And here is the site where they did the survey.
They list the top jokes by country. There are several decent ones there, but, being a space buff, I like the Canadian one:
My boyfriend’s absolute favourite joke:
Q. What’s the difference between a bird?
A. Both wings are the same, especially the left one.
The wife if a straitlaced minister sends her daughter to the butcher shop to pick up the Easter ham, telling her to spare no expense in purchasing the finest ham for sale.
The girl proudly enters the shop and announces, “I am the daughter of the minister, and I wish to buy the very best ham you have for sale.”
“Ah”, says the butcher with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ve the perfect thing!”
He pulls a resplendently plump and deliciously glazed ham from his cooler and presents it to the minister’s daughter with a flourish.
“What sort of ham is it?”, she gasps in amazement.
“It is our finest product: The Damn Ham!”
Stopping her ears at the curse, the girl shook her head fearfully, “Oh, no, sir, I could never bring a such a profane thing to the Easter table!”
“I assure you, young lady, that no ham could be this succulent, this perfect, unless it were blessed from above. Please, accept this with my compliments to your father and mother, who I admire. I insist!”
Impressed, the girl cannot refuse the generous gift, and races home in excitement. Barely able to contain herself, she burst into the kitchen. “Mother!”, she proclaimed, “I have brought us the Damn Ham!”
“Dear God in Heaven!”, cried the minister’s wife, horrified by her daughter’s language. Quickly the girl calmed her mother and told her the story of the butcher’s gift. “Well, it is a magnificent ham,” she agreed, and all was forgiven.
The next day as the ham cooked in the oven, the house was filled with such a delicious odor the minister strode into the kitchen where his wife labored over the meal, beaming. “My darling,” he gushed, “that aroma is amazing! Why, I’m salivating! What have you prepared for us?”
The wife, blushing modestly, said gratefully, “I must give credit where credit is due: The butcher has generously given us the Damn Ham for Easter.”
“WHAT?”, cried the minister in total shock. “What blasphemous…??”
“No! No, my dearest, please don’t be offended!”, and she re-tells the story of her daughter and the butcher. Though it took some time for the redness to leave the minister’s face, he eventually was won over by the prospect of the meal ahead and the butcher’s obiously sincere token of esteem. “Very well, then, I suppose. Terrible name, though.”
Finally, the whole family, the daughter, the son, the minister, and his wife, were gathered at the table, barely able to restrain their desire to dig into the feast the wife had prepared.
“Son!”, said the minister eagerly, “Pass down the Damn Ham!”
“That’s the spirit, Dad!” cried the son, “Pass me the fucking potatoes!”
Yeah, I was going t post this one. I am pretty sure it is a Steve Martin effort.
A guy is being interviewed by a company recruiter. The interview has been going fairly well and the recruiter was finishing up with a few questions. The recruiter asks “Can you describe one of your weaknesses?” The guy thinks for a minute, “hm… I’m really bad at math. I mean seriously bad where I can’t do simple addition without using a calculator. It’s pretty scary.” “Let me tell you right now”, says the recruiter, “I don’t think you will fit in the Research & Development division of Texas Instruments but we might have use for you in Marketing.”
Here’s a good one from the linked site, a joke enjoyed by Western Europeans:
An Alsatian (dog) went to a telegram office, took out a blank form and wrote:
“Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof. Woof.”
The clerk examined the paper and politely told the dog: “There are only nine words here. You could send another ‘Woof’ for the same price.”
“But,” the dog replied, “that would make no sense at all.”
One of my favorites:
Did you ever notice that when geese are flying in a V-formation, that one side of the V is longer than the other?
“Yes.”
Do you know why that is?
More geese
The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost are playing golf on a fine Sunday morning.
The Holy Ghost tees off first and hits a long drive down to the edge of the green, about 10 yards from the cup.
Jesus goes next and his ball lands just a few feet from the pin. Easy hole in two.
God tees off, and it’s a bad slice, deep into the rough. The ball vanishes into the wood, but a second later a squirrel runs out onto the fairway with the ball in its mouth. Suddenly an eagle swoops down, grabs the squirrel, ball and all, and flaps off toward the green. Just as it’s over the green, a lightning bolt erupts out of the clear blue sky and vaporizes the eagle and the squirrel. Out of a cloud of fur and feathers, the golf ball drops straight into the cup. Hole in one.
The Son turns to God and says, “Jeez, dad. It’s only a game.”
Pat and Mike were inseparable friends, and so the barkeep was surprised to see Mike walk into the pub alone one night. “Where’s Pat?” he asked.
“Pat’s dead,” Mike said glumly.
“Oh, no,” said the barman. “What happened?”
“Well, we decided to take the tour of the Guinness factory, and sure, it was a sight to see. Huge vats of the glorious Guinness, more than you could imagine. We were walking on a catwalk over one of them, when Pat fell in and drowned.”
“Ohhh,” said the barman, “What a horrible way to go.”
“Well, it couldn’t have been that bad. He climbed out three times to piss.”
Irv and Sam had been good friends for forty years. One day Irv stops by Sam’s house and finds Sam’s wife, Sadie, at home.
“Sam’s out for a while. You can wait for him if you’d like,” she tells Irv.
The two of them are just sitting there, when Irv says, “You know, Sadie, I’ve always thought you were a very beautiful woman.”
“Oh, stop it,” she says.
“No, really. Especially your breasts. I’ve always imagined that your breasts are just perfect.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says.
“Would you just let me see them once?” he asks.
“Of course not. I’m a married woman. Now stop talking nonsense.”
“I won’t touch you,” Irv insists, “I just want to look. Just let me see *one * breast. Tell you what, I’ll give you $100 if you’ll just show me one of your breasts.”
Sade is embarrassed, but flattered, and says, “I guess a look couldn’t hurt.” She unbuttons her blouse, loosens her bra, and shows Irv her left breast.
“Oh, I was right,” Irv says. “It’s just perfect. I’ll give you another $100 if you let me see the other one.” Sade agrees, and shows him the other one. “That’s just wonderful,” he says. Sade buttons up her blouse and Irv gives her two $100 bills.
After a few minutes, he says, “Well, I can’t wait for Sam any longer. Just tell him I stopped by.”
Half an hour later, Sam comes in the door and Sadie tells him that Irv had been over.
“Did he give you the $200 he owes me?”
What were the four miracles performed by the Pope?
- He turned wine into water.
- He cured a ham.
- He walked underwater.
- He made a lame man blind.
Dad asks Little Johnny what he wants for his birthday.
“That new 27-speed mountain bike with the graphite frame”, he replies.
“Son, your mom just lost her job and we have a $280,000 mortgage on this house. I’m sorry, there’s just no way that’s going to happen this year”, dad informs little Johnny.
The next morning as mom prepares breakfast, she sees Little Johnny walking out the front door carrying his suitcase.
“Where are you going, son? What’s with the suitcase?” she asks.
"Last night I heard you and dad in your room. Dad says: ‘I’m pulling out’. You said ‘I’m coming too’.
I’m not even out of the 3rd grade. There’s no way I can carry a $280,000.00 mortgage with no fucking bicycle."
Secretary walks into the boss’ office and says, “Can I use your Dictaphone?”
Boss says, “Of course not, use your finger like everyone else.”
So Batman is sitting in Stan’s, a little-known bar where superheroes go to unwind, and Superman comes in looking kind of unsettled.
“Hey Clark, what’s wrong?” asks Batman.
Superman sits down on the next stool. He hesitates and then says, “We’ve been friends a long time, right, Bruce?” Batman nods.
“Okay, I’ll tell you - but promise not to tell anybody, okay?”
“No problem, Supes,” says Batman.
“Okay. You know how long I’ve wanted to get it on with Wonder Woman, right? But I can’t get off the starting line because she always comes back with that ‘virgin warrior princess’ crap. Well, I was flying along earlier today and saw her with my super-vision. She was lying on the deck of a yacht anchored in a deserted cove, and she was stark nekkid!”
“Wow, I would have loved to see THAT,” says Batman as he takes another swig of his drink.
“Yeah, and that’s not all,” adds Superman. “She had her legs spread wide open and she was squirming around like she was really turned on. I could see everything and it got Little Clark ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound, if you know what I mean.”
“Holy crap!” Batman says. “What did you do?”
“I decide, ‘screw it - I’m going to swoop down there at super speed and give it to her before she can say no.’ Then I pulled my tights down and that’s exactly what I did.”
Batman grins and says, “Ha! I bet SHE was surprised.”
Superman takes a deep breath and says, “Not HALF as surprised as the Invisible Man.”
A husband and wife are playing golf at an exclusive country club. There are multi-million dollar homes lining the fairway.
The wife slices the ball and it slams into the picture window of a mansion, shattering it.
Horrified, the couple hurry toward the house to survey the damage, wondering how much it will cost to replace.
Through the broken window, they see a man standing next to a broken bottle.
“Thank you!” the man exclaims. “I am a genie trapped in that bottle!” He tosses back the golf ball and the husband catches it. “Thank you for releasing me from my imprisonment!”
The husband sheepishly smiles and he and his wife step through into the room.
“I have three wishes to grant. Why don’t I split them between the three of us? After all,” the man waves at the damage “I’ll have to get this fixed.”
The couple agree. The husband wishes for a bank account that never drops below a million dollars, no matter how much he spends.
The man snaps his fingers. “Done!”
The wife wishes for a mansion and servants on every continent in the world. Again, the man snaps his fingers, “Done!”
The man looks at the broken bottle. “I was trapped in there for a thousand years. May I take your wife upstairs and make love to her?”
The couple confer, and agree it is a small price to pay for the riches they are getting. The man takes the wife upstairs and makes mad passionate love to her for hours.
Finally, lying limp and replete, the man asks, “Your husband is such a cool guy. How old is he?”
“42,” the wife replies, stretching langourously.
“Huh,” the man says, “And he still believes in genies?”
A bunch of dead physicists are playing hid-and-seek in Heaven. Eventually Einstein gets tagged and stands off to the side with his hands over his eyes, counting. Newton moves only a few steps away, and draws a box around himself.
Einstein finished his count. “…drei, svei, ein! Ready or not, ja!”
He turned around and immediately saw Newton standing there in plain view. Furrowing his brow, he strode over to Newton and poked him on the chest. “I don’t know vhat you are tryink to prove, Herr Doktor Newton, but you are it!”
Newton made no reply.
“Newton!” He cried, “You haff been caught!”
“Guess agian.” Newton replied, “Don’t you know a Newton over square metre when you see one? You have caught Pascal.”
This guy dies and wakes up in Hell. There’s the Devil standing over him. Big hairy dude with goat feet and horns and a beard and big evil grin on his face.
Guys says, “Ummm . . . I wonder if there’s been some kinda mistake . . . I wasn’t that bad . . .”
Devil puts his arm around the guy, shoves a cold beer in his hand, and says, “Don’t worry about it, son! We get a bad rap upstairs, but take it from me! Hell is a party! For instance . . . today’s Sunday. Do ya like to drink?”
Guy: "Well, I’ve been known to bend my elbow occasionally . . .
Devil: “All right! In Hell, on Sundays, we drink! Everything, man! Beer, whiskey, bourbon, vodka, tequila, cocktails . . . We go swimmin’ in a brandy snifter the size of Lake Michigan . . . No hangover! You’re gonna love it! You’re gonna love Sunday! Let’s see . . . Do ya like to do drugs?!”
Guy: “Well, I might’ve snorted a line here and there . . .”
Devil: “Awright, awright! Tomorrow’s Monday! On Monday, everybody in Hell does drugs! Everything, man! Pot, coke, smack, acid, shrooms, peyote . . . We’ve got Tim Leary workin’ on new recipes! If Jerry Garcia likes it, we all do it! You’re gonna love it! You’re gonna love Monday! Let’s see . . . Are ya gay?”
Guy: “Oh, no, I never swung that way!”
Devil: “Ooh! You’re not gonna like it on Tuesday!”
Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson are on a camping trip in the country. In the small hours of the morning, Holmes nudges Watson awake and says “Watson. Watson! Look up and tell me what you see.”
“I see the night sky,” mumbles Watson, “and thousands and thousands of stars.”
“Yes,” says Holmes, “but remember what I have told you about the science of taking observations and making deductions. What can you deduce from your observations?”
Somewhat against his will, Watson wakes up a little more and considers. "Well…
"Astronomically, I observe that the Moon is in its last quarter;
"Philosophically, I am made aware of the vastness of the Universe and my comparative insignificance in it;
"Chronologically, I calculate that it is between three and four in the morning;
"Astrologically, I notice that Mars is in the sign of Scorpio;
"Meterologically, I consider it likely that we shall have a fine day tomorrow.
“Have I missed anything, Holmes?”
“Watson, you pillock,” replies Holmes in exasperation. “Some bastard has pinched our tent!”
Fathers O’Malley, Dougherty, and McGrath were driving together to a priests retreat when a wide turn around a hairpin sent them straight into the grille of a cement truck. The next thing they knew, they were standing at the Pearly Gates. St. Peter welcomed them warmly.
“Gentlemen! Welcome to the Hereafter. Now, first order of business, can I get your names please?”
The stunned priests each gave St. Peter their names. St. Pete pored over an enormous book on the gold leaf table in front of him, looking more and more flustered as the flipped through the pages.
“Blast it!” he exclaimed suddenly, “That confounded Angel of Death’s really botched it this time!”
“Your holiness,” stammered Father O’Malley, “we don’t understand.”
“You’re a whole month early!” cried St. Pete in exhasperation. “A month! What am I supposed to do with you now?”
The three priests glanced downward fearfully.
“No, no, don’t worry about that,” said St. Peter. “A life of celibacy’s purgatory enough I should think. Please, just a moment.”
St. Peter picked up a golden telephone and explained the situation to the listener. Peter began nodding, yes, yes, oh, very good, yes, right! He hung up the phone.
“We’ve got to send you back.” he said. “You’ll be here again in a month, of course, but don’t worry, it’ll be quick and painless, boss’ orders. Eh, we’re terribly sorry about this, really, and I personally feel just awful about it. We’d like to make it up to you. You have a month; we want to you to live it up, enjoy yourselves. Perhaps since it was an automobile accident that started this whole mess, it might be nice to give you all a nice set of wheels as a consolation prize of sorts. But, uh, about that life of celibacy…”
The three priests shifted their weight nervously and avoided eye contact.
St. Peter continued. “Mmmm. Yes. Well, now, speak honestly. We’ll know anyway. How often did you do it?”
“Err, do it, your holiness?” said Father McGrath.
“Come on!” growled St. Peter, “You know, hide the mitre, fornicate.”
“Well,” said Fr. McGrath “barely once every two months, your holiness, and never with altar boys!”
“Mmm. Not bad.” said St. Peter. “Fine. Enjoy your Mercedes-Benz. O’Malley?”
Fr. O’Malley cleared his throat a few times before speaking. “Ah, y’know, I was, heh-heh, rather fond of one of the Sisters in the convent and…”
“How often?” demanded St. Peter.
“I’d say, on average, no more than once a week!”
St. Peter cocked an eyebrow and frowned at Fr. O’Malley for an uncomfortable moment and then said, “Fine. I’ve heard worse, I suppose. A Corolla. Well, equipped, though, so don’t complain.”
Fr. O’Malley wiped the sweat off his brow and thanked St. Peter many times.
“Well?” said St. Peter, turning to Fr. Dougherty, who was white as a sheet and trembling a little.
“Never on Sundays!” Fr. Dougherty blurted out.
St. Peter glowered at him for a good minute before finally grumbling disgustedly “I see a second-hand Vespa in your future, Dougherty. Keep it in your frock or we’ll be having a different sort of conversation a month from now, got it?”
The three Priests were sent back to the world of the living and spent the better part of the next month eating well and travelling. They made a pact to have a last dinner together at the finest restaurant in Rome the night before they were to return to the Pearly Gates. Frs. McGrath and O’Malley were already seated and enjoying an hors d’oeuvre when they saw Fr. Dougherty pull up in his worn-out Vespa, barely able to keep upright, as he was convlused in fits of laughter. Dougherty entered the restaurant still giggling and wiping tears from his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” asked Frs. McGrath and O’Malley.
“I just saw the Pope go by on roller skates!”
A physicist, a biologist, and a mathematician are on a walk in the country, and sit down on a log, across from an empty, abandoned shack, to rest. While they’re chatting and enjoying the sunshine, two men, identical twins, enter the shack. A little while later, three men, all identical, exit the shack and march away.
“That’s impossible!” exclaimed the physicist.
“Perhaps they cloned themselves?” offered the biologist.
“If the third one goes back, it’ll be empty again.” said the mathematician.
Three married couples who had been friends for many years were vacationing together in one RV. As they were driving along one day, laughing, having a great time, the RV had a blowout and the driver lost control. The RV plunged into a ravine, killing all three couples instantly. The next moment, the found themselves at the pearly gates, looking up at St. Peter. Peter called the first couple forward, looked into his book and frowned.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but you can’t come in here at this time.” “But why?” asked the husband, “We’ve tried to live good lives!” “Perhaps,” replied Peter, “but all you two ever really thought about was money, money, money. It was the most important thing in your lives and even though you had more than enough, you were too selfish to give to charity. It was so important to you, sir, that you even married a woman named Penny! 500 years in purgatory!” He pointed to a sign that said “Purgatory, this way” and they sadly walked away
The next couple approached, feeling somewhat less confident than before. “Hmm,” said Peter, “I’m afraid we can’t let you in either.” “But, sir!” protested the man, “We always were generous with everything we had! Money was fine, but we weren’t obsessed with it!” “True,” admitted Peter, “but a lot of the money you two had, you spent boozing it up. Party, party, party! Not that we would object to any drinking at all–but honestly, sir, alcohol was such a big part of your world that you married a woman named Sherry! 500 years in purgatory!” and they too walked away.
The third couple were staring in astonishment, and as the woman stepped forward fearfully, the man turned on his heel and started walking toward purgatory. “Excuse me, sir, but whatever are you doing?” asked Peter. “Saving you the time,” replied the man, " I know* I* don’t have a prayer of getting in. Come on, Fanny!"
The National Park Service (NPS) was refurbishing the Custer Museum at the Little Big Horn and it hired a world famous painter to paint a hugh picture to be the centerpiece, the exact subject of the painting being left up to the painter. After many months of work the painter was ready to unveil his masterpiece before an assembled crowd of VIPs. He pulled aside the covering and there was his painting revealed: a white canvas in the middle of which was a pile of horse manure with a cavalry sword sticking out of it and around the border of the painting hundreds of male and femaile indians engaged in sexual acts. Men gasped, women fainted, and the NPS official in charge rushed up to the painter and asked what the painting was supposed to be. “Gee.” he said, "I was just trying to illustrate General Custer’s last words: “Cut the shit! Did you ever see so many fucking indians!’”