I was about to mention how hard I laughed the first time I heard Eric Cartman sing Kyle’s Mom is a B****. This despite the fact that I hate the little twerp…he’s the reason I haven’t been able an episode of South Park in ages.
Nonetheless, that song’s practically easy listening compared to nearly of the jokes on this thread.
Bleah…I hope I never run into the person who actually finds them funny. Yech.
–How do you get him down?
Tell the Mexican kids he’s a pinata.
Q: What do you do when a pit bull starts humping your leg?
A: You fake an orgasm.
Q: What’s the definition of a perfect woman?
A: Waist high, no teeth, and a flat head to set your beer on.
Q: Why are aspirin white?
A: You want them to work, don’t you?
Oooh man, these are horrible.
So of course, I’m obligated to post some.
Here’s one that’s kind of tame, but still pretty racist:
Three white guys are walking down the street when they spot 3 black guys with cheese. Being racist white guys (boo!) one of them says “Hey, let’s beat up those black guys and steal their cheese.”
So they beat up the black guys and they continue going to wherever the hell they go, and they are now eating cheese.
Guy #1: Mmm mmm, this is some good cheese.
Guy #2: Eh? What kind is it?
Guy #1 pauses for a while and then says "I’m guessing it’s cheddar cheese, judging by the taste and appearance.
The other guys agree.
Guy #2 says “Hmmm,” then after a bit of thinking says “I think my cheese is swiss cheese.”
Guy #3: Mine’s nacho cheese!
Ther other guys stare at him. 
Guy #1: Uhhh, that doesn’t look like nacho cheese. Nacho cheese is sort of…hot, orange, & melty. How do you think it’s nacho cheese?
Guy #3: Because, silly, when I was beating up the black guy and taking his cheese, he kept yelling,
{note: say this part out loud in ebonic or it won’t make sense}
“Hey! Back of my cheese! That’s not chyo cheese!”
Okay, okay, here are more:
A man is a regular at a bar. Every night he comes in, drinks 1 beer and leaves.
But one night, he gets totally wasted off of margaritas and then stumbles home.
The next day he tells the bartender “Man, I am NEVER gonna drink another margarita! I don’t remember anything that happened last night! I remember being at this bar, and the next thing I know, I’m blowing chunks!”
The bartender says “Yeah, it happens. Give it some time, though, and you’ll get used to it.”
“You don’t understand,” replies the guy,
“Chunks is my dog!”
And now a few short ones (these are even more disturbing than the other two, be warned):
Q: How does a redneck know that her daughter has started her period?
A: Because her son’s dick tastes funny.
All together now: EWWW!
Q: Why is Michael Jackson like McDonalds?
A: They both stick their meat into 8-year-old buns!
Q: What’s the difference between a leprechaun and a venerial disease?
A: Well, one’s a cunning runt, and the other…
I know a lot of other ones that are just sick, or just tasteless, but those are probably for another thread.
I learned that one as:
Q: How do you fit four faggots on a bar stool.
A: Turn it upside down.
Q: How do you get them back off?
A: Beat one off and the rest will come.
Q: How can a girl tell her boyfriend has turned gay?
A: His dick tastes like shit.
Q: Why do women rub their eyes in the morning.
A: Because they don’t have any balls to scratch.
Q: Have you heard about the Ethiopian who fell into the shark tank?
A: He ate three of them before they could get him out.
Q: What beats a fine pair of legs?
A: A fine leather belt.
Q: What’s the best part of a blowjob?
A: Three minutes of peace and quiet.
Q: Why do you wrap hampsters in electrical tape?
A: So they don’t explode when you fuck them.
Q: What do men with vasectomies and Christmas trees have in common?
A: Ornamental balls.
A friend asked me, "What’s the worst, rottenest sex that you’ve ever had. I told him, “Fantastic!”
I have been hopelessly corrupted. Therefore, I offer the following, under the standard disclaimers:
How many Ethiopians fit in a shower?
No one knows. They keep slipping down the drain.
Why doesn’t Mexico have an Olympic team?
Anyone who can run, jump, or swim is already over the border.
How do you get the Mexican kids to come running?
Roll a dime down the street.
Why don’t you throw rocks at a Mexican on a bike?
It’s probably your bike.
I swear, I haven’t even THOUGHT of these jokes since grade school until now.
Wow, there are some horrible jokes here. The worst part is, some of them are actually funny. I’m being corrupted for sure.
Q: How many women does it take to screw in a light-bulb?
A: Doesn’t matter; the wench can do the dishes in the dark.
Q: What do elephants use for tampons?
A: Sheep
(Ignore my sheep fetish.)
Q: Why don’t [ethnic group] eat fleas?
A: They can’t get their little legs apart.
And here’s one I heard a comedian say on Conan O’Brien’s show (or maybe it was Leno’s):
I’m not racist. My boyfriend is half black. sigh He’ll probably break my heart. But I shouldn’t be so pessimistic … he’s half white.
Ha! Those ought to win me the title of “Most Tasteless Jokester”. 
Ahh, what the Hell. A couple more.
Q: Why don’t Mexicans own BBQ’s?
A: The beans keep falling through the grates.
Q: Why don’t Mexicans have checkbooks?
A: It’s hard to write a check with spray paint.
Q: Why do nude women parachutest’s were jock straps?
A: To keep from whistling on the way down.
Har.
Wasn’t really into the spirit of this, but what the hey…only come around once. Here I go:
Q: Why do women fake orgasms?
A: Because they think we care.
Q: How many flies does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: Just two, assuming that you can put them in.
Q: What’s the difference between a slut and… [never mind…]
And here’s an old favorite…
Q: What’s dumber than three Americans building a house underwater?
A: Three Russians trying to burn it down.
…jeez, they’re almost as lame as “No dam water”. I need to get out more.
Q: Why does it take women so long to come?
A: Who cares!
Q: Why don’t men have multiple orgasms?
A: Who cares!
Q: What do you call two black guys hitchhiking at midnight?
A: Stranded!
Q: What do you call a mountain climber with a vasectomy?
A: Dry sack on the rocks.
Q: Did you hear about the Polish lesbian?
A: She likes men.
Q: Why do they spell Polish and polish the same?
A: Cause they don’t know the difference between shit and Shinola.
new here so ya gonna have to take my word I am not as twisted as I seem
Two guys go camping and they can’t decide which is more the better hike, down by the river or along the rail road tracks. So they decide to go their seperat ways and meet back and compare notes.
The guy that goes to the river goes on about the beautiful sound of the water over the rocks, absolutly spetacular views and how he got to with in two feet of a deer.
The second guy says well man your right sounds like that would have been better… all there was down by the tracks was garbage and rocks. It would have completly sucked if I had not ran into this woman and had the BEST sex I every had.
First guy goes NO WAY you bastard, what did you do?
Second guy goes well when I found her she was laying by the tracks and man I think we did everything in the books.
First guy goes did she give ya a blow job?
Second guy goes Nah I couldn’t find her head…
Q: What do you call 100 well armed lesbians?
A: Militia Etheridge
Two nuns are walking through central park and are raped. The younger of the two asks how they are going to explain that they were raped twice. The older nun says they were only raped once, at this point the younger nun says “but don’t we have to walk back through the park?”
Q: What’s black and white and can’t turn around in an elevator?
A: A nun with a javelin stuck through her head.
Q: What’s the difference between an oyster with epilepsy and a hooker with diarhea?
A: You shuck one between fits…
I can’t believe I wrote that last one…
This one’s pretty tame but I laughed so you might.
Once upon a time, in a place far, far from here. A priest was walking through the quiet countryside when he passed a stream. He was so moved by the beauty of the stream that he decided to sit by the stream for a while. After a few minutes, he was disturbed by a small, croaking sound. He strained his ears to listen and he could hear a tiny croaking voice saying “Help me, help me”.
He looked around and saw a tiny frog, sitting by his knee. Gently he picked up the frog and held it next to his ear to hear what it had to say. The frog explained that he was not really a frog at all but a small boy who had been cursed by a wicked witch and turned into a frog. He told the priest that the only way to cure the problem was to take him back to the priests home and put him in his nice warm bed. Naturally the priest was very purturbed and promised to do everything he could to help
And that, your honour, concludes the case for the defence.
I found a real groaner:
A guy spent five years traveling all around the world making a documentary on Native dances. At the end of this time, he had every single native dance of every indigenous culture in the world on film – or
so he thought. He wound up in Australia, in Alice Springs, so he popped into a pub for a well earned beer.
He got talking to one of the local Aborigines and told him about his project. The Aborigine asked the guy what he thought of the Butcher Dance.
“Butcher Dance?” he said, confused. “What’s that?”
“What? You didn’t see the Butcher Dance?”
“No, I’ve never heard of it.”
“Mate, you’re crazy,” the Aborigine replied. “How can you say you filmed every native dance if you haven’t seen the Butcher Dance?”
“Umm. I got a Corroborree on film just the other week. Is that what you mean?”
“No, no. The Butcher Dance is much more important than the Corroborree.”
“Oh,” the man said, his curiosity piqued. “Well how can I see this Butcher Dance then?”
“Mate, the Butcher Dance is way out in the wilderness. It’ll take you many days of travel to go see it.”
“Look, I’ve been everywhere from the forests of the Amazon, to deepest darkest Africa, to the frozen wastes of the Arctic filming these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance.”
“Ok, mate,” the Aborigine replied, shrugging. “You drive north along the highway towards Darwin. After you drive 197 miles, you’ll see a dirt track veer off to left. Follow the dirt track for 126 miles till
you see big huge dead gum tree – the biggest tree you’ve ever seen. Here you gotta leave car, because it’s much too rough for driving. You strike out due west into the setting sun. Walk three days till you
hit a creek. You follow this creek to the northwest. After two days you’ll find where the creek flows out of some rocky mountains, but it’s much too difficult to cross the mountains there, though. So you
head south for half day until you see a pass through mountains. The pass is very difficult and very dangerous. It’ll take you two, maybe three days to get through it. On the other side, head northwest for
four days until you reach a big huge rock – twenty feet high and shaped like a man’s head. From the rock, walk due west for two days, and then you’ll find the village. You’ll be able to see the Butcher
Dance there.”
So the guy grabbed his camera crew and equipment and headed out. After a couple of hours, he found the dirt track. The track was in a shocking state, and he was forced to crawl along at a snail’s pace, and
so he didn’t reach the tree until dusk, where he was forced to set up camp for the night.
He set out bright and early the following morning. His spirits were high, and he was excited about the prospect of capturing on film this mysterious dance that he had never heard mention of before. True
to the directions he had been given, he reached the creek after three days and followed it for another two, until he reached the rocky mountains.
The merciless sun was starting to take its toll, and the spirits of both himself and his crew were starting to flag; but wearily they trudged on, finally finding the pass through the mountains. Nothing would
prevent him from completing his life’s dream. The mountains proved to be every bit as treacherous as their guide had said, and at times they despaired of ever getting their bulky equipment through. But
after three and a half days of back breaking effort, they finally forced their way clear and continued their long trek.
When they reached the huge rock, four days later, their water was running low, and their feet were covered with blisters, but they steeled themselves and headed out on the last leg of their journey. Two
days later they virtually staggered into the village. To their relief, the natives welcomed them and fed them and gave them fresh water, and they began to feel like new men. Once he recovered enough, the
guy went before the village chief and told him that he came to film their Butcher Dance.
“Oh mate,” he said. “Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You too late. You miss dance.”
“Well, when do you hold the next dance?”
“Not till next year.”
“Well, I’ve come all this way. Couldn’t you just hold an extra dance for me tonight?”
“No, no, no!” the chief exclaimed. “Butcher Dance very holy. Only hold once a year. You want see Butcher Dance, you come back next year.”
Understandably, the guy was devastated, but he had no other option but to head back to civilization and back home.
The following year, he headed back to Australia and, determined not to miss out again, set out a week earlier than before. He was quite willing to spend a week in the village before the dance is performed in
order to ensure he was present to witness it.
But right from the start, things went wrong. Heavy rains that year turned the dirt track to mud, and the car got bogged down every few miles. Finally they had to abandon their vehicles and slog through the
mud on foot almost half the distance to the tree. They reached the creek and the mountains without any further problems, but halfway through the mountain pass, they were struck by a fierce storm that
raged for several days, during which they were forced to cling forlornly to the mountainside until it subsided.
Then, before they had traveled a mile out from the mountains, one of the crew sprained his ankle badly, slowing down the rest of their journey greatly. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long they had
been traveling, they staggered into the village right at noon.
“The Butcher Dance!” the man gasped. “Please don’t tell me I’m too late to see it!”
The chief recognized him and said, “No, white fella. Butcher Dance performed tonight. You come just in time.”
Relieved beyond measure, the crew spent the rest of the afternoon setting up their equipment and preparing to capture the night’s ritual on celluloid. As dusk fell, the natives started to cover their bodies in
white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of birds’ feathers and animal skins. Once darkness had settled fully over the land, the natives formed a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush
descended over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body entered the circle and began to chant.
“What’s he doing?” the man whispered to the chief.
“Hush,” the chief whispered back. “You first white man ever to see most sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks that the spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our
devotion to them through our dance, and, if they like our dancing, will they be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year.”
The chanting of the holy man reached a stunning crescendo before he removed himself from the circle. The rhythmic pounding of drums boomed out across the land, and the natives began to sway to the
stirring rhythm. The guy became caught up in the fervor of the moment himself. This was it. He realized beyond all doubt that his wait had not been in vain. He was about to witness the ultimate
performance of rhythm and movement ever conceived by mankind.
The chief strode to his position in the circle and, in a big booming voice, started to sing: “You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer right arm in, and you shake it all about…”
Why is it that the longer a joke is, the more likely it is to have a cheesy punchline? Although it did give me a smile.
OK…
Who here will join me as we venture around to Max’s house so we can beat the piss out of him for putting up the lamest and yet longest joke so far?
My final post to this thread:
Q: What do you call baby deer next to a pickle factory?
A: Dill-doe’s.
And a dead-baby joke from my past.
Q: Why’d the dead baby cross the road?
A: He was stapled to the chicken.
And a Helen Keller.
Q: What’s the best way to punish Helen Keller?
A: Leave the plunger in the toilet.
What do you call a female with only a right arm and a right leg whose from Japan?
Irene. (say it out loud.)
I’m not a very good joke teller, unless the jokes in question are simple one-liners. However, I just remembered these ones so I thought I’d share.
A priest was on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Suddenly, the boat sprung a serious leak and everyone rushed towards the lifeboat. The priest yelled for the others to wait, so he could wake the two choirboys who were journeying with him and bring them to the safety of the lifeboat. The captain, seeing how fast his ship was sinking, yelled, “Screw the choirboys!”
The priest paused for a moment and asked, “Do you think there’s time for that?”
A priest was in the confessional, hearing people’s sins, when he suddenly had to go to the bathroom very bad. He quickly found a choirboy and told him to pretend to be the priest for just a few minutes. The priest gave the boy a list of sins and punishments for those sins, and said to simply listen to the people’s confessions, and then find their sins on the list and read them their penance.
Well, the boy did this for awhile, until one lady confessed to having given somebody a blowjob. The boy scanned the list, but that particular sin wasn’t listed. Frantically, he whispered to another choirboy, “Psst! Hey, what does Father give for a blowjob?”
The second choirboy responded, “A snickers bar and some gummi-bears, why?”
A little girl accidently walks in on her mother in the shower. She sees her mom’s breasts, and asked, “What are those?” The mother tells her that those are called breasts.
The little girl asks, “When will I get those?”
Her mom says, “Oh, in a few more years.”
A while later, the little girl walks in on her father in the shower, and sees his, uh, manhood. She naturally asks, “What’s that?”
Her father says, “That’s my penis.”
The girls asks, “And when will I get that?”
“When your mother leaves for work.”
Honestly, I need to stop posting these. Then again, it’s oddly theraputic.
Speaking of Hellen Keller, here are some real nasty ones:
Q: How did Hellen Keller learn to masturbate?
A: She tried to read her own lips.
Q: Why did she do it with one hand?
A: She needed the other hand to moan.
runs away