Here it is.

But really, here it is:

Looking for the jokes

Damn, but I can make an exit. Here we go, folks.

I got on a plane for New York City — leaving Boulder for the last time — just before 1 o’clock this morning. While most of last week was filled with various rugs being yanked out from under me, getting on that plane was a huge relief, because I ended up exhausted on a redeye flight sitting next to the loud drunk guy with the loud ringtone.

I’d seen him in the airport and figured right away that being his airborne neighbor would be the only way the world would let me out of this. Chief Niwot, fate, the comedy gods. I don’t know. But I was meant to leave Boulder crunched next to a mix of the Verizon “can you hear me now?” guy and Will Ferrell’s character from “Old School.”

As a huge fan of comedy and sometimes a student, I can recognize a punch line a mile away. Sometimes it’s tough to find the joke, though. Help.

Punch line: As a guy who spent most of his 2½ years in Colorado resenting the populations outside of Denver and Boulder primarily for their voting habits, the best time I had all week was a night at Oskar Blues up in Lyons. I knew it was going to be a good night when the woman singing ended a song as we entered and yelled out, “Hey, (Drinkin’ Boots), where’s your robot suit?”

Turns out old Drinkin’ Boots had stormed a bluegrass show in Salina the night before, decked out in silver spray paint and flexible metal dryer duct tubes. When that’s the start to your evening and you’re surrounded by friends, a good night is ahead.

Punch line: Today I got home — home! — to Brooklyn to find a mostly decimated apartment, with clothes, magazines and dirty dishes everywhere, and of course the tell-tale clue of a stack of empty beer bottles. But they’re all non-alcoholic O’Douls.

Punch line: I’m about to start graduate school at a fancy-pants place where I may not quite fit in right away. Hell, I’m starting life in a city where I may not quite fit in right away. I have already lost three cell phone chargers, my self-confidence and a gentleman’s bet on the Kentucky Derby. Turns out when I was betting on Storm In May, I wasn’t betting on a horse, because, hold onto your butts …

Punch line: The Lady and I called it quits. This one made me wish I were polytheistic because I’d rather have a whole slew of deities to swear at and blame. You know, the god of youth, the god of inevitability, the god of cute girls that inspire crappy romantics to write crappy love songs. If you’re out there, I’m shaking my fists at you guys.

You too, god of coincidental mortifyingly close-to-home selections by radio deejays. And I’m not forgetting you, god of explaining having broken up to every friend I’ve ever had as they ask “how’s the Lady?” This includes you, friends, and I’ll tell you: The Lady is well, but this will be the last time I’ll call her the Lady. We are on fine terms, but I am sad.

All of this is to say that writing punch lines is easy — weird stuff happens all the time. It’s finding the jokes that’s so damn hard. So I’ll be looking and I hope you will, too. We have to keep this thing moving somehow. And thanks to those of you who have sent me kind words in the last few weeks. So long.

Dave Burdick is at column@daveburdick.com.