I went on a date with a woman who worked in a morgue.
I said, “Dead set?”
She said, “What?”
I said, “That’s very interesting.”
She said, “It’s not.”
I said, “It is. How many people work with dead people? Most of us work with dead heads, you know, idiots, but not people who are actually dead.” She didn’t like this. I tried to make a joke. I said, “How many people could have sex with their customers, and the customers wouldn’t even know. Nobody would know. It could be your little secret.”
She said, “I don’t have sex with the bodies.”
I said, “Sure. Do you call them Deadies?”
She said, “No.”
I said, “Ok, but have you ever wanted to slap one on the butt and say ‘Who’s your Deadie? Who’s your Deadie? You’re my Deadie.’ And then before sliding the body into the cabinet, have you slid another one out and rolled one on top of the other so you could have a threesome, or sat and watched them two lie there?”
My date said, “No.”
I told Mum about this. She said, “Is this what you get up to when I’m not around?”
I said, “No. I don’t bring dead bodies back to the house for threesomes.”
Mum said, “You probably should. It’s the only way you’d be able to give a date a stiffy.”
I asked my date if she’s ever used a body as a puppet?
She said, “No,” and then she decided to end the date. She said, “This is why I like to work with dead people.”
Which is good. It sounds like she works with people she gets along with. They might be dead but, that’s good for her. So that’s a happy ending?