Not to brag but, I don’t need alcohol to send texts I’ll regret.
Before therapy: I hate everyone.
After therapy: I’m okay with hating everyone.
Lead me not into temptation… Oh hell, just follow me, I know a shortcut.
Holy shit, that’s funny.
So it’s leftover nothing.
I thought I’d posted this, but searching for ‘obituary’, ‘in this topic’, doesn’t find it. So…
A man goes up to a newsstand and buys a newspaper…
He glances at the front page, then turns aside and tosses the whole newspaper straight into the trash.
Next day, he turns up, and does the same thing. Buys it, glances at the front page, throws it in the trash.
Next day, same thing. The newsstand worker is increasingly puzzled, but doesn’t say anything.
But eventually, after a couple of weeks of this, he can’t take it. “I’m sorry, friend, but I must ask: Why do you buy the paper every day and then just look at the front page and throw it out?”
“Oh, I’m just checking for something.”
“OK, but what are you checking for?”
“I’m checking for a particular obituary.”
“But sir, you don’t even open the newspaper! The obituaries aren’t even on the front page!”
“Oh, believe me, the one I’m waiting for will be.”
You posted it in the ‘Trump is dying’ thread.
Yes, I wanted to post it there; so I came here to copy it. I thought I’d posted it here before.
It’s still a good joke, no matter where it is!
I saw an obituary for the owner of the world’s biggest stone quarry…
“He left a deep hole.”
Steal a man’s wallet and he’ll be poor for a day.
Teach him how to play an instrument, and he’ll be poor for the rest of his life.
Three golf clubs walk into a bar. The Putter orders a beer, the Wedge orders a whisky. The Bartender asks the third one if he wants anything.
He replies, “No thanks, I’m the Driver.”
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
ICE.
ICE who?
We will ask the questions!
Do you like jokes about cocaine?
A good one-liner will make me snort a little.
Speaking of jokes from another thread (freakouts of the right), here’s another transplant:
A husband and his wife were celebrating their 80th wedding anniversary. One of the assembled journalists had a great question for him.
“Sir, your grandchildren say you and your wife have never had an argument, not even one. How can that be?”
The man answered, “Oh, that’s really simple. On our honeymoon, we went to a kind of wilderness retreat, one where you get to ride horses. My horse was very docile, but the one my wife got was rather spirited. As soon as we started down the path, her horse threw her. My wife stood up, said ‘That’s one.’ Then she got back on the horse. A few minutes later, he threw her again. She stood up, said ‘That’s two.’ And she got right back on that spirited animal. He immediately threw her yet again. She said, ‘That’s three.’ Then she pulled a pistol out of her pack and shot the horse dead. I was shocked. I yelled at her, “Why did you shoot that horse? Are you crazy?’ My wife looked me right in the eyes for a moment. Then she said, ‘That’s one.’”
I first heard this as “A man in Moscow”.
Yes, it’s a Soviet joke. Given our current president, it could be in Moscow.
Nah, I expect it was first told by a Republican in the 1930’s. Or maybe it was old then.
As long as we’re dissecting this joke…
So, this guy expects this VIP, when they die, that must be front page news, but yet they could get bumped below the fold, but never possible to be bumped further than that into the paper?
The first time I heard of it was from the Nixon era.
Funny how, no matter what era that joke is told in, everyone always knows exactly who it’s about.
The point of the joke is that the recently deceased is someone who would otherwise be top-of-the-page headline worthy, but even more so by dint of being newly dead.
Maybe I’m misremembering the age of print newspapers at newsstands, but wasn’t one always able to at least see the top headlines on the papers offered for sale, the “above the fold” stories, without having to buy one? So this guy, he doesn’t see his wished-for-dead person above the fold, and buys the paper to check below the fold… not there? Must not be dead then.
I love farting in the cheese aisle of expensive grocery stores…
… and listening to all of the Snooty People saying how wonderful the cheese smells.
This one came to mind when I read the FQ (zombie) thread about what Mohels do with the foreskins they remove.
A tax auditor comes to the Mohel and starts asking him questions.
“What do you do with all the wine that is left over from the ceremonies?” The Mohel replies, “We collect all the leftovers and send them back to the wineriy and from time to time, they send us a free bottle".”
“Very good,” the auditor says. “Now what do you do with bandages left over from the procedures"?” The Mohel replies, “We collect them all and send them back to the bandage factory and they send us a free roll occasionally.”
“Excellent!” says the taxman. “Now what do you with all the foreskins you cut off?” “Oh we collect them and send them to the IRS.” “Whatever for”, says the taxman, in great surprise. The Mohel replies, “Every once in a while they send us a little prick like you.”
Why was the Squid expelled from school?
For Kraken jokes.
How do you get Batman into the Marvel Universe?
Hang him on the wall. Now he’s a Bruce Banner.
How do you cure someone with a pumpkin spice addiction?
Apply the pumpkin patch.
There once was a town out west…
There once was a small town out west, nestled between the Rocky Mountains. The town was built on a stream, with a small lake the stream snaked outward from. Most of the town was employed by multiple large orchards nearby, and the town’s inhabitants spent their days at the lake enjoying their time off.
One day, the owner of one the orchards is called out by a fieldhand, letting him know that many of the young saplings had been cut down by, what seemed to be, beavers. Many of the other orchard owners who grew in proximity to the stream reported the similar issue.
At the next city council meeting, the issue is brought up and the orchard owners are seething angry that their new groves are being decimated by the beavers. One of the city councilmen stands up and says, “Let us vote on an edict to solve this beaver problem. I propose that we put a bounty on beaver pelts for the rest of the year. Every beaver pelt brought to city hall will net the hunter responsible with a $500 bounty.”
Most of the town nods and rumbles in approval, but a few people, self declared environmentalists, rebuke the edict, stating that beavers play an important role in creating the wetlands that have rise to the town’s lake, they assist in clearing off tree growth to benefit ground cover, and are an important part of the biodiversity of their region. Most of the town grumble and boo the environmentalists.
The city councilman stands again, and says, “All in opposition to the edict, say ‘nay’,” and a small ‘nay’ moans through the meeting room, “All in approval say, ‘Aye’!” And the room erupts into a huge, rumbling, “Aye!!!” The ayes have it.
Over many months, the local hunters cash in on their bounties, bringing pelt after pelt to to city hall to cash in on their prize. By the end of summer, many residents notice that the local lake is shrinking, giving way to a rushing downstream creek. By fall, the lake is all but gone. The docks sit in mud, there’s no where for families to spend their weekend, and there’s no more lake fishing.
Another city council meeting is called, with residents demanding to know why their lake has dried up.
The environmentalist stands up again and explains that the beavers’ dams were slowing the downstream flow of the creek, which allowed them the lake to enjoy. He looks up at the city councilman and says,
“Well, I tried to tell you… You can’t have your lake and edict too.”
IT ALL.
The title says it all.