… while the inclination seems obvious I had no intention to name the frog Kermit which was to avoid potential copyright infraction although in an edited version I do have the teller, Patricia Whack, refer to the frog with a note of derision as follows, once, when she addresses the bank manager that the frog wants a loan.
‘Kermitt out here…”
The frog has been overly called Kermit, and he truly did not ever say to the teller his surname was Jagger as occurs in the re-telling, but there you are, and that’s I suppose society too, running along on assumptions and getting stuck on earworms, but in this case a fond one. However, just because a frog can talk and goes to a bank to raise a loan is no reason to assume his name is Kermit. Neither because he claims falsely his identity is Mick Jagger’s son is it a logical conclusion he will claim his name is Kermit Jagger.
A frog is neither automatically a Muppet. Frog mothers have been around. They know the score. The kid probably won’t like the attention.
Anyone whose work uploading and adapting the joke as a genuine contribution to joke sites is not included by a link I regret in almost all cases that has to have been the case and I apologise I cannot individually acknowledge it.
I could not include every link to the friends and included a representation of the foes of the frog who goes to a bank for a loan joke.
In one case I did not link very purposefully because the material that is revealed is not suitable for a general audience and younger children supervised by their parents.
I admire the odds have fallen very much in favour in this regard of the frog who goes to the bank for a loan joke that it seems the frog somehow speaks to beused for ends that are good; leastwise has been treated kindly, whimsically and generously. The popular, regardless flawed frog is a phenomenon and the philosophers of all sorts who got and get the joke and have run with it have paid the frog – and the teller and the bank manager– a great compliment.
The trinity is in the wings as I write. When we create with a healthy perspective we invest magic and our creations become themselves. Take a bow: the frog, the teller and the bank manager.
To the people who don’t yet and might never know or understand or even accept this is true that the pleasure they have found in this joke and the frustration of its detractors are directly proportional to the affection I feel for the fans, the kind loyalty and controversy shown the frog goes to a bank for a loan joke, sincerely, thank you.
(Continued Part 2 –Building The Joke)
FOOTNOTE:
1. the wildly wonderful shaggy dog written by astyages that sent me in 2011 on this journey finding my frog.
The landlord where I boarded and my meals were cooked and dishes done, my clothes washed, ironed and jazz played incessantly was enchanted with the line drawing (1988). Could he have a copy and frame it so I secured a good copy he sent to professional framers. Nothing was too good for the cartoon that he would simply go to the cheap shop and buy a frame for a few cents.
It was duly hung in the narrow space between the corner of the wall meeting the living room area and the frame of the door into the kitchen from the dining alcove. I mused on it curiously from my seat at the dining table opposite the landlord’s. His back was to it where he sat ready to exit into the kitchen to service meal times, wonderful concoctions of meals it felt to me eclipsed every time until the next evening’s meal by the breakfast that was his sourdough bread and home made marmalade … I pause as my mouth waters … spooned into a presentation dish out of a jar labelled and inscribed with copperplate calligraphy he attended at the local library with the mums to learn for the purpose.
My curiosity remains how extraordinary it is that simple depictions made by single lines communicate across space and time so we recognise imperative, movement, personality and so on.
I was pleased to have allowed flights of fancy at previous lodgings attempting minimalist line drawing.
He showed me his recipe book.
When he had been Sales Manager for a major paper firm in New Zealand before his retirement, he suggested to his management that agreed he design a recipe book to be distributed in parts clients were awarded each time they purchased consignments of paper per bundle and collected in a holder the company supplied.
I felt honoured that the cartoon was regarded so well. The recipe book was beautifully presented and illustrated with stock drawings that were classic 50s of the sort muted with a brush of random wash.
Author’s note: I scrawled Aba Roc on no foundation other than reflection on original Arabic culture insofar as less and less as I understood it Bedouin lived free of compromise that meant they lived in urban settings and their existence was made complex by contemporary market stresses particularly, themselves frequently inclusive at the centre of power mongering and side-lined, depending on class and gender, geographical location, situation in hierarchies, victims as well as perpetrators.
Now the success or otherwise of the Arab Spring as we generally refer to it is centre piece.
We quantify the losses now in deaths amounting to tens, hundreds of thousands of citizens and military personnel. The situation remains heartbreaking for the women and the men of the Bedouin.
Story by Emmjay, Photography by Ms Phoebe and Ms Bridie
Last Sunday, the Pig’s Arms Humorous Runners hit the road, joined by a few strangers and a couple of trusty pals in the Swisse Color (sic) 5 km run. Twenty thousand others tagged along, raising $200,000 for Children’s Heart Disease Research – HeartKids.
A Bit Less than Half of the Starters – the start line is that arch in the middle of the horizon
Beginning its Australian tour in Melbourne in November 2012, The Swisse Color Run in Sydney was next up as it continues on its national tour, to include Brisbane, Adelaide, Gold Coast, Newcastle and Canberra.
At each kilometre point, runners were able to accept or reject (why be there ?) the advances of teams hurling brightly coloured powders at previously pristine T-shirts and their occupants, culminating in several huge crowd throws at the finish line.
Emmlet II – After
And it ended like this:
Adults behaving like Children – It was Great Fun ! Image Borrowed from the Color Run Facebook Page
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 