Umm, Vince? Don’t you mean, “People in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones”?
[sub]Oy. It hurts me to even say it.[/sub]
On the contrary! I do not suck, I lick.
Vince’s joke reminded me…
The Story of Nate
Once upon a time there was a guy named Nate.
Everybody loved Nate, because his was the most important job in the world. You see, Nate lived on a dead-end, and, across the road from his house, there was a large, ancient lever stuck in the ground. Now, nobody remembered where the lever came from or who built it, but everybody knew that, if the lever were ever pulled, the world would end.
So, you can see why Nate was so popular: he protected everybody, all the time.
Until the fateful day that a drunken cowboy found himself barreling down the road towards Nate’s house, drunk. The yahoo was so drunk, in fact, that he did not recognize the dead-end signs and realized, too late, that he was careening, out of control, straight toward the brick wall which formed the dead-end.
If he swerved left, he would hit the lever.
If he swerved right, he would hit Nate, the world’s most popular guy, out for his morning walk.
If he didn’t swerve at all, he would crash.
The inebriated cowboy made his decision and, at the last possible moment, swerved to the right, barreling over Nate, killing him instantly.
What’s the moral of the story?
You sure you want to know?
[sub]Better Nate than lever.[/sub]
What do you have if you’ve got a green ball in your right hand and a green ball in your left hand?
Kermit the Frog’s complete attention.
A young man with a black eye is boarding a plane and he sees that his seat is next to another guy who also has a black eye.
The boarding guy says to the seated gentlemen, “What are the odds of that? We both have black eyes!” He continues, “Funny thing, I just got this black eye trying to catch this flight. I said to this very well built lady at the gate ‘I need a picket to Tittsburgh’ instead of ‘I need a ticket to Pittsgurgh’, so she popped me right in the eye. Do you believe that? A simple slip of the tongue and I have a black eye.”
The other man replies, "Ya know, it IS amazing, because I got my black eye from a slip of the tongue today too. It was just a little slip of the tongue. You see, this morning, I was having breakfast with my wife…and I meant to say ‘Honey, could you please pass the Cheerios?’…
…but instead I said, “YOU FUCKING BITCH, YOU RUINED MY LIFE!!” …so she popped me.
Thanks for the new pun Tretiak and all the other great ones everyone else. Here is my humble contribution.
A troop of French Foreign Legionaries were marching through the desert. They had been marching for days, their water supply had run out, and they were on
the brink of collapse.
And then suddenly, as they staggered over the crest of a large sand dune, they came upon a sight that brought relief to them all - a market place, spread out
over the desert. Rows of colourful stalls, with their banners flapping in the breeze.
The legionaries were delighted. Filled with an extra surge of energy, they ran down the dune to the market.
Arriving at the first stall, the begged the stall-holder for water.
“I’m sorry,” says the stall-holder, “all I have are these delicious puddings made from jelly and sponge and with a cream topping sprinkled with hundreds and
thousands.”
Not to be deterred, the troops move on to the next stall, pleading for water.
“Sorry, but I only have these bowls of pudding, made from jelly and sponge,” says the man behind the counter.
The legionaries move on, but as they look down the rows of stalls, they can see that every single stall is selling exactly the same thing, and as they move along,
asking for water, they get the same response every time.
Finally, one of the stall-holders takes pity on them, and tells them about an oasis not far away, so they leave the market, and head for the oasis.
As they’re leaving, one of the legionaries turns to his partner, and says
“Hmmm. That was a trifle bazaar.”
If you don’t live in or near Michigan let me explain. Here in Michigan we have two peninsulas seperated by the Makinaw Bridge and about 30 years of progress. Those who live in the U.P. are referred to lovingly as UPers or Yoopers. Yoopers are easily identified by a rather strange northern European accent and a deep love of winter sports. The last do to the fact that the UP has only two seasons, winter and the 4th of July. The rest of us are trolls because we live under the bridge.
Anyway one day Oli decided to go ice fishing.
Oli gathers up his bucket and pole and whatnot and starts out over the ice. He finds what he thinks is a likely spot and sets up his gear. Then he gets out his auger and starts drilling a hole through the ice.
Just then a huge booming voice out of nowhere says, “DERE AIN’T NO FISH DOWN DERE!”
Well Oli is a little startled but he really wants to do some ice fishing so he gathers up all of his gear and moves several yards further on and starts again drilling through the ice with his auger.
Again the voice booms, “DERE AIN’T NO FISH DOWN DERE!”
Now Oli is feeling a little nervous. He looks around but doesn’t see anybody. He decides to make one more try. He goes as far away from the fist hole as he can and starts drilling through the ice once more.
Again the voice booms, “DERE AIN’T NO FISH DOWN DERE!”
Well now Oli has had enough. He stands up, puts his hands on his hips and shouts at the top of his lungs. “Alright who are yous anyway, God?”
And the booming voice anwsers, “NO I’M THE ARENA MANAGER!”
Here’s my current fave. Apologies and credits given if I originally got it here.
This priest was walking down by the docks one day, blessing the fishing boats as they set out to sea. One fisherman said, “Father, if you aren’t doing anything else, would you care to accompany me – perhaps bring me a little luck.” The priest didn’t have an especially pressing day, so he agreed to come along.
Once they were at sea, the fisherman said, “Father, as long as you are out here, would you like to pick up a fishing pole and try your luck?” The priest agreed, and shortly thereafter felt a tremendous tug on his line. After a lengthy battle, he pulled in a large fish. The fisherman exclaimed, “Wow! Look at the size of that son-of-a-bitch you caught!” The priest said, “My son, please watch your language.” The fisherman replied, “No father. That is what that kind of fish is called. It is a son-of-a-bitch fish.” To which the priest replied, “Well, let’s get this son-of-a-bitch back to shore so I can show it to the fellas at the rectory.”
When the priest gets back to the church he meets the monseignor and exclaims, “Catch a look at this son-of-a-bitch I caught.” The monseignor exclaims, Father! Such language!" And the priest reassures him, “No. That is the kind of fish this is.” To which the monseignor responds, “Well, let me clean that son-of-a-bitch and give it to the mother superior to cook for dinner.”
The monseignor takes the cleaned fish to the mother superior and asks, “Sister, will you cook this son-of-a- bitch up for dinner?” The nun is shocked, but the monseignor quickly explains, “No, this type of fish–it is a son-of-a-bitch fish.” Relieved, the sister says, “Well I’ll cook that son-of-a-bitch into the most delicious dinner you’ve ever had.”
Well, it just so happens that the Pope stopped by for dinner that evening. After eating his fill he says, “My, that was the tastiest fish dinner I’ve ever had. Where did you get such tasty fish?”
The priest says, “I caught the son-of-a-bitch.”
The monseignor says, “I cleaned the son-of-a-bitch.”
The mother superior says, “I cooked the son-of-a-bitch.”
The Pope is silent for a moment, looking around the table at the other three, and finally says:
“You fuckers are all right!”
Thank you. Thank you.
Did ya’ hear about the guy who mixed his Viagra with Ex-Lax???
He didn’t know if he was coming or going.
AND, as a special bonus prize:
What’s black and brown and looks good on a lawyer?
A doberman pinscher.
This has always been a fave of mine:
A minister decides to start up a new church, dedicated to some important christian principles. It’s an exclusive church, and people have to apply to get in. One day, he meets with three couples who have each expressed an interest in joining.
The Minister says “I thank you all for your interest. As you know, we don’t let just anyone join. We’d like for members to follow some tenet of Christan philosophy as a symbol of their dedication–sort of a test, you might say. For married couples, we ask that they go through some denial of wants and sacrifice. In other words, we ask that you abstain from sexual relations for the duration of one month.”
All the couples agree to try and make an appointment to meet the minister again in 30 days.
A month passes. The three couples meet in the Minister’s office. He turn to the first couple, both in their 60s, and ask how it went.
The husband answers “Well, sir, I guess this wasn’t as difficult a test for us as it might be for some. We’re getting on in years. By the last week, I was feeling a little randy, but we didn’t break the vow to abstain.”
The Minister congratulates them and welcomes them to the church. He then turns to the second couple, in their 30s.
The husband reports “Well, the first week wasn’t so bad. The second week was difficult, and by the fourth week I had to sleep in the guest room. But we prayed a lot, and we made it.”
The Minister congratulates them, and welcomes them to the church. He then turns to the third couple, the newlyweds.
The husband looks shame-faced. He reports: “We made it through the first night fine. The second night I had to take a cold shower. The third night I had to go stay in a hotel. The fourth day, well… this is hard to admit, but… my wife bent over to pick up a head of lettuce and, I’m sorry, Pastor, but I just had to let her have it right then and there.”
The Minister sadly shakes his head. “Son, I’m sorry. We can’t allow you to join this church.”
Husband, “Well, I expected as much. We got kicked out of Safeway, too.”
So a farmer walks into a bar with a pig and sets in on the stool next to him.
The bartender gives the pig a once over and notices that it only has three legs, no tail and no ears.
“Mind if I ask you about yer pig?” The barkeep says.
The farmer pats the pig’s head.
“Surely. Let me tell you about this pig. When my wife went into labor with our first child, this pig ran into town and fetched the doctor to come a runnin’. Later, years later, when our house caught on fire, this dog dragged me out of a sound sleep and saved my life. He also saved everyone one of our chickens when the farm was flooded last year.”
“Wow,” says the barkeep, whistling. “mind if I ask what happened to him?”
“Oh you mean the leg?” The barkeep nods. “Well geez, fella. A pig like this you don’t eat all at once!”
:: crickets ::
:: one man applauds ::
:: jarbaby walks out, defeated ::
Hey, Dinsdale, I posted that same joke a few months back. Friggin’ cracks me up everytime.
Here’s one in keeping with the OP (the young’uns won’t get it) …
Roy was sitting on the front porch of the bunkhouse with a few of the other hands. He had just bought a brand new pair of shoes. He loved these shoes. He was very proud of them. So he took off his shoes and put them up on the railing to be safe.
As he and his buddies are sitting there on the porch, this mountain lion comes out of nowhere, runs past the porch jumping up and snagging the shoes sitting on the railing. Before Roy or any of his pals can do anything, the mountain lion is gone, shoes and all.
Roy swears and scratches his head in bewilderment over what had just happened. He loved those shoes.
All of a sudden, the mountain lion runs back toward the porch, spitting out the shoes which by now are gnashed to shreds. Again, the mountain lion was too swift and disappeared before Roy or his friends could react.
Roy got pissed. He went inside, retrieved his rifle, mounted his horse and rode off after the mountain lion.
About an hour later, Roy’s friends (still sitting on the porch) see Roy riding back into camp on his horse with the carcass of a mountain lion slung over the back.
One of his friends looks to him and asks …
[sub]… two … three … four …[/sub]
“Pardon me Roy, is that the cat that chewed your new shoes?”
After Quasimodo died, the chief priest at Notre Dame asked one of the junior chiefs to recruit a new bell-ringer. The junior priest scheduled interviews and saw several people, the last of whom was a young man with no arms. “My son,” said the priest tactfully, “I can’t help but notice your unfortunate disability. How could you possibly work as a bell ringer?” “No worries, Father,” said the man, “I’ll show you.” So the two of them go up to the bell tower. The young man backs all the way up to the wall and then runs as fast as he can straight at the large bell and smashes into it face-first. The bell moves slightly. So he does it again and again, until the bell is pealing loudly and swinging wildly. It was swinging so high, in fact, that on his last charge the man missed the bell entirely and pitched out the window to his death. The horrified junior priest ran down to the courtyard where he found the chief priest standing by the body. “That poor lad!” said the chief priest, “We’ll have to alert his family. Father, do you know who he was?” “No,” said the junior priest, "I don’t know his name . . .
. . . but his face sure rang a bell."
Bob takes a sex tour of Asia. Upon returning home, he notices green and orange spots on his
genitals, and promptly runs to see his MD.
The doctor examines him, and is mystified. He leaves the room, returns with a diagnostic
manual and starts flipping through. Finally the doctor finds his answer.
“Bob,” he says solemnly, “I’ve never seen this before, but I’m sure that what you have is a
particularly vicious strain of Mongolian VD. I’m afraid you’ll have to have your penis
amputated.”
Bob does not like this, and decides to get a second opinion, so down the street he goes to the
Chinese herbalist.
The herbalist takes one quick look and says, “Oh yes, I see this many time in old country. This
Mongolian VD.”
Bob, clearly disappointed, says, “Yeah. That’s what my regular doctor says. He told me I’ll
have to have my dick amputated.”
The herbalist is disgusted. “These Western doctors. Always want unnecessary surgery, more
money. They have no respect for ancient, natural solution.”
Bob is relieved. “You mean I don’t need to have it amputated?”
The herbalist smiles. “That’s right. You wait two week, It fall off on its own.”
Originally posted by Tie-Dye in this thread
So the junior priest goes back to looking for a bell-ringer, and the next day in walks a man who looks JUST LIKE the one who died, lack of arms and all! The priest says “You know, a man who looks just like you was in yesterday to apply for this job, but he died.” “Yes, I know,” said the man, “He was my brother. I’m here to apply in his place, and I’d also like to show you than I can ring the bell despite my disability.” So they troop back up to the bell tower where the second man again whacks the bell with his face repeatedly until, just like the day before, he misses on the last pass and falls out the window to his death. Again, the junior priest races down to find the chief priest by the body. “My goodness!” said the chief priest, “I can’t believe it happened again! Do you know who THIS man was?” “No,” said the junior priest . . .
. . . “But he’s a dead ringer for his brother.”
Thank you! Thank you! I’ll be here all week. Be sure and try the buffet.
Here’s one for ya
A man has a pet parakeet and one day he notices that it hasn’t been eating as much as it used to. He begins to get worried about it and decides to take it to a Vet to have it checked over.
The Vet has a quick look at the bird and tells the man, “Your parakeets problem is simple. His beak has grown too long and he can’t get his food.” “ I can take care of this for you,” the Vet continues, “but I’ll have to charge you $25.00”
“$25.00?, the bird only cost me $10.00!” replied the man.
“I’ll tell you what,” says the Vet, “this is simple enough that you can take care of the bird yourself, so I’ll give you a little free advice. Just get a fine file and file his beak back down to the proper size, just be careful not to file off too much.”
The man thanks the Vet and goes on his way.
A few days later the man and the Vet meet up in the street.
“How’s your bird?” asks the Vet.
“Oh, he died.” Said the man.
“What happened, did you file off too much?”
“No, I don’t think so.” The man replied.
“Well, did he start eating again after you filed him?”
“Naw,” said the man, “he was dead before I got him out of the vise.”
I love the sound of boo’s and hiss’s…
A joke from the near future.
A baby is born. It’s not your ordinary baby, it’s only a head. For no good reason his parents name him Matt. Matt grows up, and as only a head, he can’t do a lot of things. He can’t roller skate, or bake cookies, or ride bumper cars. He’s only a head and his options are limited.
Matt meets up with a doctor, who tells him, “Matt, I can clone you a body so you won’t just be a head anymore.”
"Hooray,"says Matt. “Do it Doc.”
So the doctor gets to work and they clone Matt a body for his head. First a neck, then a torso, then arms…you get the picture.
Finally Matt has a complete body to go with his head. He is overjoyed. He runs and runs on his new legs. In his excitement he runs out into the street. And gets hit by a truck. Matt is killed instantly.
The moral to this story… quit while you’re a head.
Also…[main body of joke here]…a pig that heroic, you don’t eat all at once.
A piece of string goes into a bar and orders a drink. “Can’t you see the sign on the wall?” says the bartender. “It says NO STRINGS ALLOWED!” Discouraged and thirsty, the string goes outside and puts on a pair of dark glasses to disguise himself, then goes back inside and orders a drink. Again the bartender recognized him and yells, “Get out of here, you lousy string! I told you before, no strings allowed!” Well, by this time, the string is bound and determined to get served. So he goes outside, ties himself into a knot, and messes himself all up by raveling his ends. He goes inside and again asks for a drink. “Hey, aren’t you that piece of string I’ve already kicked out of here?” says the bartender.
“No,” replies the string. “I’m a frayed knot.”
Three nuns die in a freak accident, and find themselves standing before St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. St. Peter explains to them that in order to get into Heaven, they must answer one question demonstrating their knowledge of Scripture. He asks the first nun:
“What was the name of the first man?”
“Adam,” she replies. There is a fanfare of trumpets, a blaze of Heavenly light, and the Gates swing open for her. St. Peter asks the second nun:
“What was the name of the first woman?”
“Eve,” she answers without hesitation. There is a fanfare of trumpets, a blaze of Heavenly light, and the Gates swing open for her. St. Peter turns to the third nun:
“What were Eve’s first words to Adam?”
The third nun, expecting an easy question, was taken aback. She thought for a moment, brow furrowed, and muttered, “Wow…that’s a hard one…”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
There is a fanfare of trumpets, a blaze of Heavenly light…
If we read our history, we can learn a lot.
For instance, Mohandas Ghandi.
History tells us he was a small man, and a very spritual one. In fact, he was the spiritual leader of his people for a time.
His beliefs were such that he eschewed motorized means of travel whenever he could, preferring to walk, causing his feet to become extremely horny and calloused.
These same beliefs dictated his diet, which increased his physical frailness, and caused him to suffer from ver bad breath.
If we were to sum up all of this in one sentence, how might we do so?
Well, we might say that he was a
Super calloused fragile mystic, plagued with halitosis.
Guy walks into a doctors office, he’s got food stuck all over him- celery out one nostril, a carrot out the other, some gravy in his hair, pork chops in his pocket, milk leaking out one of his ears, a banana stuck in the other.
Says, ‘Doc, I jsut ain’t feeling good lately, feeling kind of peaked. What’s wrong with me?’
Doc takes one look at him and sez, ‘You ain’t eatin right…’
An Irishman, an Englishman and a Scotsman all walk inot a pub together, it’s kind of a seedy little joint…
They all walk up to the bar together and order a pint of the house each.
Bartender slides em each a mug.
Above the bar, there’s a herd of flies circling endlessly, and at the exact same moment, a fly lands in each of their drinks.
The Limey makes a face and slides his pint toward the barkeep and orders another.
The Scot looks at his drink thoughtfully for a moment, picks the fly out and flicks it away, starts in on his pint.
They both glance at the mick- he’s got the fly between his thumb and forefinger, gently squeezing it and screaming ‘SPIT IT OUT, YE WEE THIEVIN BASTARD!!!’
An Irishman walks into this pub one night, orders 3 pints. Drinks 'em up and orders 3 more. Same same, till the barkeep, a sensitive, weepy Irish type, gets a little pissed and sez, ‘Ye know man, it’s not like we’re gonna run out, this is a quality establishment!’
Guy sez, ‘Ah, ya goofy man. Tis not that atall…It’s like this, ya see. Years ago, me brothers and me would, of a Saturday night, all get together and play and sing and do the reels and jigs and be tellin the auld stories and such, ah, twas a fine old time. Well, one brother has moved across the way to London, and t’other is moved over to America, but before they left, we all made a vow that we would carry on the spirit of things, and that’s what Uh’m doin here.’
Well, the barkeep gets a maudlin and sez ‘Ah, jesus and that’s a fine story and god bless ye shoes, man. ye’ll get no more pissin from me!’
Years go by, same same, every Saturday night, till one night, guy only order 2 pints. Drinks 'em up, orders 2 more, etc.
After a bit, the barkeep can’t stand it and goes to him and tearily sez, ‘And Jesus, man, I’m so sorry, cause it’s knowing, I am that one a yer brothers is died and gone home, ahh sweet god, I’m so sorry…’
To which the guy responds ‘Ahhh, jeez, ya daft part, tizn’t that atall, it’s that I’ve quit drinkin!’
A string, a lesbian, a black guy, a blind guy and a talking dog all walk into a bar at the same time.
Bartender looks up and sez, ‘What is this, a joke?’
::gettin out afore the projectile heckling starts in earnest…::