Woman in the grocery store: “Hi, good to see you again.”
Man (confused): “Do you know me?”
W: “I think you’re the father of one of my kids.”
M: “Are you the stripper from the bachelor party that I made love to on the pool table with all my buddies watching while your partner whipped my butt with wet celery?”
W: “Um no, I’m your son’s teacher.”
“I am a turtle,” he says.
“Who’s that on your back?”
“That’s Michelle.”
Because then I will know it will be a goodyear.
“So,what’s your New Years resolution?” the bartender asks.
“I don’t know,” the guy replies. “My wife hasn’t told me yet.”
I know I did my part right, but I am worried the rest of you screwed it up.
Psst, you may have put this one in last year. Today it came up as a “memory” on Facebook. I probably copied it from here. But, it was good enough that I used it.
I tried searching up “memory loss” on Google;
but for some reason, all the links were purple.
Also a repeat
I was going to post the enema joke just now, but I see that I’d already posted it twice in this thread.
I can’t be bothered to check if you’re full of shit or not.
If there was ever a time to use the phrase ‘couldn’t be arsed’, this was the time, methinks.
As is well known, in this thirtieth century of ours, space travel is fearfully dull and time-consuming. In search of diversion, many crew Members defy the quarantine restrictions and pick up pets from the various habitable worlds they explore.
Jim Sloane had a rockette, which he called Teddy. It just sat there, looking like a rock, but sometimes it lifted a lower edge and sucked in powdered sugar. That was all it ate. No one ever saw it move, but every once in a while, it wasn’t quite where people thought it was. There was a theory that it moved when no one was looking.
Bob Laverty had a heli-worm he called Dolly. It was green and carried on photosynthesis. Sometimes it moved to get into better light and when it did so it coiled its wormlike body and inched along very slowly like a turning helix.
One day, Jim Sloane challenged Bob Laverty to a race. ” My Teddy,” he said, “can beat your Dolly.”
“Your Teddy,” scoffed Laverty, “doesn’t move.”
“Bet!” said Sloane.
The whole crew got into the act. Even the captain risked half a credit. Everyone bet on Dolly. At least she moved.
Jim Sloane covered it all. He had been saving his salary through three trips and he put every millicredit of it on Teddy.
The race started at one end of the grand salon. At the other end, a heap of sugar had been placed for Teddy and a spotlight for Dolly. Dolly formed a coil at once and began to spiral its way very slowly toward the light. The watching crew cheered it on.
Teddy just sat there without budging.
“Sugar, Teddy, Sugar,” said Sloane, pointing. Teddy did not move. It looked more like a rock than ever, but Sloane did not seem concerned.
Finally, when Dolly had spiraled halfway across the salon, Jim Sloane said casually to his rockette, “if you don’t get out there, Teddy, I’m going to get a hammer and chip you into pebbles.”
That was when people first discovered that rockettes could read minds. That was also when people first discovered that rockettes could teleport.
Sloane had no sooner made his threat when Teddy simply disappeared from his place and reappeared on top of the sugar.
Sloane won, of course, and he counted his winnings slowly and luxuriously.
Laverty said bitterly, “You knew the damn thing could teleport.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Sloane, “but I knew he would win. It was a sure thing.”
“How come?”
“It’s an old saying everyone knows. … Sloane’s Teddy wins the race.”
"Feghoot watched with interest as a husband and wife were brought in, charged with disturbing the peace. During a religious observation, when for twenty minutes the congregation was supposed to maintain silence, while concentrating on their sins and visualizing them as melting away, the woman had suddenly risen from her squatting position and screamed loudly. When someone rose to object, the man had pushed him forcefully.
"The judge listened solemnly, fined the woman a silver dollar and the man a twenty-dollar gold piece.
"Almost immediately afterward, seventeen men and women were brought in. They had been ringleaders of a crowd that had demonstrated for better quality meat at a supermarket. They had torn the supermarket apart and inflicted various bruises and lacerations on eight of the employees of the establishment.
"Again the judge listened solemnly, and fined the seventeen a silver dollar apiece.
"Afterward, Feghoot said to the chief judge, ‘I approved of your handling of the man and woman who disturbed the peace.’
"‘It was a simple case,’ said the judge. ‘We have a legal maxim that goes, “Screech is silver, but violence is golden.”’
"‘In that case,’ said Feghoot, ‘why did you fine the group of seventeen a silver dollar apiece when they had committed far worse violence?’
“‘Oh, that’s another legal maxim,’ said the judge. ‘Every crowd has a silver fining.’”
It was extremely unusual for a Foy to be dying on Earth. They were the highest social class on their planet (with a name which was pronounced – as nearly as Earthly throats could make the sounds – Sortibackenstrete) and were virtually immortal.
Every Foy, of course, came to voluntary death eventually, and this one had given up because of an ill-starred love affair, if you can call it a love affair where five individuals, in order to reproduce, must indulge in a year-long mental contact. Apparently, he himself had not fit into the contact after several months of trying, and it had broken his heart – or hearts, for he had five.
All Foys had five large hearts and there was speculation that it was this that made them virtually immortal.
Maude Briscoe, Earth’s most renowned surgeon, wanted those hearts. “It can’t be just their number and size, Dwayne,” she said to her chief assistant. “It has to be something physiological or biochemical. I must have them.”
“I don’t know if we can manage that,” said Dwayne Johnson. “I’ve been speaking to him earnestly, trying to overcome the Foy taboo against dismemberment after death. I’ve had to play on the feeling of tragedy any Foy would have over death away from home. And I’ve had to lie to him, Maude.”
“Lie?”
“I told him that after death, there would be a dirge sung for him by the world-famous choir led by Harold J. Gassenbaum. I told him that by Earthly belief this would mean that his astral essence would be instantaneously wafted back, through hyperspace, to his home planet of Sortib-what’s its name – provided he would sign a release allowing you, Maude, to have his hearts for scientific investigation.”
“Don’t tell me he believed that horse excrement!” said Maude.
“Well, you know this modern attitude about accepting the myths and beliefs of intelligent aliens. It wouldn’t have been polite for him not to believe me. Besides, the Foys have a profound admiration for terrestrial science and I think this one is a little flattered that we should want his hearts. He promised to consider the suggestion, and I hope he decides soon, because he can’t live more than another day or so, and we must have his permission by interstellar law, and the hearts must be fresh and – Ah, his signal.”
Dwayne Johnson moved in with smooth and noiseless speed.
“Yes?” he whispered, unobtrusively turning on the holographic recording device, in case the Foy wished to grant permission.
The Foy’s large, gnarled, rather tree-like body lay motionless on the bed. The bulging eyes palpitated (all five of them) as they rose, each on its stalk, and turned toward Dwayne. The Foy’s voice had a strange tone and the lipless edges of his open, round mouth did not move, but the words formed perfectly. His eyes were making the Foyan gesture of assent as he said:
“Give my big hearts to Maude, Dwayne. Dismember me for Harold’s choir. Tell all the Foys on Sortibackenstrete that I will soon be there --”
Are you sure that that’s by Asimov? I can’t see him appropriating the name of Reginald Briarton’s character Ferdinand Feghoot.
Excuse me. I mean Reginald Bretnor, of course.
Well, the source I used attributed all those jokes to Asimov. I didn’t factcheck it.
…and now it’s Tolkein’s birthday.
Shyer folk.
Soon the Hobbit blurted out, “I think Gollum has it!”
Then Sauron captured Gollum and tortured him, but the old evil and corrupted hobbit wouldn’t talk.
It turns out bad hobbits are hard to break.
Always Tolkien in her sleep…
At elven o’clock.
In Elrond’s Cupboard.
…most of them would drown.
My life is one big joke.
We needed grain for the horses. Their price was good. Their delivery was free and quick.
The only problem was, after a few weeks they kept asking for our feed back!
That’s me in the korma.
They say he was attempting a coo.
How do you titillate an ocelot?
You oscillate its tit a lot.
Eggatha Christie.
The plot thickens.
They want me to do the yule-ogy.
but I sunburn easily, so, you know, it’s cool if you just stay away.
So they can have a light snack.
An Elf, a Man, and a Troll walk into a bar.
The Hobbit laughed and walked under it.
…I’ve never had an epiphany.
2 and 4, because the odds are against them.
On his first morning on the job, the farmer’s wife says to him:
“I’ve got somethin’ for you to do. The butcher’s comin’ by in half a hour to carve up some of our livestock into meat. Since my husband the farmer is asleep and likely still drunk off his ass, I need you to go kill the pig and drag his carcass to the road.”
“Alrighty,” the guy says, and heads out. He comes back just a few minutes later.
“My, that was mighty fast,” the farmer’s wife says. “You done that before?”
“No ma’am, but it was pretty easy,” the guy responds. “You know, since he was still asleep and drunk.”
Fingers crossed he won’t notice they’re gone.
“All you do is boss me around all day!” complained one of his sheep. “What did you say?” challenged the farmer. The sheep glared back and growled…
“You herd me.”
After I mentioned a rude joke that compared The Dark Knight Rises to the torturous pits of Hell, I saw one man angrily stand up and storm out. I was in complete shock.
It was the first time I’d ever seen a Christian Bale.
One turns to the other and asks “Have you read Marx?” The second replies “Yes, it’s these blasted wicker chairs!”
Answer: The puffy tail.
Moral: never underestimate the power of marketing.
Nobody expects the spanners switch position!
Blunt Trauma