What’s blue and doesn’t fit?
A dead epileptic.
Clean, but morbid? Hm.
What’s the difference between a truckload of dead babies and a truckload of bowling balls?
You can’t unload a truckload of bowling balls with a pitchfork.
Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Smith can Little Johnny come out and play baseball with us?
Now, Frankie, you shouldn’t be so cruel. You know Little Johnny has no arms and legs.
That’s OK Mrs. Smith we use him for second base.
SAD NEWS…
Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community. The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71…
Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch. The grave site was piled high with flours.
Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.
Doughboy is survived by his wife Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop Tart.
The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
If this made you smile for even a brief second, please rise to the occasion and take time to pass it on and share that smile with someone else who may be having a crumby day and kneads it.
Morbid and clean?
A true story. You need to know a minimal bit of Middle-East politics though.
1995, several days after Yitzhak Rabin was murdered. In a bank, one of the cashiers finishes their work with a customer, raises their head and asks “who’s next?”
From further down the line, comes the answer “Peres…!”
(Turned out the guy who answered was not a right-wing nut but was in fact making a morbid wise-crack.)
This is actually a true story, perhaps proving that life is not only stranger than fiction, but also more morbid.
“Mrs. Jones, can the twins come out and play?”
“Ermmm . . . Johnny, you do know they’re both in wheelchairs since the accident?”
“We know. We want to roll them down the hill and make book.”
Morbid & clean . . . anyone remember “Little Willie”? Classic Edwardian-Mauve-Decade sicktitude! From Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes, by Harry Graham.
The doctor goes out to the waiting room and says, “Mr. Smith, you can come in and see your baby.”
Mr. Smith goes in to see the doctor holding a swaddled child. “Mr. Smith, you’re the father of a baby boy, and I have amazing news: your baby can fly! Just watch!” The doctor tosses the child in the air and steps back. The infant falls with a sickening thud to the floor.
Mr. Smith cries out in horror as the doctor scoops up the baby. “That’s weird, it worked before. Let me try again,” he says, hurling the baby across the room. The baby bangs into the opposite wall and again falls to the floor.
The dad runs over to pick up his child, but the doctor gets there first. “Listen, I know he can fly, lemme try one more thing,” he says, and, opening a window, throws the child outside. The baby, of course, falls the eleven stories out the window to the ground.
With a scream of rage, the father tackles the doctor and wraps his hands around the doctor’s neck, strangling him. With his last breath, the doctor chokes out, “I was…just…kidding…your baby was…born dead…”
Daniel
British Army First Aid Course Exam paper
Question What immediate action do you take on finding an unconscious casualty?
Answer See if he’s got a large sleeping bag and if he has swop yours for it(Lge. sleeping bags used to be as rare as rocking horse shit)
WW1 A firing squad commander is about to escort the squaddie who is to be executed across a courtyard and its absaloutly pissing down with rain.
The prisoner suggests that they wait until the rain has died down a bit before they carry on with the proceedings.
FSC. gives him a look and says “Its alright for you ! I’ve got to walk back in this.”
I don’t understand. I see the morbid part, but where’s the joke?
Me too! I’m finishing a degree in software engineering, and had intended to complete the technical part of my project using C#, which I’m taking classes in. Unfortunately, the learning curve is much steeper than I thought, even though I’ve had experience with C++ and Java.
That, and my term project for my software maintenance class, which I should be working on now instead of hanging out here.
Huh? Is this a term I’m not familiar with…“make book”?
Wager.
Daniel
To take bets. They want to bet on the wheelchair races.
I think it means to bet, like on horses.
I think it’s just that there are a number of jokes that start with someone ordering drinks in a bar and you’re waiting to hear why he’s ordering so many drinks when they hit you with the depressing comment about alcoholism.
Ah, reminds me of another one:
A man walks into a bar, orders three drinks, and downs them all, one after the other. This goes on for some weeks until the curious bartender asks why he always orders three. The man answers, “One’s for me, one’s for my brother in Belfast, and one for my other brother in Dublin.” This continues for a year.
Then one evening, the man comes in and orders just two drinks. The bartender asks, “I’m sorry, did one of your brothers pass away?” “Oh, no,” says the man, downing his drinks, “I just decided to give up drinkin’.”
This one is truly beyond the pale. I’ll have you know my uncle died at Auschwitz.
He fell off a guard tower.
An Irishman goes into a bar, and says, “Bartender! Give me six boilermakers!” He downs them, one after the other in ten minutes, then turns around and falls flat on his face in the sawdust.
One of the other barflies says, “That’s what I like about O’Leary. He always knows when he’s had enough.”
Three friends are golfing, when Bob hits a ball into adjacent woods and goes to find it.
When he doesn’t return after a while, Pete goes looking for him.
When Pete doesn’t return either, Jim goes searching, and discovers Bob on the ground, with Pete fucking him vigorously.
“Call an ambulance,” cries Pete. “Bob’s had a heart attack!”
“A heart attack? You should give him mouth-to-mouth!”
“Yeah, well,” says Pete, “that’s how it started.”
“So, is your grandmother still sliding down the banisters?”
“Well, we wound barbed wire around them.”
“That stop her?”
“No, but it sure slows her down!”