Fiction Issue 3
The Great Nude Dude
by Nathaniel Tower
I’ve been surrounded by laughter my whole life, but it still came as a surprise to me when I first noticed the snickers, chortles and guffaws that welcomed me anywhere I went.
My grandfather, Renald Reynolds, was a clown in the circus, a contemporary of Bozo but considered much funnier by most clown experts. He had the unfortunate moniker of Jizzle the Clown, a title that kept him out of the favor of most parents and out of most of the popular history books.
My father, Reginald, was a standup comedian, one who generated most laughter through the expertly placed expletive. Many comics today have attempted to incorporate his ability to make people laugh through the usage of profanity, but none of them have quite mastered the art the way my father did. Of course everyone these days laughs just the same because they don’t know any better. But I do.
My brother and sister, Roger and Regina, twins, have their own sitcom on a low budget cable television channel. It’s funny as hell, much funnier than anything I have ever seen on network, but their tendency for sophisticated humor rather than sex and poop jokes left them out in the cold.
My mother, Rita, was even funny. She didn’t work, opting to stay home and care for us kids while trying to foster comedic values in us, but she still found the time to write masterful limericks, several of which were purchased by The New Yorker in the late nineties when we had moved on to college and other pursuits.
I am the black sheep of the family. To my knowledge, I have never made someone laugh. I can’t even tell a knock-knock joke or craft a simple pun. But I never needed to make people laugh to achieve success. After graduating at the top of my class from Harvard, I went on to attend the Yale School of Business where I earned my masters in accounting and a PhD in marketing. Still, in spite of these accomplishments, and in spite of my impressive six-figure salary, I can’t help but think that my family has always looked down upon me.
The last two weeks have been different though. During the last two weeks I have heard more laughter than the rest of my life combined.
It started out pleasantly enough on a Wednesday morning with a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and a banana. Hours later my boss told me that he was "letting me go." At first I wasn’t sure what he meant. "You mean I can go on that second honeymoon I’ve been talking about?" I stupidly asked.
"No, Derrick, we’re downsizing. We have no choice but to terminate your position." He said it so matter-of-factly, not even a hint of apology in his voice.
I stared at him incredulously. "You’re firing your Chief Director of Marketing? You’re eliminating the position? C’mon, I’ve been here for seven years. The company has seen a huge upturn every year since you hired me."
"Yup, and now we’re firing you. Believe me, this is a tough decision. This is as hard on me as it is on you."
I stared through the man’s thick lenses into his dark, dry eyes. His face might not have shown it, but I could tell that on the inside he was bursting with pleasure. The bastard always had feared that I would take over his job, and now some big shot above him was making sure that wasn’t going to happen. All so the company could save a couple hundred thousand per year.
On my way out of my office, cardboard box in hand filled with the few crappy possessions that were worth removing, a sea of pats on the back greeted me, letting me know that they were with me to keep me afloat. The pats were all accompanied by reassuring smiles, and that’s when I decided to crack the first joke of my life. "Don’t worry about me," I said confidently and with a glowing smile. "I’ve been wanting to take a vacation for a while anyway." They all laughed heartily, slapping my back even harder. It would be okay, they assured.
I waited at home for several hours for my wife Elaine to return from the grocery store. When she came home sans bags, I asked her where she’d been all day. She instantly diverted the conversation back to me.
"What the hell are you doing home?" she wondered viciously.
"You know that vacation we’ve been talking about?"
"We haven’t talked about any vacation."
I let out a puff of air. "Alright, I got fired today."
"Well, then. That makes things easier."
"Huh?"
"I’ve been sleeping with your boss."
"Is that where you’ve been all day?"
"Yes."
"Is that why he fired me?"
"Probably."
I didn’t know what to say. My wife of eight years got me fired from my job of seven years. I wasn’t sure if I should call her a bitch or thank her. Truth be told, our marriage hadn’t been going well at all, and I hadn’t had any passion for my job since the day I was hired. I was just good at it, so I figured it was what I was supposed to do. There were so many other options I had wanted to explore, but I had never had the motivation or the time or the support.
She stared at me, waiting for me to tear into her. I stared at her waiting for her to get the hell out of my house. She didn’t move, and I didn’t say anything. It felt like an awkward scene out of a romantic comedy.
The ticking of the clock seemed like an omen, warning of the inevitable passage of time that would result in untimely end of our unhappy lives. One of us had to make the next move.
Finally, she spoke. "What are you going to do now?"
"Well, for starters," I began, looking around to make sure there were no weapons nearby, "I am going to tell you to get the hell out of my house. Then I am going to get a lawyer to make sure that my boss gets fired and that you don’t get a penny of my money. Then I am going to buy an easel and some paint supplies and paint a picture of an oceanic view."
"That sounds swell, Derrick. Really swell. Enjoy your painting."
She didn’t move. The clock echoed throughout the house.
"You know, it’s not all my fault."
"Let me guess: if I had been here more you wouldn’t have had to go sleep with the boss who worked me to death every day." I was sure that my astute observation of the irony of the situation would have left the audience on my side and rolling in the aisles.
"Grow up. You always make it sound like it’s all about you."
"Get the hell out of my house."
She finally complied, not even bothering to pack a bag (later I found out that she had already packed several bags and moved them over to my ex-boss’s apartment).
That same night I went out for drinks with a few of my buddies. I told them all about what my bitch soon-to-be-ex-wife and my bastard ex-boss did to me. Slightly drunk, I performed a rousing retelling of the tale, eventually standing atop the table and announcing to the entire bar how viciously I had been screwed. They applauded insatiably at the misery I wrote off as a joke. Their applause sent me sky high. This was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I drank to it, forgetting about paint and easel and imagining living my life the Reynolds’ way.
I woke up the next morning, my head buzzing, in an unfamiliar room. At first I figured I had gotten drunk and gone home with some easy girl that my friends had set me up with at the bar. Before I could get to my feet to explore my surroundings, I heard the chattering of deep and unfamiliar voices. "Looks like the naked master of wit is coming around."
I glanced down at my body and noticed I was indeed nude. Nude and trapped in a prison cell. "What the hell happened?" was all I could think to say.
"Hey Captain Funny Man," one of the officers said to me. "That was one hell of a show you put on last night. I think you’ve found yourself a new career."
I didn’t even ask about what happened. Partially embarrassed but mostly proud, I paid my bail and departed hastily, sloppily dressing myself in the garments they had recovered.
Everywhere I went I was surrounded by laughter and applause. On the subway, in the grocery store, at the weekly family gathering. People knew who I was. They whispered and pointed when they saw, and those whispers and points were always followed by uproarious laughter. I was a bigger celebrity than any Reynolds before me. The attention was much more glamorous than the wealth I had acquired through my illustrious, albeit short-lived, business career. Before I couldn't even make someone smile, but now I had the confidence to crack jokes to complete strangers, and they all laughed. I was finally accomplished. I knew at that point I was never meant to be a businessman; I was destined for greatness as a comedian.
Two weeks after the fateful day I was fired and subsequently secured my status as a jokester, I awoke at my leisure, ate a bowl of Lucky Charms without listening to any nagging wife, and proceeded to stroll the streets, bestowing my magical gift of humor upon anyone fortunate enough to pass by.
Then I saw him. My ex-boss. The pig who had fornicated with my wife. He saw me and came to a halt. At first I thought he was going to beg my forgiveness and try to coerce me back to the office to boost the obviously fallen morale.
"Hi Derrick," he said with a timid smile.
"Hello," I said, head held high and ready to crack a joke at his expense and for the pleasure of all.
"How is everything?"
"Oh, you know, just riding the coattails of my newfound success."
"Oh yeah? And what success is that?" he asked curiously, as if somehow he hadn’t heard.
"Well, in case you haven’t heard, I am becoming a comedian. I’ve been getting great feedback the last few days. I’m going to fulfill the Reynolds’ family dream." I was smiling so wide it hurt.
"Is that so? Comedy, huh? Your family must be proud." He smirked as he spoke and began to look uncomfortable, his eyes looking ahead past my shoulder.
"Oh, they are," I responded, eyes beaming. "I think I might even get a gig for the weekend." Truth was that I didn't have any leads yet, but I figured that with my connections it couldn't be that hard.
"Well, best be on my way. Enjoy the laughter while it lasts."
He strode past me quickly, and I noticed there was a newspaper article affixed to his attaché case. I barely got a glance at it, but I think the headline read Nude Man Arrested in Boss's Bushes Claims He Was Looking for Stolen Wife.
"Strange world," I said aloud as I continued my walk, acknowledging the points and laughs of the unknown passersby. I could tell that my former boss envied my position in life. Sure, he still had his high paying job, and he was probably still sleeping with my wife, but I had become so famous I didn't even need to speak a word to elicit laughter. He was stuck in his position; greatness was awaiting me.
Then it hit me—as a star, I needed a nickname.
Expect to see The Great Nude Dude coming soon to a comedy club near you.
