We’re excited to share one of our favorite jokes with residents of our Willow Hill apartment community in Puyallup, WA.
One morning, a young boy wakes up to find a red tricycle outside his bedroom door.
“You’ve been so good lately,” says his parents, “we wanted to give you something special.”
“Neat!” says the boy, and he takes it outside and rides off down the street.
At this precise moment, an older man wakes up and finds a beautiful red Porsche in his garage with a note that says, “Happy Birthday!” Elated, the man hops in and takes it for a spin down the street. As he’s driving, the man notices a young boy on a red tricycle parked at a traffic light. The man pulls up next to him, leans over to open the passenger door, and asks the boy, “You want to race?”
The boy turns his head slowly. With a big grin, he nods and taps the bell on his handlebars.
“Yeah,” the boy shouts excitedly. “I wanna race!”
The man smiles, closes the door, and sits back in his chair. As the light turns green, he barely presses down on the gas, lets the kid take the lead for a few seconds, and then slams his foot down. Laughing, the man smiles as he zooms past the kid and leaves him in the dust.
“Well,” says the man, “that was fun.” All of a sudden the kid whizzes past the Porsche. Surprised, the man looks at his speedometer. “30 miles per hour… What?!” He presses down on the gas pedal further, catches up to the kid — his face is forward, hands clinging to the handlebars, and his feet rotating on the pedals super fast.
As the man eventually passes the kid, he watches the tricycle appear smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror. But suddenly — ZOOM! The kid blows past the Porsche again, this time at over 50 miles per hour.
By now the man is stunned, slams his foot down, and passes the kid; he’s now the size of a speck of dust in the rear-view mirror. But sure enough, the kid flies past the Porsche a third time — hands clinging to the tricycle that’s literally left the ground, the kid with an open mouth and eyes; the man can’t believe it. Surely they’re going faster than 80 miles an hour.
Eventually, they both come to a stop at a traffic light. The man pulls up next to the kid, lowers the passenger window, and says, “Kid! You gotta tell me. I have to know what type of engine you got on that thing!”
With his hands clinging to the handlebars and his whole body in tremors, the kid turns to look at the man.
“M-m-mister!” he says, with a trembling mouth. “M-m-my s-suspenders are caught in your door!”