This year’s Chucklehead Hoedown poster, drawn by Bob’s good friend Bruce. (Provided artwork — Bob Seidenstein)

Last week I wrote about the difficulty of telling Clair Bovee a joke.

To be more precise, it’s easy to tell her a joke — it’s just almost impossible to make her laugh. Not that she lacks a sense of humor — she has a great one. But therein lies the difficulty, because she only laughs at great jokes, brilliantly delivered. And let’s face it, who has that combination going for them around here — other than me, of course.

At that column’s end I said if anyone wanted to test their joke-telling skills, they should hie out to Cavu and give Clair a whirl. At last count, no one had. Nor can you blame them. Clair is not the Mt. Everest of joke-tellers’ challenges — she’s the Annapurna.

In non-mountain terms, Everest is peein’ with the puppies. Annapurna is stompin’ with the big dawgs: About one out of 100 climbers die on Everest; on Annapurna, it’s one out of THREE.

Now let’s face a brutal reality: Dying on a God-forsaken, high-altitude hell-hole, while tragic, is in some ways easier than “dying” while telling a joke. You croak on a Himalayan MONTAGNE GLACEE’, and that’s it. You’re dead and your suffering is over.

Plus there’s a positive side: You’ll be a hometown hero, lionized for your courage and tenacity. Your funeral will be jammed to the rafters, local luminaries’ eulogies will bring everyone to tears, the powers-that-be will turn the burgh inside-out and upside-down to find something to name after you. Finally, everything written or spoken about you will end with that classic cliche — “he died doing what he loved.” And what could be better than that? (I think LIVING while doing what you love, but my opinion clearly doesn’t count in such matters).

So much for a mountain death; what about a joke death? Well, let’s assume you think you’ve got what it takes to make Clair burst into hysterics and you approach her with your dynamite shtick. You do your bit, you deliver the punchline, and here’s what’ll happen: Nothing.

The joke goes nowhere. Neither do you. You’d expected a full-bodied raucous laugh, or a hearty chuckle, or maybe just a broad smile. Instead, you’re looking a stonefaced Clair, staring through you. The silence is deafening.

Finally, she speaks.

“Funny?” she says. “Not funny.”

And that’s it.

Then, without either further word or ado, she turns and walks back into the kitchen where she’ll sweat over a sizzling grill, getting splattered by scalding grease, and you know she’s enjoying that more than she did listening to your pathetic flopperoo.

Now you’re left as alone as any poor soul could be, with only one thing rattling around in your psyche: You are Humoristically Impaired, or perhaps even Humoristically Defunct. You probably always were, and probably always will be — at least as far as the Clair Bovees of the world are concerned.

But take heart. Help is right around the corner, only weeks away, at The Chucklehead Hoedown.

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Get down, but NOT dirty

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What, you ask, is the Chucklehead Hoedown?

It’s a joke-telling evening in My Home Town’s premier stage, the Garagery. It’ll be on Saturday, October 25, and is open to peeps of all ages, stages and phages. Doors open at 6 p.m., showtime’s at 7 p.m.

And what is the Hoedown NOT? It’s not stand-up, improv, storytelling, or fond reminiscences about your beloved Uncle Buck and his loyal hound Freckles. Instead, as I said, it’s jokes. It can also be riddles, puns, humorous verse, limericks and the like. The only condition is that all material has to be family-friendly.

If you want humor that’s subtle, sophisticated, and snarky, look somewhere else. But if you want a session of the hokey, homey and wholesome, then get down at the Hoedown!

We did one during our last Winter Carnival and — against all cynics’ predictions — it was a smashing success.

So how can you be a part of this fabulous occasion of state?

There are several ways. One is to register beforehand, which you can do by phone 518-891-4061. Just leave your name, and someone will get back to you to firm up the details.

You can also email at: saranacbo@hotmail.com.

Or if you love to leave everything to the last minute, you can show up at the Garagery at 6:00 and you’ll be put on the list.

Of course it’d be more convenient for the poor bludger running this gig (namely yers truly) if you sign up ahead of time, but if you’re a Johnny- or Janey-Come-Lately, we’ll find a way to fit you in.

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Doctor’s Orders

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Now, if you think the Hoedown will be ONLY peeps telling jokes, think again. For one thing, the show will have two MC’s (Mavens of Corn) — Screw Loose Bruce Young, and me — and we’ll warm up the crowd with original dialogue and shtick. (Note: I didn’t say FUNNY dialogue and shtick — just original). Beyond that, the Hoedown’s house band, Smilin’ Kyle and The Con Brio Trio, will swing for us during the intermission.

And that’s not all!

Our activities director, Queen Elizabeth (Scammell Murray), will be in charge of our door prize drawing, as befits royal office. You’ll register for the door prizes (which I’ve dubbed “Dork Prizes”) as soon as you come in; the drawing will be during the intermission.

So let’s cut to the nitty gritty: How much is the admission? The answer is, It isn’t. The whole megilla’s a freebie. If you want, you can donate a non-perishable food item, and Uncanny Annie will deliver them to our local food pantry, but that’s optional.

But what if you’re not sure of your joke-telling skills? What if the only jokes you know are old-fashioned, childish or just flat-out silly? Well, Bunkie, you need to know that for us no joke is TOO old fashioned, childish, or silly. Matter of fact, our theme for this Hoedown is, “Silliness Is Next To Godliness.” And if that doesn’t clarify the issue, I don’t know what does.

Also, keep in mind, to be part of this stellar eve, you don’t have to tell a joke. Yeah, sure, if we’re holding a joke-telling event, SOMEONE has to, but if you just wanna be part of the audience, welcome aboard.

Drinks will be available and if you want to grab some nosh at the Scullery, upstairs, you can do that as well.

If it sounds as if the Hoedown is undisciplined and disorganized, you might be right. So if you want discipline and organization, you need to go elsewhere — the military, the Department of Corrections, maybe the Rotary Club are good starts. Guaranteed you’ll get all the discipline and organization you could ask for … and then some.

But if you wanna kick back, let your hair down, and have a Fool’s Night Out — either playing the Fool or laughing with them — The Chucklehead Hoedown is just what the doctor ordered.

And if your doctor didn’t order it, you better switch doctors — RIGHT NOW!