My Best Dad Joke Nobody Every Laughed At

Back in 2007, I was in the thick of writing and producing Fark TV out of Atlanta. If you haven’t heard of it, don’t worry – it ran on Adult Swim’s SuperDeluxe platform, which is now defunct, like most of my career aspirations at the time. We churned out four to five episodes a week, each created in a frenetic 24-hour period. Often, we’d get an early-morning call from Turner Studios with some absurd request to cover a specific news story. It was the Wild West of digital content creation, where deadlines were tight, expectations were vague, and coffee was my primary food group.

One day, at 6 a.m., I got a call about a tiger attack story. Yes, that tiger attack story. The one where a Siberian tiger named Tatiana escaped her enclosure at the San Francisco Zoo and attacked three men, killing one. It was horrifying, tragic, and exactly the kind of macabre material that our show would gleefully twist into a satirical sketch. We had our orders, so we went to work writing and prepping the shoot.

Half of the video we decided to film at an actual zoo in Atlanta. By 9 a.m., I was dressed as a character (probably something ridiculous) and heading out with a camera crew. It was a cold winter morning, the kind where you can feel your nose hairs freeze, and the zoo was practically deserted. This seemed like a good thing at the time: fewer onlookers, fewer questions, and fewer opportunities to get kicked out for doing something stupid.

When we arrived, I approached the ticket booth and explained to the attendant that we’d be shooting some B-roll for a video. She seemed completely indifferent and waved us through. I purchased six tickets: one for me and five for my crew. As she handed me the tickets, she casually mentioned, “Just so you know, since it’s cold, only half the animals are out today.”

And that’s when it happened.

I saw my moment. The stars aligned. The comedic gods handed me an opportunity so perfect that I barely had to think. I looked her dead in the eyes and said, “Which half?”

I paused. I waited. Surely she’d crack a smile. Maybe even chuckle. It was such a solid Dad joke—the kind that demands at least some acknowledgment, even begrudgingly. Instead, she stared at me as if I’d just asked her to recite the alphabet backward. No reaction. Just a blank, dumbfounded look before she turned away.

Fine, I thought. Maybe it’s too early in the morning for her. Surely my crew would pick up on it. I turned to them, my loyal team of comedic misfits. They had to appreciate the brilliance of this joke, right? After all, they were being paid to be there. But no. Not a single laugh. Not even a pity smile. Just silence.

I felt numb. Sure, part of that was the cold, but most of it was the crushing weight of unappreciated genius.

We moved on with our day, filming some great footage and completing the video just in time to meet our deadline. It wasn’t until months later, during a team discussion about our favorite and least favorite episodes, that this particular sketch came up. Someone asked why we didn’t get any footage of a tiger.

I’ll admit, I saw this as my chance to redeem myself.

I explained, “Well, we were told that only half the animals were out because of the cold.”

I waited for the lightbulb moment. The realization. The laugh. The acknowledgment that I’d been playing the long game, setting up the joke for months and tossing it on his lap. If I could use one of the best Dad jokes every, I could at least offer it up and be part of this historic moment.

Instead, one of the writers shrugged and said, “Bummer. A tiger would’ve been great.”

And that was it. No one got it. Not then, not at the zoo, not ever. My best Dad joke, wasted on a group of people who couldn’t recognize comedic brilliance if it slapped them in the face with a rubber chicken.

To this day, I stand by that joke. It’s one of the best I’ve ever delivered, and I refuse to let it die in obscurity. One day, I’ll gather a new group of people—preferably smarter, funnier, and more appreciative people—and take them to a zoo on a winter day. I’ll deliver the line again, and this time, I’ll get the reaction it deserves.

Until then, I’ll just sit here, stewing in my own bitterness, and wondering how many other great jokes have been squandered on the unworthy.