"Just Open With a Joke" (Patreon)

If you've ever taken a public speaking course, or read any Toastmasters material, or even gotten personal advice on giving a speech at some function, you've probably been told the same thing again and again. "Break the ice. Open with a joke."

Needless to say, this is a terrible idea.

When you tell a joke, under any circumstances, you are attempting to forge a bond. And the crux of that bond, really, is a kind of vulnerability. By telling a joke in public, you are essentially saying, "this is what I think is funny. This is a sample of my sense of humor, and I sure do hope you share my basic level of comedic sophistication."

In more intimate situations, like the first few dates with someone you're getting to know, an equivalent might be recommending a movie, or if things are getting serious, sharing a piece of your creative writing. I remember when I learned that my first wife was a "writer," and that she was heavily influenced by her two favorite authors, Marguerite Duras and Anaïs Nin. Being a young man, I mistakenly assumed I could improve her taste. She probably thought the same about me. Needless to say, we were both wrong.

The point being, it is a very odd idea that you ease into a public speaking scenario by displaying such a personal part of your mental makeup. After all, the chances that a bunch of conventioneers are going to share your comedic sensibility is very slim indeed. (Comedy shows work best when paying customers attend a set by a known comedian who they already like. If, by some act of cosmic alchemy, we were to teleport Patton Oswalt's audience to Larry the Cable Guy's show, and vice versa, both of these very successful stand-ups would bomb. Never underestimate the power of self-selection.)

The worst possible outcome, of course, is that you not just look like a jackass, but an imbecile as well. That people at the talk would decide, "if that's what this person thinks is funny, why should I trust his/her insights about farm equipment," or thoracic surgery, or whatever your talk is actually about.

So here is a provisional solution. Set expectations incredibly low.

I mean Hell's basement low. Why not just lead with the very worst joke you know? And tell the audience that that's what you're doing, because you respect them too much to abase yourself, and produce awkwardness for all concerned, by trying to actually be funny? If the traditions of public speaking are pro forma, it might be best to dispense with them immediately. Check off the 'joke' box without any pretense whatsoever.

For example, here is the worst joke I know. It is incredibly stupid, all the more so because (as you'll see) the set-up implies some sort of historical specificity which, in turn, suggest that the humor may in fact be sophisticated. It is not.

This joke was told by a co-worker of my dad's at a party at my house. Guy's name was Steve Baker, and I only remember three things about him, other than this joke. He was an alcoholic. He had a cheesy 1970s beard in an attempt to compensate for being bald. And he hated kids, me in particular. (Every time he came over, he would go out of his way to belittle me, since it seems he felt he was in competition -- for what, I don't know -- with a nine year old kid.)

Here goes. [Ahem.]

It was 1914, during the First World War. The French forces were facing an imminent clash with German troops. The French were not only outnumbered, but exhausted from an earlier campaign. Ammunition and morale were running low.

[Note: although it was never mentioned by Baker, I am guessing the battle in question was the Battle of Ardennes, which was in 1914 and was characterized by the French being badly outmatched by the Germans. But it doesn't much matter. Like I said, the historical specificity is a red herring.]

One sergeant, recognizing what lay in store for the battalion, verbalized what everyone else was thinking. "Guys, we are all about to die. We should retreat."

The battalion's chaplain, Father Jacques, implores the men not to give up hope. "God is on our side, and regardless of our circumstances, we shall prevail."

"But we are out of ammo!" the sergeant protests.

"Um, okay," the chaplain says. "Let's trust God! When you see the Germans approach, point your empty rifles at them, and yell, 'ka-BANGITY BANG,' and our faith will be our weapon."

"But Father," the sergeant continued, "we have been fighting with these bayonets for so long, they're completely dull." He poked a fellow soldier's ribs with the blunt bayonet. "See? These can't kill anyone! They won't even pierce flesh!"

"Yes, yes," the chaplain sputtered. "But we trust God! When a German soldier is upon you, point your bayonets at them, and yell, 'ka-STABBITY-STAB,' and again, our faith will be our sword."

The sergeant had enough. "Father, I respect you as a man of the cloth, but this military advice of yours is insane. We need more than faith. We need supplies!"

But then, another man stepped forward. This was Col. Marceau. In civilian life, he was a professor of mathematics at the Sorbonne. Despite this, he was humble, and a good fighter at that. Everyone respected his opinion, and firmly believed he was the most intelligent man in their midst.

"Sergeant," Marceau began, "I sympathize with your position. We are fighting a war on the material plane, conducted according to the laws of physics with which our Lord has organized the world. All logic would dictate that the chaplain's suggestion is ludicrous."

But he continued. "Nevertheless, if we are indeed to place our faith in God, what better situation could there be to do so? The Good Book tells us that miracles are defined by the seemingly impossible. It is by suspending our ordinary judgment, and placing our lives in the hands of God completely, that we are most likely to experience the miracle we so desperately need. In short," he concluded, "the extreme improbability of our situation would suggest, based on Biblical history, the great probability of a miracle. For God is also the Great Mathematician, and it would appear that faith is indeed inversely proportional to reason."

The men listened intently to Marceau. A moment passed, and the sergeant said, "this, I cannot argue with. We shall execute the Father's plan, and leave the outcome to the Almighty."

By this time, the men were moments away from their clash with the Germans. "This is it," the sergeant said under his breath. "Praise God."

When a German soldier was about 150 yards away, one of the soldiers held up his empty rifle, hands trembling. And with a quavering voice he yelled. "ka-BANGITY-BANG." And amazingly enough, the German fell down dead before crossing the French line.

The men were too nervous to cheer, and besides, the Germans kept coming. Another soldier jabbed a German with his dull bayonet and yelled, "ka-STABBITY-STAB." Instantly, the German began spurting blood from his chest, and within seconds he was dead.

This happened several more times. "It's working! Praise God!" cried the sergeant. So with a renewed confidence, he stood his ground against the rest of the approaching army. A German was a few hundred yards away, and the sergeant held up his rifle and yelled, "ka-BANGITY-BANG."

But the Germans kept coming.

"Um, okay," the sergeant said. "The bayonets!" And all the men struck out at the Germans, now at close range, yelling, "ka-STABBITY-STAB."

But the Germans kept coming.

"Quick!" the chaplain said, "to your knees! Let us pray!"

The French battalion did just that. But as the Germans overtook them, the men were confused by God's fickle favor. The Frenchmen were crushed by the German horde. 

As the last spark of life left his mangled body, the sergeant heard the German soldiers chanting in unison. "ka-TANKETY-TANK, ka-TANKETY-TANK..."

Well, I did warn you.