Funny, You Don't Sound Druidish

So I was sitting at my desk, deep in thought, contemplating life’s many mysteries, when who should phone me, but my old (and I do mean old) friend Lochru. You may recall that Lochru is a Druid who was frozen for centuries at the bottom of Falling Creek Reservoir, and only recently thawed out.
After exchanging pleasantries, I ask him, “So, how are you adjusting to life in the twenty-first century?”
“It’s not bad,” he says, “but there are some things I don’t understand.”
“You and every other Druid,” I reply. I had been waiting to use that line. And, I figured this was as good a chance as any.
“Huh?” he says.
“Nothing,” I reply, “I was just being funny.”
“That’s one of the things I don’t understand,” he says. “You people don’t know the first thing about comedy.”
“And I suppose the Druids are famous for their humor,” I reply dryly. At least I think I said it dryly. I’ve never been sure exactly what that means.
“I take it you’ve never heard of Calatin ‘Slappy’ Son of Myrrdin,” he says somewhat defensively.
“And, who might he be,” I ask.
“Only THE funniest stand-up comic of his day,” Lochru says, and then, adds with what I detect to be a tear in his voice, “Although I’m sure he’s been dead for quite some time.”
If there’s one thing that makes me uncomfortable, it’s a crying Druid, so trying to change the subject, I say, “You mentioned that there were some things you don’t understand?”
“Yeah, I did,” he says. “For instance, I’ve been watching the Olympics, and while they’re not as exciting as our Taillteann Games, I am somewhat intrigued.”
Lochru continued, “But I totally don’t get curling.”
“You, me, and every other Druid,” I reply. Lochru laughs. Now he gets it.
“Actually, I thought it was a game you folks invented,” I reply.
“Well, the Scottish had something similar,” he tells me, “but this curling I see on TV has to be about as boring as spending several centuries encased in a block of ice.”
“You’re the authority on that,” I retort.
“Well curling just looks like a bunch of grown men crawling around on the ice,” Lochru says. “But, the event I really don’t understand is ice falling.”
“Ice falling?” I ask.
“Well, maybe that’s not the name, but they have these women in these tiny little dresses and they come out on the ice, and the music starts and they skate around and every few minutes they fall down.”
“Oh, you mean figure skating,” I say. “I don’t think the falling down is intentional.”
“What!” Lochru exclaims. “I thought that must be the most important part, as often as it’s done.”
“Go figure.” I say. I really don’t know why I say it, but it’s the sort of thing you say when you really can’t think of anything intelligent to say.
“One more question before I have to scat,” Lochru says.
“If it’s about the Olympics, I’m really not much of an authority,” I say.
“No, no. I really just want your opinion,” Lochru says. “What do you think about the County’s Chamber of Commerce paying the $18,000 for Lane Ramsey’s chartered flight?”
“Why, Lochru,” I exclaim, “I’m impressed. I didn’t realize you would be interested in matters like that.”
“Hey, I may be outdated,” he says, “but I’m not stupid. If there’s one thing we Druids appreciate it’s fiscal responsibility.”
“So, do you think the Chamber should have anted up the money,” I ask him.
“Well, it reminds me of the time Pompinius Mela was down in Gaul and he got the report that one of his friends was about to become a human sacrifice,” Lochru says.
“What happened?” I ask
“Well, he spends one hundred cattle to charter an ox to bring him back, and when word got out…well, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Let me just say that.”
Before I can reply, Lochru continues, “But, hey I gotta run. American Idol is coming on, and I’m kinda rooting for Elliott."
"You and every other Druid," I say dryly.