Bariss the Joke Master

Have you ever walked into a bar and seen a little man with a little pad jotting down descriptions of anything his little beady eyes may find? He's the joke master. He writes the jokes. Evan doesn't like people that underestimate his knowledge. That's why he hates asking questions. He wants to know exactly what he doesn't know. He doesn't want someone making a bunch of assumptions that he doesn't know more than what he actually may or may not know. They are always awkward conversations. Always. He's sleeping now, though. Daddy's left the office, and he's napping. So, steroids. Weird, huh? I could buy some for like $400. I could get big and mean. That would make up for... everything. People like big people. People also like mean people - girls especially (though they rarely admit it). I'd be both. They'd give me a cool nickname like "the machine" or "Bariss". A cookie I'd be one tough. Evan woke up. He's on the phone talking about rollovers and file-what-have-yous. Tax forms. I wish I could be the joke master. I'd finish that joke in the Breakfast Club. This Naked Chick walks into a bar with a poodle under one arm and a two foot salami under the other. She puts the poodle and the salami on the bar, and the bartender says... (sound of ceiling breaking) AHHHHHH! Yeah, if I were the joke master that would be my Everest. I'd wait for years for that naked lady to come in with her poodle and salami. It would be amazing. I would be amazing. I'd Benchpress tables to stay big, and I'd eat raw meat while I waited to stay mean. That way after my time as joke master was served people would still like me. "Bariss," they'd say, "You've been gone awhile, you've written some amazing jokes, and I still like you."