Knock, knock. Who’s there? (Silence) Knock, knock. Who’s there? (Silence) The ghost of village entrance future appears. He gives the thumbs down and proclaims, “No one is at Laguna’s door. There is no door. The city has ruined knock-knock jokes forevermore.”
I love knock-knock jokes. I can’t imagine a future without them. I was in comic mourning after reading Ann Christoph’s article, “Somethin’s Got to Give.” Since 1990, numerous city councils have yacked and bickered at an ephemeral door that disappears before anyone can answer it. Surely after 26 years, the council should go knocking somewhere else. Don’t they understand that when one door closes another door opens? Or forget doors completely. Change tactics and go into the window business. Windows are good. They’re cheaper and easier to peek out of. Tap, tap. Who’s there? It’s 6 million tourists and we decided to drop by. “Sorry window’s jammed. Try Barstow. There’s more sand there.”
Perhaps we should turn to the Bible for help. St. Peter had the same problem way back when. He gave up on doors and went with pearly gates. “Much easier to manage,” he said. “Of course, it ruins knock-knock jokes. I can see who’s there and they’re usually not welcomed. Present company included.” Well, that’s not good. There’s got to be an answer that’s more welcoming than that. Heaven can wait.
So, I’ve been thinking of nothing else. When is a door not a door? When it’s ajar. Think harder. A jar. Maybe word association will help. Jar, jarheads, fights, MPs, nightclubs, disco balls. Bingo. We’ll hang the world’s largest disco ball to mark the entrance to Laguna Beach. Everybody loves disco. I can see next year’s Festival of Arts opening. Ellen DeGeneres will dance her way to open the 2017 festivities. She’ll be followed in 2018 with “Saturday Night Fever” John Travolta. Then in 2019 we will contract with Kevin Bacon of “Footloose” fame. There’s a lineup. Tourists will come from miles around to dance with the stars.
And the best thing about dancers is they are in good shape because they move around so much. For instance, dancers deplore sitting still and riding in cars. They prefer to get to places under their own locomotion. That’s just the kind of new tourists we need, those tip top shape folks who will leave their cars at home. Voila, no need for more parking spaces. Get ready to dosey-doe residents. I believe we have our entrance.
“So I got my back up to try my luck. Why look. Everybody’s doin’ the disco, disco duck. Try your luck. Wave to me. Don’t be a cluck. Disco, disco duck. Ah get down mama, ha, ha, ha, ha.”
Crantz tells the Indy that he couldn’t find the Guinness record for the largest disco ball. He got confused and drank it. It was the wrong Guinness. But he broke his own personal consumption record. Wave to me. Don’t be a cluck. Support my disco, disco intervention.
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