Then there was the dyslexic agnostic who suffered from insomnia. He would lay awake all night, wondering if there really was a Dog.
What’s a favorite Amish pick-up line?
“Saaaaay, that shapeless black dress certainly doth become thee!”
What’s another favorite Amish pick-up line?
“Dost thou come to these barn-raisings often?”
What’s an Amish kegger?
That’s when you chug buttermilk 'til you puke!
How do Amish teenagers spend their summer evenings?
Watching the horses and buggies cruise up and down Main Street.
One afternoon, Ronald Reagan is working in the Oval Office when an aide comes rushing in.
“Sir!” says the aide excitedly. “I have good news and bad news. The bad news is, extraterrestrials have landed in Washington, right in front of the Capitol building.”
“Oh, my God!” exclaims Reagan. “What’s the good news?”
“They hate Russians and they pee oil!”
Moss: I never know what to say to people at funerals.
Roy: Me too. I’m terrible.
Jen: Just say you’re sorry and move on.
Roy: I’m sorry for your loss. Move on.
Sorry I’m late with today’s joke, had a spot of bother this morning. I was minding my own business doing some shopping when this guy comes up to me and says “Oi, mate, do you want decking?”. I smacked him one at once, the cheeky twat, but it just shows that you can’t be too careful these days. Anyway, everything’s all right now.
Although apparently I’m no longer welcome at the garden centre for some reason.
Here’s the second best drunken Irishman joke in the world:
Every Friday night, an Irishman visits a Dublin pub and orders three beers, which he drinks simultaneously. The bartender, curious about this ritual, finally gets up the nerve to ask: “Excuse me, sir. I can’t help but notice that you come here every Friday night and order three beers, which you drink at the same time. Wouldn’t it be better if you order them one at a time, so the beer doesn’t go flat?”
The Irishman replies, “Oh, you see, this is a special ritual. This second beer is for my brother Paddy, who left for America years ago to seek his fortune. This third beer is for my brother Seamus, who left for Australia years ago to seek his fortune. We made a pact that every Friday night, we would go to the pub and drink three beers all at once, until we finally meet again.”
The bartender smiles to himself, touched by this special ritual.
The next Friday, the Irishman visits the same pub, but this time orders only two beers. Somberly, the bartender draws the two beers, hands them to the man and says, “Here you go, my friend. On the house. And please, let me assure you that I’m sorry for your loss.”
The Irishman, confused, says, “My loss? What on Earth are you talking about, sonny?”
The bartender says, “Well, it’s just that you’ve always ordered three beers, one for yourself and two for your brothers, every Friday night. Since you’ve only ordered two beers tonight, I assumed that one of your brothers must have passed away.”
The Irishman laughs and replies, “Oh no, my brothers are both fine. But my wife said I had to quit drinking!”
And now, the best drunken Irishman joke in the world:
A very drunk Irishman is sitting at the bar in a New York pub, when another man, who is very obviously homosexual, sits down next to him. The gay man drinks a few cocktails, then gets up the nerve to whisper in the drunk Irishman’s ear: “May I offer you a blow job?”
The Irishman, enraged, leaps from his stool and beats the gay man severely, drags him to the door and tosses him out into the cold, then sits back down at the bar and orders another drink. The bartender looks at him and says, “Wow, that guy really pissed you off. What did he say to you, anyway?”
The drunken Irishman replies, “I don’t know…something about offering me a job.”
According to Freud, what comes between fear and sex?
Fünf!
Q: Why wasn’t the Baby Jesus born in New Jersey?
A: Because they couldn’t find three wise men. Or a young virgin.
What do you need a degree in to become an Irish brain surgeon?
Woodworking.
I thought this was why they had to cancel the Italian Christmas pageant. 
Hear about the gangster who was half Sicilian and half Polish?
He made himself an offer he couldn’t understand.
This is fantastic. I can’t believe I never heard it. It will be understood by children just old enough to start counting and just old enough to understand a pun.
Plus a pun across conceptual land masses.
See comment above re conceptual landmasses. We’re talking Finnegans Wake with this joke. I like it.
Almost no-fair, though, with this thread. I know one with a Yiddish/English pun, but out of respect for the audience have repressed myself.
Can I eat Seven of Nine? 
Oh, come on! Be free! 
This, to me, is a great Jews-and-money joke, as opposed to jokes about being cheap (hello Scotland!).
In the bag it goes.
Edward the Confessor and Edith of Wessex were enjoying their wedding night.
Edward: What do the peasants call this?
Edith: “Fucking.”
Edward: Much too good for them.
A Priest, a Minister, and a Rabbi were talking about the afterlife, and, if they were peering down from heaven, what would be their fondest wishes that people would be saying looking at their body.
Priest: That I led them with humility, was blessed to administer the living body of Christ, that I struggled with sin like all men, but through the Mercy of God I kept my vows.
Minister: That I was a true Shepherd of Souls, a pastor who provided comfort and guidance at all times, and tried to bring about an engaged and living spiritual community.
Rabbi: Look, he’s moving a little!
A man is stranded on a desert island for years. Imagine his delight one day when a world-famous supermodel washes ashore. “I was doing a photo shoot for Sports Illustrated, there was a big storm and our ship sank,” she explains. “Could I stay here with you?”
Of course he agrees. Nature takes its course and soon they become lovers.
Things go well for a month. Then one day the man asks the woman, “Could I ask you a a favor?”
“Sure, what is it?”
“It’s kind of weird, but… would you mind… uh, would you mind dressing in some of my clothes?”
She looks at him oddly but agrees, and puts on a spare shirt and pants of his.
“And… would you mind… hiding your hair under this hat?”
Mystified, she does.
“And do you think you could rub a little of this charcoal on your face, so it looked like you had a beard?”
She does.
“And… um, could you pretend to be a guy?”
By now she’s wondering if he’s gone crazy. “Well… all right.” She slouches, scratches herself and says, in a much deeper voice, “So, how’s it going?”
The man, relieved, says, “I’ve been dying to talk to another guy. You’ll never believe who I’ve been fucking…!”
Can February March? No, but April May.