I once told my husband and his friend the following joke:
Extraterrestrials abducted this guy and took him up to their spaceship to do experiments on him. Soon he noticed a strange medical device they were using, and asked what it was.
“It’s sort of the opposite of an endoscope,” they replied. “An endoscope is for looking inside you, and its name comes from the Latin ‘endo’ meaning ‘inside,’ as opposed to ‘exo’ meaning ‘outside,’ or ‘epi’ meaning ‘on the surface.’ This device is for looking at the surface of your skin, and it is called an episcope.”
“But then,” said the guy, “what are you doing using Latin? You’re not Catholics. You’re Episcope Aliens!”
It was a failure. Neither my husband nor his friend understood that “Episcope Aliens” was a pun on “Episcopalians.” And not only that, but instead of asking me to explain the joke, they simply assumed that the joke made no sense, and ridiculed me about it for hours. I suppose this is what I get for being the queen of absurdity in our family.