By Mike Welsh
For the first time in modern history one of the great mysteries of society can now be revealed.
The real reason canines the world over, upon meeting one another, first sniff each other’s behinds.
You may be surprised to know that the Captain of the Seven Network’s Sunrise couch David Koch played a significant role in this anthropological unpacking.
A few years back, as I was preparing to enter the great unknown world of grandparenthood, I experienced for the first time in my life, a light-bulb moment. My expectant daughter had asked what I’d like to be called. Under no circumstances would I cop Pop, Poppy, Papa or Grandad. On this I was unbendable. It created a problem – there weren’t a whole bunch of other options. Sir, Mr Welsh and Michael were quickly scuttled. Then early one morning, right there on my TV, not 2 metres in front of me and 3 metres behind David Koch in Martin Place outside the Seven Sydney studios was my inspiration.
Among the horde of fans peering through the window and waving their arms about like monkeys on red cordial hoping someone back home in Traralgon spots them, Champion was holding up a sign which read “Hi G Dad”. Bingo. At that pivotal moment I called “shotgun” on G Dad, a full two months out from the scheduled birth of my first grandchild.
I’m not sure if old mate had indolently scribbled “G Dad” as an abbreviation, or did in fact refer to his Grandfather by the very cool moniker of G Dad and I will never know. I choose, however, to go with lazy abbreviator option.
Amid the euphoria, I realised a sweet irony. Slap bang in the middle of my epiphany, Kochie let one rip. As yet another of his famous Dad jokes was zinging its way around Australia forcing hundreds of thousands of bleary eyed people to groan simultaneously, I invented the G Dad Joke.
In less time than it takes to say “pull my finger” I had discovered a brand new comedy genre.
I could drag out a whole pile of stale old gags and stories on which David Koch dines out daily to a know-all and unappreciative audience and present as a wise old man imparting rare knowledge.
I’ve written a constitution for those who eventually qualify to become serious practitioners of G Dad jokes, hereafter to be known as GDJ.
The audience or recipient of your shamelessly recycled gag or story must be under the age of five. The joke has to be slightly educational, of some substance, have a narrative and contain some bodily functions (optional but I do recommend it or your career as a teller of champagne G Dad jokes may be embarrassingly brief). A GDJ can also be peppered with words and phrases such as Farty Pants, Poo Head and Flabby Bum. And females can’t, as evidenced by the decline in the effectiveness of the common DadJoke, participate. It’s a seriously slippery slope once girls are permitted to join in. It’s just a rule. Most importantly the GDJ must have a narrative. By the age of three, most kids are curious about a lot of random stuff and they can’t be easily fobbed off. They may ask their parents for example, why doggies smell each other’s bottoms. Most parents don’t know the answer anyway. Enter G Dad and his special skills.
Once upon a time all the dogs in the village were called to a special meeting in the town hall. There had been an issue of some dogs cocking their legs and weeing on the statue of the village founder, Sir Humphrey Hounddog. As the dogs filed into the hall they passed a sign which read PLEASE HANG YOUR BUM ON THE HOOKS PROVIDED BEFORE ENTERING THE HALL. About halfway through the meeting as the Mayor, Sir Winston Bulldog was yapping on about statue weeing, the fire alarm rang, which sent all the dogs racing out of the hall. However, in the confusion they grabbed the wrong bottoms from the hooks in the foyer in the hall and that is why to this very day a doggy will leave his juicy bone and sniff another dog’s butt in a desperate bid to find his own. Humanity thanks you, David Koch.