Another New Tent Joke

 Okay, once you don't succeed, try, try again . . .

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson decided to go camping. Far from the streets of London, past the well-remembered university town, the detective and the doctor alighted on a small platform in front of an even smaller station. Looking up at the sky, Watson tucked his now-unnecessary umbrella under his arm, and picked up his bag. The two men walked over a mile enjoying the local scenery.

"Here is the spot we shall pitch our tent for the night," Holmes declared, tapping the ground with his walking stick.

"Our tent," Watson said, a statement with hints of doubt in it.

"Yes, our tent," Holmes replied. 

"This is where you're saying we should pitch our tent," Watson questioned, a rare event in their friendship.

"Yes, Watson, this spot has all the qualities of an excellent camp site," Holmes answered flatly.

Watson, however, was not so easily convinced.

"Holmes, I have been with you on many adventures. I have trusted you in the face of danger of every sort -- bullets, poison darts, noxious fumes, Professor Moriarty's entire criminal empire. I have let my medical skills lapse in accompanying you, failed at marriage three times due to participating in this detective business, and broken three bones in an incident you won't even let me put before the public. I have weaned you from your addictions, entertained your delusions and charades both knowingly and unknowingly, and even spent an overnight in the company of that wretched Josiah Amberly at your request."

"Yes," agreed Holmes.

"But you are telling me, that we're going to pitch our tent, here, in the middle of the street, in front of a milliner's shop, in a public thoroughfare?" Watson glared at Holmes with the level of rage that can only come from over twenty years of sharing an apartment.

"Yes," Sherlock Holmes told Watson. "I'm sick of camping. We're staying at that inn across the street. Pitch that tent into that rubbish heap over there, and let's go have supper."

********************

Okay, at least Holmes isn't farting this time.

It occurred to me, as I took a long walk before dusk tonight, that the tent joke is actually the perfect condensed Sherlock Holmes story. The punchline is the classic change of perspective from "Oh, they're sleeping under the stars" to "They were supposed to be in a tent," with that added seasoning of the great criminologist being the victim of a crime. The Hound of the Baskervilles is a demon hound that Holmes changes our perspective to see it's a normal dog at the end. A "Sussex vampire" is shown to be a woman sucking out poison. A strange, meaningless job is a ruse to tunnel out of a basement. 

So I went with a change of perspective that, in the end, was not all that funny. Not really an M. Night Shyamalan twist there, and not really a good joke, either.

And on we go.