This joke is really old . . . many of you young’uns may not get it (I’m not young, so I wouldn’t know). So I promise after this posting I will follow up with another message sort of explaining it. I’m re-working it just a weeeeeee little bit so that’s got a Houseian twist to it.

Warning: The following content should be considered PG-13, but may not be suitable for some sensitive readers. Particularly those who go to church every week. Please take it for no more than it is, a JOKE.

The Three Monks

Once upon a time, three monks came to the land of Hollywood to seek fame and fortune. Well, maybe not fame exactly, as much as they had been so shocked by House, MD’s irreverent tone toward religion, that they sought to be a positive religious influence on the powers-that-be. And fortune? Well, they didn’t really want fortune, as much as they needed to be able to pay the rent.

So, after a letter-writing campaign, a well-publicized but unsuccessful hunger strike, and a rather large bribe offered to NBC Universal, at long last these three monks were granted a very special, albeit very unusual position, on the very lot upon which the series House, MD is filmed. They were given a license to operate a Flower cart.

Yes, this is true, Hugh Laurie, Robert Sean Leonard, Lisa Edelstein, and all the rest of the cast and crew would daily pass by the monks’ flower cart. The sellers served up bright, fresh, and beautiful flowers, and their business soon flourished. They sold to the actors, actresses, and crew who often had to offer apologies to their significant others for long work-days.

Every visitor to the flower cart (actually, they ran their operation out of the back of a Toyota Corolla, but that’s neither here nor there) was met with a cheery “How-do-you-do,” a hearty “May God be With You,” and a warm “Bless you, my son (or daughter).” Every blooming package was adorned with green paper dotted with little gold crosses.

After several months of this arrangement, and many sales to the-powers-that-be of House, MD, the monks continued to watch the show, and realized that they were having simply no influence whatsoever. They decided they just had to take further action.

Robert Sean Leonard was the first victim. He had purchased a dozen long-stemmed roses and paid in cash, but the monks refused to hand over his property until he had recited ten Hail Mary’s. They insisted that the reciting be flawless from start to finish and without one error. Now, this shouldn’t be too hard for an actor, but ten times in a row, they tend to run together a bit! Poor Robert wasn’t let go for nearly half an hour.

Over the next two weeks, many of the other cast and crew were subjected to terrible, indecent humiliations by these monks. Lisa Edelstein had her hand smacked with a ruler because of her low-cut blouse. Even when they weren’t buying anything, those walking by were forced to listen to chants, hand-bells, and – I shudder to write this – forced to inhale incense.

It didn’t take long however, before House, MD’s, powers-that-be finally contacted NBC Universal. They had to offer a bribe even larger than the monks had to secure their position as flower cart salesmen, but it was worth it. They now had permission to evict the petal peddlers from the lot forever! That very same day, they sent two security guards to take care of the unpleasant matter.

Unfortunately for the-powers-that-be, the following day, they found that the monks had returned to their usual position, and now their security staff were short by two guards. There had been a note scrawled on David Shore’s whiteboard saying, “The monks were right. We’re joining a monastery. Don’t try to stop us.” Beneath this appeared a signature and an X, belonging to the two guards.

Next the L.A. Police Department was summoned. Four officers in full riot gear arrived shortly before noon. After a three-hour stand-off involving bull-horns, tear gas, and a low speed car chase through the lot of NBC Universal, the four officers ran from the property screaming like rabid fan-girls. They were headed to the nearest church, seeking redemption, forgiveness, and to cure their lunch-time hunger with a few tasteless bread wafers and gallon of Mad Dog 20/20.

The situation looked pretty bleak. The cast and crew quickly became despondent, fearful that they were doomed to daily proselytizing at a level not before seen in Southern California. Whatever could they do to rid themselves of these three monks?

At the end of the fourth day, most of the despondent House, MD employees gave wide berth to the dreaded Flower cart. But one daring tall gent with three days’ growth of beard drove his motorcycle right up to the old Toyota Corolla, dismounted, and removed his helmet. Everyone else was so far away they weren’t able to hear, but from a distance it appeared that their rescuer talked to the monks calmly, armed with no weapon save his piercing blue eyes.

In just a very few short minutes, the monks were extinguishing their incense, rolling up their crucifix-adorned wrapping papers, cramming their flowers back into the Toyota, and left the NBC Universal lot quietly, never to return.

What, praytell, my dear readers, would the moral of this story be?

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Hugh, and only Hugh, can Prevent Florist Friars.