Before I knew about SDMB, I was a snopesian.
Rosa(I think) posted something along the lines of (talking about a Chinese contestant on Jeopardy who answered a question incorrectly) “they called him wrong.”
I immediately hit the reply button and told her that she missed it, they called him “wong.”
Stupid, I know. But I got a great friend out of it.
I was at the Bristol Renn fair, and I was watching Broon, a great comedic magic/juggling act.
He asks for someone from the audience to throw him a lighter, and some kid yells the question, “a real one?”. Broon gets thrown a lighter, and upon success, jokingly asks someone in the audience to throw him a rolex.
I, of course have to ask: “a real one”.
Hmm. The time my mom, talking to a friend on the phone, said “You know, I’ve noticed that Jewish women cook well.”
Easiest imaginable setup for a Hitler joke. And it was right around passover, too.
I don’t get it.
[non sequitur]
Australia.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
[/non sequitur]
I was at a rowing regatta hanging out with a bunch of young college-age crew boys and coaches. One of the coaches advanced the theory that most guys figured out they were gay in their mid-twenties. (note: I don’t personally subscribe to this theory, most gay guys I know knew they were gay way back in their youth) This caused much consternation amongst the guys and, in particular, with the most “metrosexual” of them, Geoff, who obsessed about it for most of the day. He felt sure that since he was such a great dresser and had such great hair, it was only a matter of time.
Anyway, cut to later that evening, post regatta. The conversation long forgotten, Geoff was doing a mincing routine for comic effect.
I quietly mutter “ticktock”, Geoff freaks and the group cracks up…
Clout means both “influence” and “punch.”
Cornell University has a pretty decent art museum called the Herbert F. Johnson. I was visiting it with some friends and they were commenting on the quality of the art and how much Cornell must be laying out for it. I said, “Oh yes, it’s a very well-endowed Johnson.”
I had a friend whose middle name was – I shit you not – Ecliptus. I ragged on him about it constantly. I kept going, “Ecliptus? Ecliptus?” He said, “What would you name a kid born during a lunar eclipse?”
“Loony.”
There’s a thread in Comments on Cecil’s Columns called "Is it possible to straighten and lengthen the penis? That’s a hell of a setup in itself, but I ended up responding to a comment about someone asking for a gadget that would let him use his penis instead…
It was the end-of-the-week briefing at work. The NCO giving the briefing was telling us some pretty crappy things: long schedules, lame taskings, and the like. After about five solid minutes of that, he said “But I do have some good news…”
Me: “You saved a bunch of money by switching to Geico?”
And now for a dirty one. It was at work, again. The guy who lives down the hall from me was talking about the substance someone had smeared on his doorknob the night before. I’ll refer to him as Tom Cullen. Also present was a guy I’ll refer to as Head*.
Tom Cullen: “It was nasty. Like a mixture of cocoa butter and semen. Did you do this, Head?”
Head: “No! Do I look like I keep cocoa butter in my room?”
Me: “No, you supplied the semen. You just walked up to the doorknob and pa-tooie.”
Everybody in earshot cracked up; except for Head, who was giving me the fish-eye stare.
Yes, these are the kind of people I work with.
*as in So I Married An Axe Murderer. Head! Pants! Now!
Friend: My uncle was the postman for (some town in Montana).
Me: Was he the Postmaster General?
Friend: No, there’s only one Postmaster General.
Me: So…he was the Postmaster Specific, then.
Lieu nailed the best one ever in this thread.
It’s not long, you just have to read it.
http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?t=301690 - posts 15, 17, and 19.
Another - I am regarded as something of a punster amongst my friends. (I realize this may come as a terrible shock to the good people of the SDMB.) When running roleplaying games, I almost invariably come up with punny titles for the adventures. So it came to pass that one of my acquaintances was describing an adventure he planned to run, and asked me what I would call it.
The plot was simple - a mummy reanimated to look for the stolen object which housed its soul.
Without missing a beat, I put forth : “Dude, Where’s My Ka?”
Not me (typically), but a friend:
He was dressed as Dracula for a Haloween party, and a little kid came up to him, wonder in his eyes, and asked:“Are you really Dracula?”
My friend sadly shook his head and replied:“No, I’m just one of Dracula’s helpers.”
My best set-up and comeback wasn’t as wonderful. I walked into High School English class late (I had a good excuse), and the teacher pounced on me with a supposedly thought-provoking question:
“Cal, What’s a Scholar?”
Without any thought process can recall I immediately answered:" It’s a thing that goes around your sneck."
…
So I’m working “security” at Rock Fest outside Cadott, WI. “Security” in this case means checking people over to make sure they don’t bring their own booze in with them - we want them to buy it inside at highly inflated prices like good red-blooded Americans. Since I’m a young, 20 year old blonde female, sometimes my line gets longer than my boyfriend’s.
Monkeyboy saunters up to me and begins patting himself down. “Nothin’ in here,” he says, patting his hat, “nothin’ in here,” fluffing out his shirt, “nothin’ in here,” showing me his open backpack, that is, clearly, empty, “and nothin’ in here!” This last he says proudly, pulling the wasteband of his jeans away from his stomach and gesturing in the general area of his briefs.
I couldn’t believe I’d been given such an opportunity.
Cocking an eyebrow, I say, “Bet not.” Infusing it with as much sarcasm and general disdain about the size of his indications as I could. Then I lose it.
Monkeyboy’s face falls - he realizes he’s been had. And as he slouches off, I hear his friends yell amidst their own gales, “she kicked Monkeyboy’s ass!”
It was a really good day.
I work as an editor for an English-language newspaper and last year there was a story about the police in Iraq being in desperate need for funds. My boss was briefing us on the content, when he read a quote from an Iraqi police chief that went something along the lines of “Our men don’t even have badges.”
Without skipping a beat, I suggested that the headline to the story should be “They need some stinkin’ badges!”
Despite the eruption of laughter, my headline didn’t make it to press.
One day in history class, my friend Margaret complained that she didn’t have a pen. Another friend, Jesse, offered a solution.
Jesse: You could prick my finger and write with my blood.
Me: Or you could finger his prick and write with his cum.
Not so much a setup line as a setup situation: I was in a supermarket in Kiel, Germany with an American friend. I turned a corner into the dairy aisle and discovered, as a milk-advertising display, a very large purple cow. Naturally I turned to my friend and said, “I was hoping I’d never see one of these.”
This one is still brought up in conversation by the people who heard it to this day, even though it happened more than ten years ago. I was hanging out with a group of my college friends and one of them had brought a new girlfriend to meet the group. It came up in conversation that I was an atheist. I didn’t think anything about it until a few minutes later the girl spoke up and said to me “That’s so sad. Why are you an atheist?”
I answered “Because there is no god.”
(Geez, what did she expect me to say?)