Watergate Jokes

For no obvious reason, I’ve been thinking about Watergate and the scandal that bought down a Presidency. So I thought I’d look for some contemporary comedy about the whole affair.

Here’s Johnny, marking the fifth anniversary of Nixon’s resignation.

And that’s pretty much all I could find.

So I guess there was only ever one joke performed on TV about Watergate.



Budget Cuts

The man was waffling on about deficit reduction, and gross domestic product, but everyone was tuned in waiting to hear one thing, and one thing only.

“When will he get to the tax cuts?” someone in the room asked.

Everyone just shuffled uneasily. No-one liked to admit this was the only thing they were interested in, and so the question remained unanswered.

It was another ten minutes until he turned his page, and cleared his throat, before getting to it.

“Now, I know a few of you have been waiting for my announcement about the tax cuts,” he said with a shit-eating grin that prompted some knowing laughter in the chamber.

When the TV cameras cut to a wide shot, it was plain to everyone that all of the members on the Government benches were a good three foot taller than those sitting on the opposition ones.

A few people in the room darted quick glances at the higher ups, the minority of the group, gathered at the back, peering easily over the heads of their subordinates. No-one really knew when their society had adopted the height-based ‘meritocracy’, because it was so ingrained in their minds. Tall people were just better, it was agreed. Even when it wasn’t.

The six foot tall man on the TV continued.

“Anyone under five foot four should report immediately to their cut centres, and pay,” the pause he left for dramatic effects was appreciated by no-one. “A further three centimetres.”

Groans drifted around the room, and a few mumbles could be heard. Only the people at the back were smiling.

“Anyone over five foot eight, will not be taxed.”

A cheer went up around the chamber, and was echoed from the back of the room.

“It’s only fair,” said one of them, to the agreement of the others. “Short people can’t contribute to society the way tall people do. And it’s only another three centimetres.”

No-one commented that the short were getting shorter.

It wasn’t the done thing.

The Day The President Fell

It started like most days that year.


But as the day unfolded, and revelation followed bombshell, it felt like the sun had come out from a year long hibernation, spreading its heat and glow, and thawing everyone’s cockles just enough to feel a warmth in the world again.

No-one really knew why they had elected a man with a massive orange for a head as the President of the World. It had started off as a joke. Lots of hilarity was spent on working out how he was talking without a mouth. Anatomically speaking, there was no way he could be making sounds, until we all realised he really was talking out of his arse.

That accounted for the noxious odour that accompanied each and every one of his utterances.

No-one really knew how he had ended up with a massive orange for a head either. The rumour was it had something to do with a rusty, dusty old lamp and a series of wishes, though it had never been proven. He wouldn’t release his wish returns, no matter how hard he was pressed. Curious behaviour for an orange.

Every day the news was bleak. Some scandal or another, slowly unfolding like a slow motion origami flattening, followed some heinous outburst that made the last one seem like a fragrant fart.

And still the man with the massive orange for a head remained President of the World.

It didn’t seem to matter what happened, he just sat there, a massive orange atop a black suited moron. And we all watched on, horrified, unable to look away.

And then he fell.

It happened so quickly that the news channels weren’t actually sure it had happened at all. They kept going over and over it, moment by moment, calling on experts and pundits to analyse ever detail of the event. And still no-one quite believed what was happening. Even the most gleeful opponents had to take a few moments to process it, while the most fervent supporters clasped their chests and wailed about the inhumanity of it all.

It took a few days for the fog to lift, and things started to get back to normal. No-one really mentioned the man with the massive orange for a head again, except tangentially, and with a rueful smile.

We all remember the moment that the President fell though.

The way he stumbled on the bottom step.

The way he toppled over.

The way his head burst.

The way the juice exploded everywhere.

The way to pulp flew through the air.

It was glorious.

We’re All Idiot Sandwiches

On yesterday’s setisoppO, we mentioned this moment.

Now, I know this was a parody of his own show on The Late Late Show with James Corden, but it got me thinking. First, it put me in mind of this.

And because my mind tends to focus on comedy things it can remember, it then led me on to this.

It seems odd that we watch the real versions of these shows in high numbers. Like Dragon’s Den for example, where we watch people with ideas and aspirations go cap in hand to rich knobs who sit there in judgement, while everyone else does all the work. They might as well look like Mr Creosote, and have someone peeling grapes for them.

This is how it should be done.

Or this.

Aim up, not down.

(It seems I make all my points using comedy clips.)