Bob, the undertaker, came home one evening with a black eye, his face bruised and swollen. His wife, startled by the sight, looked up from the kitchen counter and asked, “Bob, what happened to you?”
Bob sighed, plopping down onto the couch. “I’ve had a terrible, terrible day,” he muttered, rubbing his sore eye.
His wife raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”
Bob took a deep breath. “Well, it started with a call from a hotel manager. Apparently, one of their guests passed away in his sleep, and they couldn’t get him into a body bag. Not because of the usual problems, like size or rigor mortis—but because the guy… well, he had a huge problem.”
His wife looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “What kind of problem?”
Bob continued, exasperated. “It turns out the man had an enormous erection. It was so large that they couldn’t zip him up into the body bag properly. The manager said, ‘Bob, we need your help! Can you come down here and figure this out?’ So I headed over to the hotel as fast as I could.”
His wife blinked, trying to process this bizarre new information. “And then?”
“I got to the room,” Bob went on, shaking his head, “and sure enough, there was the man—completely naked, lying on the bed with the biggest erection I’d ever seen. It was… well, let’s just say it was impressive. And not in a good way.”
His wife’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh no. What did you do?”
Bob sighed again. “Well, what else could I do? I had to get him into the bag, right? So I grabbed this… thing—both hands—and tried to bend it in half. I mean, how else do you deal with something like that?”
His wife’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “I can’t even imagine!”
Bob nodded grimly. “It was awkward. It was uncomfortable. But, you know, duty calls, right? I thought if I just bent it enough, it would… well, work. So I tried with all my strength, but—”
He stopped, looking down at his wife, who was still staring at him, her jaw dropping lower with each word.
“…but I ended up knocking over a lamp, spilling water all over the bed, and… well, the hotel manager was not happy. So I figured I better get out of there quickly. I walked out of the room, thinking I could at least salvage some dignity. But then, I walked into the wrong room.”
His wife blinked. “The wrong room?”
Bob nodded, sheepishly. “Yeah. Turns out I was supposed to go to room 312, not room 313. And wouldn’t you know it—the guy in the other room had a black eye too. I was so mortified, I didn’t even know what to say. I just turned and ran.”
His wife stared at him, incredulous. “You went into the wrong room? After all that?”
Bob sighed. “Yeah, and now I have a black eye of my own. Wrong room, wrong timing—just a terrible day all around.”
His wife blinked slowly. “Bob, sometimes I think you have the most interesting job in the world.”
Bob groaned, rubbing his head. “If you think that’s bad, wait until I tell you about the funeral tomorrow…”