At first I thought the victim was telling him the license plate number of the car that hit him…
0
7
I don’t care if you’ve heard this, it’s still a good one.
*The Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD), The FBI, and the CIA are all trying to prove that they are the best at apprehending criminals. The President decides to give them a test. He releases a rabbit into a forest and each of them has to catch it.
The CIA goes in. They place animal informants throughout the forest. They question all plant and mineral witnesses. After three months of extensive investigations they conclude that rabbits do not exist.
The FBI goes in. After two weeks with no leads they burn the forest, killing everything in it, including the rabbit, and they make no apologies. The rabbit had it coming.
The LAPD goes in. They come out two hours later with a badly beaten bear. The bear is yelling: “Okay! Okay! I’m a rabbit! I’m a rabbit!”
*
never mind
They spell it weird in your neighborhood too, huh?
I’ve always heard this about CIA, KGB and Mossad (Being Israelis, of course we make Mossad the butt of the joke ;))
Lorena Bobbitt is out on a date, and as fate would have it, she does what she’s known to do.
So she cuts off the penis of the guy while they are driving down the road, and, not knowing what to do with it, she decides to throw it out the window.
However, it ends up bouncing off the windshield of the car following them.
“What kind of bug was that” says the women in the car.
“I don’t know”, says her husband, “but did you see the size of its dick”.
Top 10 ways to get a traffic cop mad.
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When he comes up to the car, say “License and registration, please” right when he says it.
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When he asks why you were speeding, tell him you had to buy a hat.
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If he asks you to step out of the car, automatically throw yourself on the hood and begin pushing your trousers down to your knees.
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Ask if he watches Cops.
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Trip and fall into him.
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Accuse him of police brutality when he pushes you away.
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When he goes to read you your rights, sing “La La La, I can’t hear you!”
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Try to sell him your car.
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Ask if you can buy his car.
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When you are in the back of the police car, try and touch his neck through the fencing.
- But it was funny.
I’ve also heard:
Why are Baptists opposed to premarital sex?
Because it could lead to dancing.
Zero points.
6 points.
9 points.
5 points.
Zero points.
Same vein :
It’s on October 1st 1650, on the deep northern frontier, that Fred the Lumberjack sets out for the mountain where he will cut down wood to prepare for the winter ahead. He works all week, eating only stale bread and the season’s last berries. On the last day, at the edge of the new clearing, he spies a wizened Indian man, sitting on a stump and smoking a pipe. The old man looks at him intently for a while then, weighing each of his words, wisely says : “Winter will be cold.”. Then shuffles off in the woods.
Fred quickly gather his tree trunks, and drags them back to his cabin. After a hearty dinner, he tells his beloved wife he’s going to have to go back up the mountain immediately, for the old Indian has predicted the coming winter would be a cold one.
And thus, he does - setting off before sunrise, climbing up the treacherous paths, and again he cuts down majestic fir trees for a whole week. On the last day, again he notices that old Indian staring at him from the edge of the clearing. Before the man turns away and disappears between the trees, Fred can hear him muttering : “Winter will be very cold…”
So back to his cabin he goes, his lumber sled in tow, and again he regretfully tells his loving and by now thoroughly horny wife that he’s got to go back up the mountain, for the coming winter will be a harsh one and they’ll need the wood to survive.
Weary and sex starved, Fred treks up that mountain, and sweats blood cutting down those fucking trees again and again. Because jokes work better in threes, for the last time he spies that old Indian, and before he can say a word, the Indian opines : “Winter will be very, very cold.”
Fred’s had enough. He yells : “Man, how can you guys even know how bad winter is gonna be in October ?!”
After a lengthy pause, and a few puffs of his pipe, the Indian calmly replies : “Tribe lore say, when White Man cut lots of wood, mean winter will be very cold.”
(Editor’s Note : a more politically charged version of this joke goes : “When white man take all the wood, winter be very cold.”)
8 points. Nicely told, as well.
A little girl and little boy are playing outside. The little boy holds up a couple of marbles and says, “I have two of these!”
The girl says, “I have 4 of those!”
The boy says, “I have 5 toy trucks.”
The girl says, “I have 7 toy trucks.”
The boy, completely frustrated, drops his pants and says, “I have 1 of these!”
The girl drops her pants and says, “I have one of these, and with one of these I can get all of those that I want.”
A man is diagnosed with a terrible, inoperable brain cancer. The doctor tells him that there is a radical new surgery which will allow for a brain transplant. The man agrees, and the doctor tells him to pick if he wants a woman’s brain or a man’s. The woman’s brain is $5,000 while the man’s brain is $10,000. The patient asks why the difference in price. “A woman’s brain is used”, replies the doctor.
Zero points.
Zero points.
This guys gets a call from his doctor.
Doc: I got bad news and I got worse news.
Guy: Uh-oh, bad news first.
Doc: The tests came in and you have 24 hours left to live
Guy: That’s horrible!! what possibly can be worse than that?
Doc: We’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.
Another guy goes to visit the doctor.
Doc: I’m afraid you condition is terminal, and there’s nothing that can be done.
Guy: That’s horrible!! Level with me then, how long to do I have?
Doc: 10
Guy: 10 what? Days, weeks, months?
Doc: 9
Zero points.
8 points.
Once upon a time, back when Africa had been sliced up, and parts of it went to Portugal, and parts of it went to Britian, and parts of it went to Germany, and all the lame parts, including the Sahara, went to France, the French had sent their French Foreign Legion into the Sahara to represent France, to search the Sahara, a desert vast and trackless, and to report its contents to France: to map out every inch, every oasis, every rock and pebble, every tiny trader’s market and lonely caravan, all mapped out and sent back to France.
So there was this one regiment, which were riding camels (for they were the steed of choice in a desert vast and trackless) with saddlebags bursting with food and water, and guns and map materials and medical supplies and all sorts of things. And in the back were two cartographers. They were recording every inch, every oasis, every rock and pebble, every tiny trader’s market and lonely caravan to send back to France. Well, as they were riding through the vast and trackless desert they were ambushed by a group of bandits. The bandits were native, their entire bodies cloaked to protect them from the sand, and they wielded only knives and swords, but they lept from the massive dunes of the vast and trackless desert with great stealth and accuracy, such that they killed half the regiment of the French Foreign Legion in one strike. The regiment, employed by the French Foreign Legion, fought back, swinging their guns as clubs, for they were afraid to shoot in such close quarters, but they were outclassed–the bandits, using only knives and swords, managed to kill and loot all of the French Foreign Legion soldiers but two–the cartographers, who were in the back, mapping every inch, every oasis, every rock and pebble, every tiny trader’s market and lonely caravan to send back to France. When the two cartographers came upon the horrendous massacre, they were afraid, for the desert was vast and trackless, and there had been no trader’s markets or caravans in sight for a long time, longer then they could ride to before they would perish. They searched their comrades from the French Foreign Legion for extra supplies, but the native bandits–who were only armed with knives and swords–had taken almost all of them. But the two cartographers from the French Foreign Legion took what they could, abandoned the guns and medical supplies (for they did not need them as much as food and water) and continued.
And they rode through the vast and trackless desert for a long time, for 15 days and 15 nights, and all this time they continued to map every inch, every rock and pebble, and every sand dune even, for they saw no people. But this entire time, they had come across no people. They had seen no large, open air markets, no tiny trader’s markets, no long caravans or mud huts or anyone who could give them food, nor animals who they could hunt for food. And the lost cartographers of the French Foreign Legion, on the beginning of the sixteenth day, had ran out of food. The first one said (this is translated from French, because they were soldiers of the French Foreign Legion, not the British Imperial Army), “This biscuit is the last piece of food we have. I insist you take it”. “No”, said the second, “I could not. Besides, it makes no difference, for unless there is food beyond this massive sand dune, we will surely die of starvation, for we have no food and our bellies have shrunk from a lack of food.”.
The two cartographers crawled up to the top of the sand dune to see–wonder of wonders–a vast, open air market, filled with dozens and dozens of native traders hawking their goods. There were tall ones, short ones, opulent ones selling jewelry and carpets, and miserly ones selling clothing and camels. Some had monkeys, some had camels of their own. Some had facial hair, while others didn’t. And in the center of this large, open air market in the middle of the vast and trackless desert was a vast oasis. The first cartographer said “Let us fill up our bottles with water, and then look around: surely, one of them must have food suitable for a journey to the ocean, where we can escape this vast and trackless desert and report back to France, where we can show them our maps of every inch, every oasis, every rock and pebble, every tiny trader’s market and lonely caravan that we encountered.” So the two soldiers of the French Foreign Legion filled their water bottles and went to the first trader.
“Sir,” asked the second cartographer, “sir, we were attacked by some bandits who, despite weildign only knives and swords, killed everyone in our party except us, and now we must journey through this vast and trackless desert for who knows how many days in order to get to the ocean to sail back to France…but we have no food. Do you have food for us to buy?” The merchant sold food, so he had quite a stockpile for the traders to buy. He had camels’ milk, and fresh fruit, and fresh vegetables, and oddly, a little bit of sponge cake, none of which are of course suitable for a long journey through a vast and trackless desert. The French Foreign Legionaries bought as much food as they could eat, and had a feast, but, seeing as none of it could help them with their journey, they thanked him and moved onto the next shop in the vast, open-air market.
The next stall contained a rug shop, and was housed by an attractive young woman. The cartographers had no time to ogle, however, and the second one said “Madam, we were attacked by some bandits who, despite weildign only knives and swords, killed everyone in our party except us, and now we must journey through this vast and trackless desert for who knows how many days in order to get to the ocean to sail back to France…but we have no food. Do you have food for us to buy?”
Seeing as her stall in the vast open air market was not normally a food shop, she had to look carefully, overturning large piles of rugs and going through drawers, overturning pots, and even looking in her own money sack! But when all was said and done, all she could produce was an assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables and a tiny bit of sponge cake, neither of which, of course, are suitable for a long journey through a vast and trackless desert. So the two cartographers of the French Foreign Legion thanked her and kept looking throughout the vast open air market.
They asked so many people, so many different traders, tall ones, short ones, opulent ones selling jewelry and carpets, and miserly ones selling clothing and camels some of which had monkeys, some of which had camels, some had facial hair, and some of which didn’t. Each time, they repeated their plight of needing to leave the vast and trackless desert to the ocean, which would allow them to return to France and show their maps of every inch, every oasis, every rock and pebble, every tiny trader’s market and lonely caravan in the desert. But no trader had anything more than camels’ milk or fresh fruit or vegetables–and they all had a bit of sponge cake. They approached the final stall of the vast, open air market, and in it were a variety of pots and urns, tended to by only a monkey! The two cartographers from the French Foreign Legion explained their plight, about the bandits with only knives and swords and how they needed to get back to France to show their maps that mapped every inch, every oasis, every rock and pebble, every tiny trader’s market and lonely caravan they had passed. The monkey, though unable to speak, seemed to understand, and he sprang into action, overturning every pot and urn, searching all around the tiny stall for even a crumb. But when he had finished his efforts, all he had to show for it was a single, solitary, bit of sponge cake.
So the French Foreign Legion cartographers set off on the other side of the vast, open air market, back into the trackless and vast desert. And as they reached the crest of the sand dune, they looked back at the vast, open air market, which at this point was just a speck in the distance. And the first cartographer said to the second, “Isn’t it odd how all the stalls in that vast, open air market had a bit of sponge cake, yet none of them had any food for a long trek through a vast and trackless desert?”
“Why yes.” said the second cartographer. “When you think about it, it’s a trifle bizarre!”
A man goes to heaven and St. Peter shows him around? They go past one room and the man asks ‘Who are all those people in there?’ ‘They are the Methodists,’ says St. Peter. They pass another room and the man asks the same question. ‘Oh, they are the Anglicans,’ says St. Peter. As they’re approaching the next room St Peter says ‘Take your shoes off and tip-toe by as quietly as you can.’ ‘Why, who’s in there?’ asks the man. ‘The Catholics,’ replies St. Peter, ‘and they think that they’re the only ones up here.’
Speech Impediment
A man with a stuttering problem tries everything he can to stop stuttering, but he can’t.
Finally, he goes to a world renowned doctor for help.
The doctor examines him and says “I’ve found your problem. Your penis is 12 inches long.
It weighs so much it is pulling on your lungs, causing you to stutter.”
“What’s he cure, doctor?” asks the man.
“We have to cut off 6 inches.”
The man thinks about it, and eager to cure his stuttering, agrees to the operation.
The operation is a success, and he stops stuttering.
Two months later he calls the doctor and tells him that since he had the 6 inches cut off,
all of his girlfriends have dumped him, and his love life has gone down the tubes.
He wants the doctor to operate to put back the six inches. Not hearing anything on
the line, he repeats himself,
“Hey doc, didn’t you hear me? I want my 6 inches back!”
Finally, the doctor responds, "F-f-f-f-f-f-uck Y-y-y-y-you!
6 points. I’d say that joke was a trifle bizarre.
7 points.
Zero points.