Keep in mind: Three children, 9, 5, and not quite 2.  My elder daughter posts a knock-knock joke to Facebook:

Knock knock
Who’s there?
Owl.
Owl who?
Yep, that’s what they say…

Yes, it is terrible.  She is passing on her own suffering, as her manager said it to her.  I, in turn, passed it along to my younger children.  What I received was three knock-knock jokes in return.  My 5 year old’s:

Knock knock
Who’s there?
Chicken.
Chicken who?
Aren’t you glad I didn’t say book?

I think she is drawing her inspiration from Dali.

My son responds:

Knock knock.
Who’s there.
Bok.
Bok?
Yes, bok.
Bok who?
That’s what chickens say!

Now there’s a certain continuity to this one.  It has context.  It still makes no sense.

And then my almost two year old:

Bok bok.  Bok bok.  Bok.

I’ve been sick the last few days so have some updates:

The backyard neighbor has given his tree a Jedi funeral atop a pyre made of old carpet.

Our tree has found a temporary home.  Do you think it blends?

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