I imagine the residents of Coxsackie, New York, have heard enough. (I’ve heard locals pronounce it something like COOK-sackie, but I’m not buying it.)
“I got my hair cut yesterday.”
“Oh yeah? Which one?”
I’m intrigued by the OP because these types of jokes have been bugging me lately. I’d love to have a term, but I can’t offer one.
I think of them as low-hanging fruit.
Ludovic, in Soviet Russia, cliched jokes make you.
Daniel
You’re kidding. THAT’S the “obvious” fondue joke?
Straight Line - He don’t count
Punch Line - He don’t spell too good either
This one was a somewhat inside joke for my friends
Straight Line - Oh well!
Punch Line - [singing] Don’t ask my bout the shape I’m in. Can’t Sing. Ain’t Pretty and my legs are thin.
I have a co-worker who more than once has referred to “plugging the hole in the dike”. I have to remind myself to be professional.
“What’s up?”
“The sky.”
Hey!
…is for horses.
[stolen from Robot Chicken and elementary school playgrounds around the world]
A: I’m so hungry!
B: Hello, Mr. Hungry. May I call you So?
[/stolen]
A: “You know what?”
B: “No, but I know his brother, Who.”
I heard that one approximately six million times from my mother when I was a kid.
The changed the name of that planet years ago because of all the jokes. It’s now Urectum.
“It’s an adverb”
From the Simpsons:
Bart Simpson: Hey, Chalmers, where are you from?
Superintendent Chalmers: Well, I was born in Queens, went to Ball state, then made the move to Intercourse, Pennsylvania. Uh, why do you ask?
For awhile, I couldn’t use my favorite: “the price of gas.”
But it’s coming back. Oh, yes.
AC: “Can I ask you a question?”
Me: “You just did.”
AC: “I have a question.”
Me: “I might have an answer.”
AC: bends over.
Me: “Hut one! Hut two!” (or “Red 37! Red 37!”)
There are more but I can’t think of 'em right now. Yeah, it’s kinda like we live in a sitcom; her best friends are a 40-something gay man with no teeth and a middleaged pre-op MtF. The condo next door used to be home to a pair of middleaged women of questionable orientation, one of whom was a lying drunk who refused to hold a job more than a few months at a time.
Fry: Pine needles. Oh, man, this is great… hey, as long as you don’t make me smell Uranus.
Leela: I don’t get it.
Professor Hubert Farnsworth: I’m sorry, Fry, but astronomers renamed Uranus in 2620 to end that stupid joke once and for all.
Fry: Oh. What’s it called now?
Professor Hubert Farnsworth: Urrectum.
Well, as an epileptic priest, I have found that whenever I enter a bar with my best friends, an albino rabbi and a monk with Tourrette’s syndrome, the bartender typically asks “OK guys, what’s the punchline.”
IANAL, but can anyone tell me. Do I have a discrimination lawsuit here?
What does he do, involuntarily sign swear words at people?
In Soviet Russia, joke makes you!