A Marginal Joke Lives To See Another Marginal Day.

There was a recent attempt by the FBI and local law enforcement in Milford Township, Michigan to uncover the remains of former Labor Union President Jimmy Hoffa. The excavation of a local farm was brought on by the feeble last words of a known mob associate on his deathbed. If that doesn't scream credible, I don’t know what does.

I for one was relieved when officials announced that the dig had concluded with no viable evidence or possible leads. If it were up to me this secret would die with the remaining retired mobsters. That way my marginal one-liners like, "you have a better chance of finding Jimmy Hoffa's body in that desk, then a pen that works," can continue to live on. Let's face it, one man is already dead, there's no sense in killing a playful joke as well.

Though I dodged a bullet this time, I've come to realize that I can't ignore the possibility that one day Jimmy may be found. Who knows, some good jokes might come out of it.

[I can occasionally be an optimist.]

Let me think for a moment of some jokes that could come from the discovery of this decaying corpse…

Ok, so here's a new spin on an old thing… After observing a guy with half his torso in the refrigerator, you promptly say, "Hey buddy, didn't you hear, the search is over, they found Hoffa's body."

Yeah that works, and I like the condescending tone. Yet there is a short life span to a joke like this. Not to mention the one-liner relies heavily on the average schlep being up to date with current events. You don't want this joke to turn into some discussion about the details of the investigation and subsequent exhumation. The purpose is to make the person feel like a jackass and move on. So no, new jokes regarding the unearthing of Jimmy Hoffa's remains will not work. Be sides, why fix what's already broken, shot, mangled and rotting in a shallow grave?

To be fair, I will spend a second to discuss what good might come from finding this crook's body. For one, family, friends, and "associates" might find comfort in knowing that good ole James has settled into his final resting place in some gaudy over the top mausoleum in a mid-west cemetery. In addition, those with a bit of a morbid curiosity might receive more information regarding the cause of death. This point however proves invalid. It shouldn’t take a rocket scientist's trip to the local coroner's office to come to the conclusion that poor Jimmy was either shot in the head execution style or strangled with one of his Egyptian silk ties. Or both.

Now conversely, let's think of what harm will be done if such a finding ever happens. To think unselfishly, as I so often do, finding Jimmy's body would bring an end to the mystique and mystery of his life's story. For all intensive purposes, his disappearance has kept him alive much longer than any proper burial would have. Now to think selfishly, which I do more often, finding his body would rob me of my perceived wittiness and quick thinking. I stress perceived. I have so very little in my comedic repertoire as it is, removing this joke would force me to pull some tasteless JFK assassination lines out of retirement.

For instance, "Hey buddy is that ketchup on your shirt or were you standing a little too close to the motorcade when Lee Harvey splattered JFK's medulla oblongata all over downtown Dallas?"

See, that's not funny or clever, just dumb, tasteless and untimely. Believe me when I say, I don’t want to use my old JFK jokes. For every one laugh I got, I received one hundred nasty looks and the occasional phlegm wad slung my way.

I find that the most perplexing part of this mystery is why the FBI has the money or man-hours to waste looking for the body of a criminal who disappeared over thirty years ago? Or what they look to gain when and if the body is ever found? All I know is that the thin thread of shtick humor that I'm holding onto will be abruptly clipped if his body is ever found. Sad, but true.