So it’s currently Wednesday, but even more importantly, it’s National Joe Day—the one day a year where Joes can roam free across the rolling pastures and sniff daisies with the less oppressed. For those keeping score at home, I’ve been a Joe since birth so I know the plight well; however, I’m sure there are many non-Joes out there who don’t know the origin of such a holiday.
Well luckily for you, I’m a genius. I’m cultured. I watch VH1…
Anyway, as legend goes, “National Joe Day” can be traced all the way back to pre-Roman times, in the province of Joe, where Joes would frolick throughout the Mediterranean countryside, filling baskets with Joepples and glass jars with the sweet nectar of Joeney, which could be harvested from the many Joehives that lined the outskirts of the province.
It was a hectic, yet serendipitous lifestyle the Joes in the province of Joe lived. Their main export was meatballs, which served as roughly 70% of the communal diet in Joe. During the week, Joes would roll milk, bread crumbs, onions, and ground beef together to create spherical excellence.
On Sundays, Joes from all over the province would congregate to the center of Joe to feast; the leftover meatballs were ceremoniously hurled across the Mediterranean Sea as a sacrificial gift to Joe—the theological deity of Joe. However, amongst all this joviality (or Joeviality lolz), there existed pain and misfortune just miles away…
On the outskirts of Joe, across the Mediterranean Sea, lived a dwarf by the name of Joe. Years earlier, Joe had been born to a young woman (presumably named Joe) who had abandoned him (presumably due to his small stature) on the neighboring doorstep of Joe, the Prime Minister of Joe.
Instead of abandoning Joe for the second time, Joe decided to shower Joe with the same praise and paternal love that other Joes throughout the province of Joe received.
That was, until civilization began to thrive around the province, beginning with the discovery of Rome in 753 BC. For years, the Joes had lived in solace, unaffected by the brash, capitalistic ambitions of Western society; however, as the Romans began extending their authority with militaristic force along the Italian peninsula, tensions echoed throughout Joe.
Unfortunately, many Joes felt that this era of insecurity and angst directly coincided with dwarf Joe’s arrival to the province. Children would hurl stones at Joe and curse him for his small stature, eventually running him out of the province, and across the Mediterranean Sea.
During his years in solitude—subsisting exclusively on the sacrificial meatballs that had been hurled across the Mediterranean Sea—Joe the Dwarf would sit upon the mountains outside Joe and watch as the Roman army bull rushed through the neighboring cities, until one day, when they invaded the province of Joe.
Atop the mountain of Joe, Joe watched as the good people of Joe were slowly but steadily slaughtered and forced into slavery. It was at this time that he knew he needed to do something to save those he once referred to as his fellow brethren.
Joe thought to himself, “If they won’t accept me as a Joe, then perhaps—given my smaller stature—I can consume enough meatballs to give myself the appearance of one! Huzzahhh!”
And so on Joe went, recklessly vacuuming up all of the sacrificial meatballs along the coast of the Mediterranean until he had doubled his weight, giving him the appearance of, well, a full-sized meatball.
The next day, Joe rolled himself into the center of Joe which, by this point, had been under Roman occupation for nearly a year. Once stationed in front of the Roman army, with the remaining Joes of Joe watching, he pleaded and begged for the Roman army to spare his people, offering himself as a sacrifice.
Shortly after, the Roman army beat, raped, tarred, feathered, raped, and murdered Joe in the center of town, harvesting his organs for cannibalization purposes while the other Joes looked on in severe confusion.
Most Joes witnessed this fiasco with curious eyes. They uttered things like “What a clown…” and “Did this fucking idiot really think that would work?” until one Joe came to a distinct revelation: Perhaps Joe the dwarf was actually the theological deity the Joes would toss sacrificial meatballs to; perhaps he was their God and savior!
The Joes rejoiced in existential relief until the Roman army eventually beat, raped, tarred, feathered, raped, and murdered every last one of them in the center of town, harvesting their organs for cannibalization purposes.
Following the genocide, the Roman army felt a strange communal sensation we now refer to as “guilt.” In response, they decided to rename March 27th “National Joe Day” in honor of the fallen province of Joe, as well as their “savior,” Joe.
So now you know…
– Joey Boats (@joey_boats)