So, is that update meant to forestall my recounting of paragraphs-long pun-based jokes about ciscontinental railroads, barques and bights, György Ligeti, and other topics?
The best part about Snakes on a Plane is that, since Samuel L. Jackson signed up based solely on the name, when they tried to change the name later, he forbade it.
Actually, Ben, the thought prompting the first update was: how could Tia be so cool as to have played Althusserian Circle or whatever, and so not-cool as to have contributed that joke?
the fan-based underground support for Snakes on a Plane has become so great that the filmmakers are now doing a reshoot to include more action sequences... as well as calling Samuel L. Jackson back in so he can actually say in the movie "snakes on a motherfucking plane."
I already indicated my favorite joke here, awhile ago (it kills when delivered IRL, especially with lit scholars—and who knows teh funny better than lit scholars?).
Google reveals that a lot of people remember the punchline but not the joke. Here is how I found the joke recounted at one site: "A little village of Trids (like Smurfs only green) had built their water well on the top of a hill. An evil troll took over the hill and wouldn't let the Trids get any water. Every Trid that went up the hill was kicked down by the troll. Frustrated, the Trids asked the local Rabbi for help. He climbed the hill and got the water with any trouble from the troll. When he went back up the hill he asked the troll why he had not kicked him down the hill. The troll replied: Silly rabbi, kicks are for Trids."
"The zero-level standard joke about laziness is how a Montenegro guy masturbates," he [Zizek] said. "He digs a hole in the earth, puts his penis in, and waits for the earthquake."
The sacristan of the great Cathedral of Notre Dame found himself in need of a new bell ringer. After interviewing a few applicants, he was approached by a man with no arms. "My son, while I recognize that you must make a living somehow, I don't believe that there is any way for you to do this job."
"Please, Father, let me show you." And so the prospective bellringer slowly climbed the ladders (using his chin) to the loft where the great bells hung. He paused at one side of the loft, and then sprinted toward the bells, slamming head-first into one. And then he did it again, and again, and slowly they began to swing, and the peal of the bells rang out over Paris.
As the peal was drawing to a close, the ringer sprinted toward a bell one last time, and missed, careering helplessly past it and out a window, through which he fell hundreds of feet to the ground below. The sacristan hurried down to join the crowd forming around the body, and was asked by a bystander: "Father, who was this man who has died here?"
"I don't know his name, but his face rings a bell."
The worst joke I ever heard was in 9th grade, of course. The protagonist was Johnny Fukkerfaster and you can guess the rest. I was led to believe that there was a whole series of jokes about this guy, but I only heard one.
The most interesting part of that story, LB, is that when they were hiring his replacement, they settled on someone with a very similar technique. Things went on well for quite a while with him—harder head and more accuracy—but eventually he, too, missed the bell.
Everyone agreed that he was the best they'd had in a long time, and a dead ringer for the last one.
Did you hear about this epic new study of the different ways white and black people are portrayed in TV, movies, and newspapers? It's going to be called In Media's Race.
The sacristan, still needing a bell ringer, resumed interviews. Amazingly, exactly the same thing happened -- a man with no arms, precisely resembling the earlier applicant, climbed to the bell loft, rang the bells by running into them, and fell to his death. A bystander asked the sacristan: "Do you know who this man is?"
"I don't know his name, but he's a dead ringer for the other guy."
Me, Labs, and Ogged have just died, and we're in the waiting room of the afterlife, waiting to be assigned our fates. We're sitting around, flipping through backdated copies of People, when all of a sudden a voice over the loudspeaker instructs us each to stand before one of three doors. I go first. My door opens. On the other side is the most hideous specimen of manhood you've ever seen. He's scrawny, but he has three large goiters. He combs his nosehairs over his bald spot. He smells strongly of cigarettes and ammonia. In short, he's disgusting. The loudspeaker voice booms "TIA, YOU HAVE SINNED. YOUR PENALTY IS TO SPEND THE REST OF ETERNITY HAVING SEX WITH THIS MAN." I scream, I cry, but there's nothing to be done at this point, and I'm sucked into the void. Ogged goes next. His door opens, and on the other side is the most hideous specimen of womanhood you can imagine, at least from his perspective. She has a huge butt. She's wearing heels. She says "Hello, Ogged" in an unbearably high pitched voice in a thick Russian accent. She also has a goiter. Again the loudspeaker says "OGGED, YOU HAVE SINNED. YOUR PENALTY IS TO SPEND THE REST OF ETERNITY HAVING SEX WITH THIS WOMAN." He shrieks, but he too is sucked into Svetlanka's loving arms. Finally, it's Labs's turn. His door opens, and on the other side is Scarlett Johannsen. The loudspeaker booms, "SCARLETT JOHANSSEN, YOU HAVE SINNED..."
A man is sent to hell, and told that he has the option of choosing his own punishment. In the first room he's taken to, endless ranks of damned souls are balancing on their heads on a slick, polished stone floor. When they slip and fall, they are beaten mercilessly by the supervising demons until they resume their position. He rejects this punishment, and goes on to the next room.
The next room is much the same, except that the floor here is jagged, irregular rock, making the task of balancing on their heads even more difficult for the damned souls being punished there. He rejects this as well and goes on to the next room.
In this room, the souls are standing knee deep in the very foulest of sludgy sewage. On the other hand, each soul is drinking coffee and eating a doughnut, and they are chatting with each other as the demons stand by. While the sewage is repulsive, the man figures that this is the best deal he is going to get, and agrees to stay in this room. As he enters, he hears the head demon say: "Coffee break over! Everyone back on your heads!"
A panda walked into a cafe. He ordered a sandwich, ate it, then pulled out a gun and shot the waiter. ‘Why?' groaned the injured man. The panda shrugged, tossed him a badly punctuated wildlife manual and walked out. And sure enough, when the waiter consulted the book, he found an explanation. ‘Panda,' ran the entry for his assailant. ‘Large black and white mammal native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves.'
but Lynne Truss has kind of spoiled it.
There's another joke I tell that's about 15 minutes long, and the last time I told it was to someone on a morphine drip.
(and slol, I was kind of hoping you would not link to my shame. Worst autopwn since Bridgeplate's theory of how everyone wants to have sex with their mother.)
(clarification: It was ogged, not Bridgeplate, who autopwned that time.)
I collaborated in inventing the following series of jokes:
"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Your mama."
"My mama who?"
"I fucked her!"
So a man wallks into a bar... and he fucks your mama!
A guy goes to see the doctor. The doctor says, "I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want to hear first?" "Good news." "I fucked your mama!"
etc.
My collaborator once was telling one of these jokes in a bar while sitting next to a biker dude, and the biker dude wanted to hear the joke. So he told it. Interestingly, this is not how he wound up on the morphine drip.
Rene the French fighter pilot and his girlfriend Marie are going on a pique-nique on the banks of the Seine. Being French, they have packed their pique-nique basket full of elaborate foods and drinks, and as they settle down on their blanket under the twilit haze, they've got a feast before them and an evening of romance to look forward to.
As they nibble on some rosbif and dressed beans, Marie looks over at her lover, whose moustachoes in the fading light make him look so virile, and she says: "Kiss me, Rene."
Renee looks deep into Marie's eyes, leans over--but before he kisses her, he sprinkled her lips with some of the red wine they'd been drinking.
Delighted, Marie giggles: "Why, Rene, what aire you doing?"
"I am Rene zee French Fightaire Pilot! When I eat red meat, I dreenk red wine!"
The couple sits comfortably on their blanket, watching the cars and pedestrians move slowly across the pont Louis-Phillippe. Marie coquettishly licks a strawberry, and then, looking at Rene through her eyelashes, unbuttons her blouse. "Rene, Rene, kiss me. Kiss me here, Rene."
Ever gallant, Rene rises to the call--but, before he kisses those magnificent lolos, he sprinkles them with champagne. Then he nuzzles them passionately, with Marie exclaiming: "Oh, you seelly man, what aire you doing!"
Rene lifts his head and declaims: "I am Rene zee French fighter pilot! When I eat white meat, I drink white wine!"
"Oh, Rene!" Marie sighs, with great pleasure, and she leans back in his arms.
The light is falling now, and the couple watches the bateaux-mouches cruise by, idly wondering what sorts of parties are aboard. Laughter from the terrace brasseries on Ile St-Louis drifts down from above, and a student down the quai has begun to play a guitar. Marie is beginning to feel very romantic. Squirming out of her tight leather pants, she says urgently to Rene: "Rene, mon tres cher Rene, kiss me. Kiss me down here!"
Rene twirls his moustache with anticipation. Then he sprinkles her crotch with brandy and lights it on fire!
Marie jumps into the Seine. Treading the filthy water, she screams: "Rene, what zee FUCK aire you doing?"
Rene looks at her in incomprehension. "Mais, Marie! I am Rene zee French fighter pilot! When I go down, I go down in flames!"
The Wen province of ancient China was famous for its wisemen. People would travel from far and wide, on horseback and by foot, to reach this remote mountain area, only to kneel at the feet of these learned scholars and learn.
So refined were these mystics, one could not gain a response from them simply by asking a question. Instead, a supplicant had to perform their query in the form of a dance, or make a painting, or compose a poem and brush it onto a scroll. Only those creative works deemed worthy were answered by the old men of Wen. But their advice was so sound, so wise, that those in need of it would devote all of their energy to creating something worthy of response.
The Emperor, hearing of these wise men and in dire need of the correct course of action concerning the wild hordes of the steppes and their constant incursions into his realm, sought to summon the Wennite scholars to his summer palace.
Three times he sent couriers, and each time they returned in failure, before their executions reporting only that they had spoken the Emperor's request to the wise men, and each time received no response.
Facing yet another incursion in the spring and with still no course of action, the Emperor resolved to waste no more time and bring his court to Wen, where he could ask his questions directly. Travelling a thousand miles, the Emperor uprooted his entire capital and travelled with his retinue of tens of thousands, palanquins, chains of donkeys bearing supplies, and of course his harem of 500. On and on the journey went, wending through flood plains and forest, desert and jungle, foothills and then high mountain passes, finally to arrive at the valley of the Wen folk.
With great pomp and ceremony, the EMperor set up court, and then had the wise men brought to him in chains.
"So, wise men of Wen!" he cried, "I have travelled a thousand miles to hear your answer to my question. What should be done about the incursions of the barbarians?"
The learned scholars were silent.
The emperor in fury rained imprecations and threats upon the men. Again, he repeated his question. "What is to be done, oh Wise Men of Wen, about the incursions of the barbarian?"
Again, silence.
The emperor began to froth. Signalling to his guards he gestured for the men to be executed.
Just as the first scholar was bent over the chopping block, an advisor of the Emperor's--a poet from Japan--stepped forward. "Oh Emperor of All, recall if you wil that the Wennites are known only to respond to requests made in the form of art--having travelled all this way, might I try to meet their requirements?"
The Emperor, not wanting to waste the months that he had spent getting to Wen, grunted and waved his assent.
The advisor stood before the assembled learned men of Wen, thought briefly, then spoke aloud:
Wolves prowl at the gates
What can prevent our kingdom
falling like cherry blossoms?
Again, the bearded ancients alertly but solently gazed at the advisor. Saddened, the poet turned to the Emperor, bowed, and left to prepare himself for suicide at dawn.
Seeing him leave, the Emperor's 3rd favorite courtesan--an accomplished singer--stepped forward. Composed on the spot, her song left all who heard it devastated. Keening with sorrow and the incursions of the barbarians and the helplessness of the countryside, her lamentations caused all of the members of the court to weep at their beauty.
And yet, the magi of Wen were unmoved and silent. The courtesan, haven given her all only to arrive at failure, died on the spot of heartbreak.
Furious at having lost his favorite poet and 3rd favorite courtesan at the intransigence of the men of Wen, the Emperor again signalled the executioners forward. As the first executioners sword rose, the Emperor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the nearing end to all of his frustration. At the very last second, the voice of a small child rang out: "Stop! Father, stop!"
It was the prince! The emperor's seven year old son! Glaring, the emeperor turned to his youngest.
"Father! Let me try!" Not waiting for answer, the lad leaped before the assembled wise men. His mother cried out, knowing that to fail the emperor would mean death, even for his own son.
Capering before them, the prince began a pantomime. Scowling in a predatory manner, he prowled before the assembly, miming the shooting of arrows and the slashing of swords. Cowering with upraised arms, the deaths of thousands of peasants were indicated. Turning then to the wise men, he raised one eyebrow and held out both hands in an inquisitive fashion.
Glancing between each other significantly, the wise men of Wen seemed to arrive a confusion. At last, the eldest stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he rustily proclaimed:
"Big a big wall."
Triumphantly, the young prince turned to his father and said "Father! Don't you see? The Sages of Wen are Deaf!"
This is the most truly tasteless joke I know. For the goyim (i.e., not the gentiles), necessary background on this joke: My Jewish relatives were not German Jews. This is a joke told by Jews like my relatives, who survived the Holocaust, at the expense of German Jews, whom they viewed as less than stalwart in resisting the Nazis:
Kaufmann, yellow star on his lapel, is walking home for lunch down the Unter den Linden when a long low black car pulls up next to him. Out pop a couple of SS, who hustle him into an alleyway and order him to kneel down with his hands behind his head. Then, who comes sauntering up behind them but the Führer himself.
“All right, Jude,” says the Führer. “You want to live, don’t you?”
Kaufmann nods, sweats bullets.
“Then get down in the gutter and eat that pile of schweinscheiss!”
One of the SS guys points his gun meaningfully. Kaufmann gets down, starts eating.
He looks up, sees the SS guys starting to laugh. He sees his chance—he leaps to his feet and grabs a pistol from one of the SS guys and points it at the Führer!
“One false move and your Führer gets it!” he shouts. “Now, paper-hanger! You get down in the gutter and eat that schweinscheiss!”
The Führer gets down and starts eating. The SS guys stare, horrified. Kaufmann sees he’s lucky for the second time today, and runs hell-for-leather out of the alley, and all the way home.
He bursts in the door, scaring his wife half to death. “Meshuggener! ” she says. “Why are you banging in like that? Good God, why do you have a pistol? And why are you smiling?”
Kaufmann puffs out his chest, says, “Darling! You’ll never guess who joined me for lunch today!”
I find your efforts insufficiently offensive (although B.'s first joke was getting there). How about this:
LizardBreath and I were walking in Battery Park one day when we saw a female dog licking herself between her legs. LizardBreath, blushing, confessed: "I've always wanted to be able to do that."
A guy is cruising by the elementary school with a bag of candy. He spots one boy walking home and rolls down the window, pulling a piece of candy out of the bag.
"Hey son, I'll give you a piece of candy if you come in my car."
The kid replies, "Tell you what: you give me the whole bag and I'll come in your mouth."
I used to know a cannibalism joke revolving around a guy who keeps saying "I 'ate" in ways that imply he means "I hate" but at the very end it becomes clear that he really was saying "I ate."
Chops, as vile as that is, I heard it in my youth. Which is not to say that you didn't make it up, but either (a) convergent evolution or (b) mad joke-networking skillz.
A Parisian, a Londoner, and a New Yorker are shipwrecked on a tropical island. They are captured by a cannibal tribe, whose chief says to them: "Yes, we're going to eat you. But there are two consolations. First, we will allow you to choose your own method of death. Second, after we have eaten you, we will tan your skin, and make it into a beautiful canoe. As the canoe glides through the azure waters of the Pacific, we believe that your spirit, too, will glide through those waters. Now, how would you like to die?"
The Londoner steps forward and says "Honestly, old chap, I'd rather not make any unnecessary fuss. If you've got a pistol, I'll just pop off and shoot myself in the head." The chief provides him with a pistol, and he quietly commits suicide.
The Parisian says "As a Fronchman, I die by ze sword!" The chief hands him a rapier, and he promptly runs himself through, saying "I die for La Belle Patrie!"
The New Yorker requests a fork. Unsure that he's heard correctly, the chief asks him to repeat himself. "'Ats right, a fawk." So the chief hands him a fork. The New Yorker begins viciously stabbing himself, over and over again, in the arms and legs and torso. He becomes weak from loss of blood, and as he sinks to the ground, still stabbing, he says "So much for ya gah-dam canoe."
In the offensive joke category, here's the final joke in my quiver. (It's possible that I can retain only a very limited number.)
A guy is sitting and drinking in a pretty seedy bar at the end of a long and profoundly boring day. We'll call him Steve. Gradually he becomes aware of another guy next to him, and this guy and Steve fall into conversation. The other guy seems like a worldly sort, something of a go-getter, and the two trade stories, order many beers, and Steve is having a wonderful time.
Some six pints in, the other guy leans over and whispers: "Hey, Steve, you know what? There's this amazing thing right nearby, no really, there's this place, on top of one of those buildings right around the corner, and you'll never believe me, but there's something about the wind currents, some local vortex conditions or updraft, or shit, I dunno, but you can jump off that building in this one spot, and I swear to God, the winds lift you right back up."
Steve takes a long swig of his pint and concedes that that that sounds awesome. The two continue to talk for a while, getting drunker and drunker.
Six pints or so later, the other guy leans over and says, "Hey, Steve, that thing I was talking about earlier? I so wasn't shitting you. It's right around the corner, you wanna check it out?" At this point, Steve is more enthusiastic, and the two men head out into the night.
At the top of the twenty-story building, though, Steve gets nervous. The other guy licks his finger and tests the wind at different places around the roof. "Yeah. Yeah! I think it's just about perfect. Oh man, this is great. Hey, don't worry, Steve, I'll go first."
And the other guy takes a running leap off the side.
With a *WHHHHHOOOOOOOSH!* he's blown back up onto the building.
"Oh my God!" shouts Steve. "My turn!" He runs and jumps off the roof exactly where the other guy had. Far below, Steve's body hits the ground with a faint "thud."
The other guy puts back on his coat and returns to the bar, where he orders another beer.
The bartender brings it to him, but he can't restrain his disapproval:
"Shit, Superman, you can be such an asshole when you're drunk."
A priest and a rabbi are walking down the street. The priest says, "Let's go screw that little boy over there." The rabbi says, "Out of what?"
A blonde, a brunette, and a red head escape from prison. They hide in an old barn. Inside they hide in potato sacks. The police, hot on their trail, enter and notice the bags. The chief says, "Okay boys check and see if they're in those bags." So one of the cops goes up to the bag with the brunette in it and gives it a little kick. The brunette says, "Meow, meow." "Nothin' in that bag but kittens," says the chief. Then the cop goes to the second bag, with the red head inside, and gives it a little kick. The red head says, "Woof, woof." "Nothin' in that bag but puppies says the chief. Then the cop gives the third bag, with the blonde inside, a little kick. The blonde says, "Potatos, potatos."
There is this one, which would have been the last paragraph of a piece about a photograph of the hands of a politician who has bitten his fingernails to the quick, except that at the last moment decorum prevailed:
There is nothing about hair pulling or nail biting in Charles Darwin’s “The Expression of the Emotions in Man and the Animals” though here is a great deal about the tendency of lunatics to make their hair bristle at times of madness, and of all humans to do so when they wish to appear impressive. It would be fascinating to know whether the hair of politicians grows bigger when they face each other across the dispatch box. But it looks obvious that nail-biting, hair-pulling, and skin-picking are all degenerate grooming behaviours. They are actions designed to give pleasure when performed on someone else’s body, which look odd when performed opn our own. It would be vulgar to mention the paradigm of all such actions – anyway it is only politicians from the parties we disapprove of who could ever relieve their anxieties in that way and they certainly wouldn’t walk around with the evidence all over their hands.
Some mexican dude told me this joke, which was originally about Tia, but I changed it:
A man goes bear hunting, and after several hours of frustration, finally spots a massive bear just over the next rise. He aims his rifle, fires, and thinks he's made a good kill. He rushes over to collect his booty, and there's the bear, very much alive and waiting for him. The bear says, "Look, I can tear you limb from limb, or you can let me fuck you up the ass." The man thanks his lucky stars and bends over.
But the next week he comes back, determined to avenge his humiliation. This time he's brought a bazooka and after searching and searching, finally spots his bear, and fires. Unfortunately, when he goes to gaze upon the carcass, there's the bear again, who says, "You know the drill."
Now the man is more determined than ever, and when he comes back the next week, he brings a massive bomb that he plants near the river, and waits. Soon the bear saunters over for a drink, and the man sets off the bomb, leveling trees and making a huge crater. He goes down to the river to see if there's anything left of the bear, and to his shock and dismay, there's the bear, alive, leaning against a stump. The bear just looks at him and says, "You don't come here to hunt, do you?"
A student's biology professor announces an exam next week on birds. "You will have to know everything about every type of bird there is," he says. The student spends the week studying beaks, wings, and feathers of dozens of bird species.
On the day of the exam, the professor has a table with five paper bags on it. Under each bag is a model of a bird. The professor lifts the first bag to reveal only the legs, and tells the class to write down the type of bird. The student groans, because she can't even guess the type of bird. When the professor gets to the third bag, the student stands up, walks up to the table, and throws her crumpled test paper onto the table. She says, "This is the most ridiculous test I have ever seen, and you are an IDIOT!"
The professor says, "Just hold it right there, what is your name?"
The student raises her dress to the knees and says, "You tell me!"
An engineer dies and goes to heaven. At the pearly gates, he is met by St. Peter, who looks for his name in the Book of Life. St. Peter frowns, puzzled.
"I don't understand it, as you've lead an exemplary life, but it seems you've been assigned to Hell for all eternity."
"Is there anything you can do?"
"No. I really do apologize, um, just try to make the best of it."
With that, the engineer heads down to the land of eternal torment. Being a naturally creative and industrious sort, and given Hell's abundance of minerals, metals, and heat, with a few years, the engineer has completely transformed the place. Hell now has`air conditioning, a swimming pool, and a really great sound system.
Word of this gets back to God. He calls up Satan for a meeting.
"This is unacceptable," God blusters. "You're supposed to be in charge of eternal torment, and now I find that this engineer has built you a paradise. I demand that you return him immediately!"
Satan answers, "I shall do no such thing. The engineer is mine by rights; it's not my fault there was a scheduling problem."
God thunders, "I'll sue."
Satan chuckles. "Sue? God, where are you gonna get a lawyer?"
So, an elderly Jewish man who plays the lottery every day finally wins, and wins big. He moves out of the home where his ingrate kids stashed him, and buys a huge mansion and a solid gold car and various other luxurious products, including a gigantic statue of Hitler giving the Nazi salute. To celebrate his wealth and show off his new stuff, he invites all friends over for a fantastic party.
Everyone comes and is very impressed with his new belongings. One of his friends, though, corners him and asks him, why is there this big statue of Hitler? And the man says, I figured I owed him—after all, he gave me the numbers.
----------
There's also the story of the London Jew who acquires great wealth, changes his name from Greenberg to Green, moves into a place on Park Lane, and sets about acquiring various objets d'art, including a painting by Reubens.
The following year, his affluence having increased, he exchanged the Reubens for a Goya.
I didn't make either of the above jokes up; one was from Ted Cohen's book and the other is from the Joy of Yiddish. Really, though, people should only tell jokes they've made up. Everyone's already heard all the others.
Neither of Wolfson's #109 would be transferable to another group, as so many jokes are. It's because of the particulars, of course, but something else too. The second one relies on a familiar discourse that most educated Americans have been initiated into. Wouldn't get many laughs in a trailer park or lumber camp. Other groups haven't got everybody else speaking their language, so to speak.
104: it was a running gag on the TV show Homicide that they'd cut to someone telling that punchline, but of course this being network tv, we never got to hear the rest of the joke.
A man walks into a bar and orders some abalone. The bartender says, "We stopped serving that after the last guy who ordered it shot himself. Terrible tragedy. He left behind a wife and two kids. No one knows why he did it."
Disappointed, the man leaves the bar, goes back to his apartment building, and takes the elevator all the way to the 30th floor. It's raining outside. Downstairs the night watchman is sleeping.
117: That fits so well. It's such an old-fashioned, almost genteel dirty joke. The sort of thing that the Drones Club member laughed their faces off over when Plum wasn't around.
122 : well, you know what they say about apples not falling far from the tree. This one just fell hard, hit a stone, was run over by a cart, then shat upon by a parade of barnyard animals.... being bruised and abused like that obviously stunted its development.
I've never gotten a chance to try GHB, although I've heard a couple of reports about short-term, pleasant delirium. GHWB only fits two out of three, if that.
Fontana Cohen bought a parrot, only intending to have some silent companionship, until one day he discovered that the parrot could daven in Hebrew. From then on, every Shabbos the parrot repeated his prayers perfectly, till finally Fontana had his tailor make the parrot a bird-sized yarmulke and tefillin, figuring he ought to do it up right. Then a thought occurred to him: no one would believe he had a parrot who could daven; maybe there was a way to make a few bucks off the deal. So the week before Rosh Hashanah, he goes to shul, and he says, "You guys will never believe this. I have a davening parrot." And in fact they don't believe it, and more than a few of them offer him a friendly wager that his parrot can't really daven. Fontana Cohen goes whistling home, and next week, on Rosh Hashanah, he takes the bird to shul. When the appropriate time came in the service, the bird was silent. "Daven," he hissed. But the bird sat still as a rock, and remained so for the entire service. After shul, FC had no choice to pay up. Walking home, he asked the parrot, "What did you do that for? Do you know how much money you cost me?" And the parrot said, "Just think of the odds we'll get on Yom Kippur!"
Later, the parrot took to misbehaving -- swearing at guests, chewing up furniture -- Fontana was at his wits' end. Unable to figure out how else to discipline a parrot, he finally, in amoment of annoyance, shut it in the refrigerator.
Ten minutes later, he opened the door. The parrot, chastened, flew quietly out, and sat politely on its perch for the rest of the day, speaking only when spoken to, and then with the greatest of respect. Finally, as Fontana was about to go to bed, the parrot said: "Sir, I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. But I have one question.
What do you get when you butcher a 12 year old with a machete?
An erection.
Yet, I prefer this one:
A young couple is in the hospital and she's about to deliver her first child. The doctor's there and it's his first delivery too. So helping her get through it and he's telling her all the reassuring things he's supposed to say. You know "I can see the head" and "it's almost here" and "one more push" and all that and finally she delivers the child.
The doctor, upon delivering his first baby, is ecstatic. He's running around the room; he's got the baby over his head like its a trophy; he does a little dance and then he throws the baby on the ground like he's spiking a football.
Mom and dad are horrified and dad says, "Why'd you do that to my child?"
The doctor says jovially, "Hey, I was just kidding around. That baby was already dead."
Two brooms were hanging in the closet and as will happen in such situations, they fell in love and decided to get married. One broom was, of course, the bride broom and the other was the groom broom. The bride broom looked very beautiful in her white dress. The groom broom was suave in his tuxedo.
The wedding was lovely, and all their friends agreed it was one of the most touching affairs they had seen. At the reception dinner, the bride broom leaned over and whispered to the groom broom, "I think I am going to have a little whisk broom."
"That's impossible!" said the groom broom. "We haven't even swept together!"
I was once sitting around with the doctor and nurses in a doctors' office where I was working as the receptionist, telling light-bulb jokes. The doctor said "How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb?" As the leftiest woman present, I figured I'd help out with the punch line and snarled "That's not funny." He blanched and apologized.
Apparently there's a different punch line. Who knew?
A Newfie, a Quebecer, and an Albertan are walking down a path together. They come across an old lantern, and while they're cleaning off their find, an All-Powerful Genie appears in a puff of smoke and offers them one wish each.
The Newfie says: "My forefathers was fishermen, I'm a fisherman, and my son's gonna be a fisherman. I want oceans full of fish!" POOF! and it is done.
Impressed, the Quebecer says: "I'd like a wall around the province of Quebec, so nothing can get in." POOF! and a wall appears.
The Albertan hesitates a moment, then says: "Tell me more about this wall."
The genies replies: "It is a mighty wall indeed, puny mortal. Three hundred feet high, fifty feet thick, and made of solid concrete."
The Albertan says: "Great. Fill it up with water."
(Depending on where you are in the country, you can substitute pretty much anyone for the Albertan. Except if you're in Quebec, of course, in which case you'd better give it a miss.)
A man walks into the emergency room. He's got a fever, he's limping, he's covered in rashes and sores, he's got all kinds of symptoms. The doctors immediately isolate him and run all sorts of tests and then leave him alone while they analyze the results.
One of the doctor returns and says, "We've got bad news. You've got multiple diseases and you're still highly contagious. We're going to have to put you on a strict diet of flapjacks and flounders."
"Flapjacks and flounders?!" the man yells. "Is that really going to help me?"
"No," says the doctor, "but it's all we can fit under the door."
In the meantime, here's one a Nish buddy of mine is fond of (best appreciated if you know roughly what the Nish accent sounds like):
A well-to-do Torontonian couple are driving out to their cabin in North Ontario. On their way, they decide to stop and have some breakfast in a quaint little greasy-spoon diner. "It's no Bonjour Brioche," the husband says, "but it'll be a really down-to-earth experience."
They take their seats, and a heavyset Ojibwe waitress makes her way over to take their order. She's smiling broadly, and they feel immediately at ease. The husband orders a typical eggs-and-toast breakfast, and the wife orders a salad, and they both get coffees. "Oh," adds the wife as the waitress is walking away, "and can I get the salad with some bacon bits?"
The waitress stops cold, and gives the woman a long, hard stare before she stamps away. The couple, wondering what they've done to offend her, wait for their meal in an agony of anxiety.
Finally, the waitress comes stamping brusquely back. She unceremoniously slams several items down on the table: a pair of coffees, eggs and toast, an unadorned plate of greens and a sizzling plate of back bacon. "There!" she says. "There's your sald, and there's your bacon, but if you call me a bits again I'll kick your ass!"
A Mexican family was considering putting their grandfather in a nursing home. All the Catholic facilities were completely full so they had to put him in a Jewish home. After a few weeks in the Jewish facility, they came to visit.
"How do you like it here?" asks the grandson.
"It's wonderful! Everyone here is so courteous and respectful," says grandpa.
"We're so happy for you. We were worried that this was the wrong place for you. You know, since you are a little different from everyone."
"Oh, no! Let me tell you about how wonderfully they treat the residents here," grandpa says with a big smile. "That's Silverstein over there. He's 85 years old, hasn't played the violin in 20 years, and everyone still calls him 'Maestro'!"
"That fellow there, Mr. Goldfarb. He's 95 years old, hasn't been on the bench in 30 years and everyone still calls him 'Your Honor'!"
"And the guy over there by the window, Bernstein? 90 years old. He hasn't been practicing medicine for 25 years and everyone still calls him 'Doctor'!"
"And me? Your grandmother has been dead for 35 years and they still call me 'The Fucking Mexican'!"
A Brit, an American, and a Mexican each check into a hotel for the weekend. After staying over Friday night, they each leave the hotel to do typical touristy things.
The Brit returns first. As he passes the maitre d', he's told "Welcome back Mr. Wellington. You'll be happy to know we've placed fresh sheets on your bed." Pleased, the Brit thanks him.
The American comes back next. He is also told "Sir, we've given you fresh sheets on your bed." The American is pleased, and resolves to leave the maid an extra 50 cents.
Last, the Mexican returns. As he comes into reception area, the maitre d' greets him. "Ah, Mr. Sanchez. Welcome back. We've put fresh sheets on your bed."
The Mexican lunges at the maitre d', grabs him around the throat, and begins to choke him, yelling "You sheet on my bed? I keel you!"
We always told 191 with a long sequence of similar misunderstanding -- "shit" for "sheet", "piss" for "peace", "fuck" for "fork", etc. My brother told that one pretty well as I recall.
I'm going to try to remember 180 for my Yukoner dad, but I'm just going to pretend that Wolfson didn't quibble over the punchline because I can't think of a more accurate and still funny phrasing.
Technically, the joke does note that the wall is solid rather than hollow, which is probably why El Wolfson is the first person I've seen quibble with it. But if the ambiguity is bothersome, something like "Flood everything inside it with water" should do the trick.
Technically, the joke does note that the wall is solid rather than hollow, which is probably why El Wolfson is the first person I've seen quibble with it. But if the ambiguity is bothersome, something like "Flood everything inside it with water" might do the trick.
JM, the Albertan could clarify: "and Quebec is entirely surrounded?" And then the genie could say yes, and then the guy could say, "fill it up with water," and the immediate antecedent would be Quebec.
I confess that I was confused by the genie joke, because I took "it" to refer to the wall itself. Then I reread the joke, saw that the wall was solid, and wrote off the whole thing as some weird Canadian issue. Only on third thought did I realize the final wish involved filling the area carved out by the wall with water.
Also, joe D, change comes from within.
Finally, I'm very happy to have become a joke fixture.
117: crap, that ruins the ocelot thing for me. At least I have a dumb Canada joke: How did Canada get its name? The first bunch of settlers couldn't decide on a name, so they got a bag of Scrabble tiles and decided to name it the 1st three letters that came out:
Oh, the Alberta joke is fine. (Alberta = Texas, Quebec = NYC, for a rough U.S. translation of the attitudes.) Spoken aloud, most people not on a grammar crusade would get it.
A doctor's in his office when a college-aged woman walks in for a physical. The doctor notices a blotchy red rash-like skin condition on her abdomen. The weird thing is, it's shaped like two lines joined in the middle, kind of like a big, blocky letter H.
The doctor asks, "Miss, that's a very unusual skin condition you have there. If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like the letter H. How did you get it?"
The woman looks down at her belly and blushes. "Oh, Doctor, that's not a skin condition. That's just from my boyfriend's sweater," she explained. "You see, he and I both go to Harvard, and he insists on wearing his Harvard sweater all the time — even when we're, well, you know... intimate. I guess the weight of his body just presses the fuzzy letter H from his sweater into me, leaving that mark."
Hmm, thinks the doctor. Unusual, but hardly a medical emergency. So he finishes the physical and sends her on her way.
Later in the day, a second woman comes in. She appears to have a blotchy mark on her abdomen, too, except it's shaped like two lines merging into one. Kind of like a "Y".
The doctor asks her about it and, sure enough, she explains that she and her boyfriend are Yalies, and the boyfriend wears his Yale sweater during sex, pressing its fuzzy letter Y into her belly.
By now, the doctor thinks he's caught on to one of those wacky new college trends. So when a third woman comes in later on, and he notices a blotchy red M-shaped mark on her abdomen, he immediately guessed the cause.
"Excuse me, miss," he asked, "but I'll bet you're a student at... let me see... Michigan!"
A Brit, and Aussie, and an Irishman are all in a bar. In Baltimore. Each finds a fly in his drink. Brit summons barkeep: "Do say, my good man, there's a fly in my Bass. Please bring me another." Bartender brings another. The Aussie plucks the fly out of his beer, shrugs, tosses it on the floor, drinks it. The Irishman then holds the fly over his glass yelling, [put on brogue here] "Spit it out, you little son of a bitch."
OK, I guess I know another. A zoolipogical expedition is returning from Indonesia with a captive orangutan. A female. As the ship is sailing back to North America, the vet realizes that the orang isn't doing very well. Won't eat, won't sleep, losing weight, seems to be pining away. For a few days the vet tries one thing and another, and finally realizes that it's just plain loneliness. Then he notices a burly red haired Irishman who works the boilers. He tells the fellow he'll need to go into the cage with the orang for the rest of the voyage. The Irishman responds [putting on brogue] "Alright, I'll do it, on three conditions. First, the must be two men standing by with rifles, the murder the beast should it start towards me. Second, there must be three men with pistols standing by, at all times, the kill the beast if it so much as lays a finger on me. And finally . . . finally . . . should any children come of this unholy match, I want them brought up in the Roman Catholic faith."
210: I like that alternate ending better, actually.
217: They say "ouch."
For the road (and probably cranking up the offense-o-meter a little; fair warning):
A famous journalist is obsessed with interviewing ex-dictators and recording their warped perspectives on their reigns for posterity. After having interviewed every living deposed or exiled dictator she can find, she decides to go beyond the grave, and hires the services of a medium to summon up the ghost of Adolf Hitler.
True to her word, the medium -- after many an incantation -- summons up a ghostly image of the long-dead Fuehrer, and the journalist starts questioning him. They start out with relatively small talk, but eventually she can't help but say:
"Look, I think my readers would like to know. If you had it all to do over again, would you do anything differently?"
Adolf's ghost surprises her by saying, "Ja, ja, absolutely."
"What would you change?"
The spirit draws himself up, puffs out his chest proudly and says, "I would six million Jews... and one clown."
Perplexed, the journalist says: "One clown? Why one clown?"
"Ha, you see?!" Adolf crows triumpantly. "You see?! Nobody cares about the Jews!"
Ah, I've heard a version of that joke, Slack, that goes a little differently.
A tourist on vacation in Argentina sees two men on a beach who look an awful lot like Hitler and Goebbels. He walks by them a few times to overhear their conversation. The Hitler-like man says, "My friend, this time, nothing can stop us!". The Goebbels-looking fellow replies, "Indeed! At last, we will wipe out the Jews and the electricians, once and for all!"
The tourist is puzzled by this and you can probably figure out how things proceed from here, based on Slack's version.
There's a story that Brezhnev's mom, visiting him after he took over the USSR and seeing the opulence in which he was then living, asked him what he was going to do if the Communists ever got back in power.
No, no. They decide that it's loneliness, so they say to the Irishman "Would you sleep with the orangutan for fifty pounds?" And the Irishman says "Yes, on three conditions. First, no one outside the crew must ever know about this. Second, any children are to be brought up in the Catholic faith. And third, you'll have to give me a couple of days to come up with the fifty pounds."
So, I'm doing my girlfriend doggie-style, and I pull it out and put it into her ass. She turns around and says, "That's awfully presumptuous of you." And I said, "Presumptuous? That's a pretty big word for a 9-year-old."
Mickey sues Minnie for divorce. They go before the judge, who says, "I'm sorry, Mickey, but a spouse's insanity is not grounds for divorce in this state." Mickey says, "I didn't say she was crazy. I said she was fucking Goofy."
In similar vein: a man and a little girl are walking at night through the woods. The girl turns to him and says, "Mister, I'm scared." The man replies: "What the hell are you whining about? I'm the one who has to walk home alone!"
Finally, I'm very happy to have become a joke fixture.
Damn, I'll have to find a new way to punish you. I know, I'll withhold sex! I'm good at that. I'm withholding sex from each and every one of you right now, you just don't realize it.
a) Young Schmitty was taking confession, when he told Father Flanagan that he was having impure thoughts about his sister. "Is this a sin, Father?" he asked.
The priest nodded and said, "Yes Schmitty, indeed it is a sin....Look at the two beautiful brothers you have."
or,
2) Later, Father Flanagan has terrible cramps while in the confessional, and has to leave the booth to use the facilities. He sees young Schmitty, an altar boy, grabs him by the arm, and says: "Doing this is simple. When they tell you their sin, just look on the chart and find the penance and tell them two Hail Marys, or whatever it says." The priest leaves and Johnny gives out two Hail Marys to the parishoner sitting in the booth.
The next person is homosexual, who confesses his oral pleasures with his partner. Johnny looks on the chart, but cannot find oral sex. He sees Michael, his fellow altar boy, and asks him "Mike! Quick, what does Father Flanagan give for a blowjob?" Michael replies " I don't know about anyone else, but he gives me two candy bars and a coke."
A busdriver actually pulled that one on me once. I can't remember where I was trying to get, Lincoln Center maybe, and he actually said, "Practice, practice, practice" and looked extremely pleased that he had that opportunity.
238 -- the juxtaposition of the round-in-circles blonde joke and your comedy career makes me wonder, are there any stand-up comics who are doing blog-related jokes? Of course I do not mean "look at this weird geek activity"-type jokes, of which I'm sure there have been some but I can't see how they would really sustain a half-hour act, I am thinking jokes which require a passing familiarity with some of the major blog and/or with blogging conventions to get.
And, any bloggers who are also stand-up comedians? (Is this set different from "stand-up comedians who also blog"? I am not intending it to be when I ask the question.)
What I think more likely is something I notice in my kids: the attempt to vocalize comment/instant messaging conventions, as if reading a blog comment aloud. So, at the dinner table, either will say "el-oh-el" or "dubiyah-tee-eff."
The Rude Pundit took his show to the stage, didn't he? I'm not sure that meets your criterion for blog-related standup comedy, though. And the reviewers, at least the ones I read, basically said that his blog was funnier than his show.
Well the top Google result for "blog-related stand-up comedy" is Previously Owned, the blog of Will McKinley of New York, "corporate propagandist by day and a stand-up comedian by night."
The rest of Drymala's joke above is that the Buddhist pays for his hot dog with a ten, and then stands around waiting. Finally he asks the vendor what the holdup is, and is informed that change must come from within.
Why did Mrs. Red Tomato blush?
She saw Mr. Green Pea over the fence.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:32 PM
I started this one below, and it's a groaner. I have to go to work.
What's the difference between roast beef and pea soup?
You can roast beef.
Posted by A White Bear | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:33 PM
It's not a joke, but I think this is pretty funny (NB: not me speaking).
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:37 PM
So, is that update meant to forestall my recounting of paragraphs-long pun-based jokes about ciscontinental railroads, barques and bights, György Ligeti, and other topics?
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:38 PM
The best part about Snakes on a Plane is that, since Samuel L. Jackson signed up based solely on the name, when they tried to change the name later, he forbade it.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:40 PM
Actually, Ben, the thought prompting the first update was: how could Tia be so cool as to have played Althusserian Circle or whatever, and so not-cool as to have contributed that joke?
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:40 PM
Also of lasting hilarity: "gay couple has banal sex."
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:41 PM
the fan-based underground support for Snakes on a Plane has become so great that the filmmakers are now doing a reshoot to include more action sequences... as well as calling Samuel L. Jackson back in so he can actually say in the movie "snakes on a motherfucking plane."
Posted by Matt F | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:41 PM
A guy walks into a restaurant and orders an abalone sandwich...
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:41 PM
Everyone who fails to contribute a joke of at least moderate funniness is banned!
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:42 PM
I used to know a joke with the punchline "Silly Rabbi, kicks are for Trids!" But alas, I have forgotten it.
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:46 PM
I already indicated my favorite joke here, awhile ago (it kills when delivered IRL, especially with lit scholars—and who knows teh funny better than lit scholars?).
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:47 PM
A man is lying asleep in bed with his wife one night when she wakes him, saying, "close the window; it's cold outside".
He grunts, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.
His wife nudges him. "Close the window; it's cold outside."
He moans, pulls the blankets closer, and goes back to sleep.
Now his wife kicks him firmly and pushes him with both hands. "Go on. Close the window; it's cold outside".
Grumbling, he slides out of bed, shuffles to the window, and bangs it closed. Glaring at his wife he says, "so now it's warm outside?"
Thank you, try the bacon.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:48 PM
Google reveals that a lot of people remember the punchline but not the joke. Here is how I found the joke recounted at one site: "A little village of Trids (like Smurfs only green) had built their water well on the top of a hill. An evil troll took over the hill and wouldn't let the Trids get any water. Every Trid that went up the hill was kicked down by the troll. Frustrated, the Trids asked the local Rabbi for help. He climbed the hill and got the water with any trouble from the troll. When he went back up the hill he asked the troll why he had not kicked him down the hill. The troll replied: Silly rabbi, kicks are for Trids."
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:48 PM
That is a very good joke, slol, especially with the french-accent variation.
However, everyone's heard it.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:49 PM
The problem I'm having, see, is that my joke kinda relies on a broad French accent and drawing out the set-up.
But I was exagerrating before. I actually know three jokes (although the fighter pilot one is my favorite). Here's the shortest:
Why did the blonde have a bruised belly button?
Because her boyfriend was blond too!
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:49 PM
But not everyone remembers it.
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:50 PM
So, a guy walks into a bar.... Owww!
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:50 PM
Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?
Because it was dead.
(Stolen from this Metafilter thread. I'm also quite fond of the updated version of the third joke in the link in this post of Ben's.)
Posted by My Alter Ego | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:51 PM
"The zero-level standard joke about laziness is how a Montenegro guy masturbates," he [Zizek] said. "He digs a hole in the earth, puts his penis in, and waits for the earthquake."
Posted by ac | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:53 PM
Why didn't you just link directly to the page to which I linked in that post, MAE? Videlicet, this one.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:54 PM
What's brown and sticky?
A stick!
Posted by Matthew Harvey | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:54 PM
Another good one from that Metafilter thread:
Q: What do you call a black man flying a plane?
A: A pilot, you fucking racist.
Posted by My Alter Ego | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:54 PM
20 is pretty hilarious.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:55 PM
re: 11
I used to know a joke with the punchline "Silly Rabbi, kicks are for Trids!" But alas, I have forgotten it.
Kid, we must be cousins. I heard that joke a long long time ago. From my Uncle. Who lives in Modesto.
Posted by Idealist | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:55 PM
There's also this favorite.
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:55 PM
Why did the blonde go to church?
She heard there was a guy in there hung like this. [Stretch out arms crucifix-style]
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:56 PM
Dammit, I now see that my joke is on that MeFi thread. Sigh.
Posted by Matthew Harvey | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:56 PM
The sacristan of the great Cathedral of Notre Dame found himself in need of a new bell ringer. After interviewing a few applicants, he was approached by a man with no arms. "My son, while I recognize that you must make a living somehow, I don't believe that there is any way for you to do this job."
"Please, Father, let me show you." And so the prospective bellringer slowly climbed the ladders (using his chin) to the loft where the great bells hung. He paused at one side of the loft, and then sprinted toward the bells, slamming head-first into one. And then he did it again, and again, and slowly they began to swing, and the peal of the bells rang out over Paris.
As the peal was drawing to a close, the ringer sprinted toward a bell one last time, and missed, careering helplessly past it and out a window, through which he fell hundreds of feet to the ground below. The sacristan hurried down to join the crowd forming around the body, and was asked by a bystander: "Father, who was this man who has died here?"
"I don't know his name, but his face rings a bell."
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:57 PM
The worst joke I ever heard was in 9th grade, of course. The protagonist was Johnny Fukkerfaster and you can guess the rest. I was led to believe that there was a whole series of jokes about this guy, but I only heard one.
Posted by John Emerson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:59 PM
Mooooo
Posted by Interrupting Cow | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 12:59 PM
This one is for AWB (for oral, rather than written delivery):
A polar bear walks into a bar, and says, "Give me a...
...
beer."
The bartender looks up, and says "Why the big pause?"
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:00 PM
The most interesting part of that story, LB, is that when they were hiring his replacement, they settled on someone with a very similar technique. Things went on well for quite a while with him—harder head and more accuracy—but eventually he, too, missed the bell.
Everyone agreed that he was the best they'd had in a long time, and a dead ringer for the last one.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:00 PM
30 -- I thought his name was Dieper DeDieper.
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:01 PM
She saw Mr. Green Pea over the fence.
I totally read this as "saw Mr. Green Pea on her face" the first time around.
Posted by Becks | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:02 PM
Did you hear about this epic new study of the different ways white and black people are portrayed in TV, movies, and newspapers? It's going to be called In Media's Race.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:02 PM
The sacristan, still needing a bell ringer, resumed interviews. Amazingly, exactly the same thing happened -- a man with no arms, precisely resembling the earlier applicant, climbed to the bell loft, rang the bells by running into them, and fell to his death. A bystander asked the sacristan: "Do you know who this man is?"
"I don't know his name, but he's a dead ringer for the other guy."
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:03 PM
21: No particular reason.
Posted by My Alter Ego | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:03 PM
Okay, here's a motherfucking joke, Hepcat Labs:
Me, Labs, and Ogged have just died, and we're in the waiting room of the afterlife, waiting to be assigned our fates. We're sitting around, flipping through backdated copies of People, when all of a sudden a voice over the loudspeaker instructs us each to stand before one of three doors. I go first. My door opens. On the other side is the most hideous specimen of manhood you've ever seen. He's scrawny, but he has three large goiters. He combs his nosehairs over his bald spot. He smells strongly of cigarettes and ammonia. In short, he's disgusting. The loudspeaker voice booms "TIA, YOU HAVE SINNED. YOUR PENALTY IS TO SPEND THE REST OF ETERNITY HAVING SEX WITH THIS MAN." I scream, I cry, but there's nothing to be done at this point, and I'm sucked into the void. Ogged goes next. His door opens, and on the other side is the most hideous specimen of womanhood you can imagine, at least from his perspective. She has a huge butt. She's wearing heels. She says "Hello, Ogged" in an unbearably high pitched voice in a thick Russian accent. She also has a goiter. Again the loudspeaker says "OGGED, YOU HAVE SINNED. YOUR PENALTY IS TO SPEND THE REST OF ETERNITY HAVING SEX WITH THIS WOMAN." He shrieks, but he too is sucked into Svetlanka's loving arms. Finally, it's Labs's turn. His door opens, and on the other side is Scarlett Johannsen. The loudspeaker booms, "SCARLETT JOHANSSEN, YOU HAVE SINNED..."
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:03 PM
30- When I was 9th grade Indira Gandhi was assassinated and someone in my class said, "They were sikhs." I said, "No, they were two."
Posted by ac | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:03 PM
37, meet 33. Sheesh.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:04 PM
Damn you, Wolfson!
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:04 PM
My favorite two jokes are terribly offensive.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:04 PM
And that's a problem because?
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:05 PM
#43:
Oh, then you musn't tell them, they'd be way too dirty for us.
Posted by John Tingley | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:06 PM
Q: Why wouldn't the sweet potato's father let her marry Walter Cronkite?
A: Because he was just a commentator. Heh. Indeed.
Posted by Paul | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:10 PM
Now that's funny, Tia.
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:12 PM
A man is sent to hell, and told that he has the option of choosing his own punishment. In the first room he's taken to, endless ranks of damned souls are balancing on their heads on a slick, polished stone floor. When they slip and fall, they are beaten mercilessly by the supervising demons until they resume their position. He rejects this punishment, and goes on to the next room.
The next room is much the same, except that the floor here is jagged, irregular rock, making the task of balancing on their heads even more difficult for the damned souls being punished there. He rejects this as well and goes on to the next room.
In this room, the souls are standing knee deep in the very foulest of sludgy sewage. On the other hand, each soul is drinking coffee and eating a doughnut, and they are chatting with each other as the demons stand by. While the sewage is repulsive, the man figures that this is the best deal he is going to get, and agrees to stay in this room. As he enters, he hears the head demon say: "Coffee break over! Everyone back on your heads!"
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:17 PM
I am fond of
but Lynne Truss has kind of spoiled it.
There's another joke I tell that's about 15 minutes long, and the last time I told it was to someone on a morphine drip.
Posted by Matt Weiner | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:19 PM
Joke one:
How do you know when your sister is on her period?
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:19 PM
Your dad's dick tastes funny.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:20 PM
(and slol, I was kind of hoping you would not link to my shame. Worst autopwn since Bridgeplate's theory of how everyone wants to have sex with their mother.)
Posted by Matt Weiner | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:20 PM
What's the difference between a pile of dead babies and a Cadillac?
I don't have a Cadillac in my garage.
What's the difference between light and hard?
You can pee with a light on.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:20 PM
Engels to Marx: Those Stradiveriuses my great aunt left me? I found them in the tank above the bog.
Marx to Engels: So, Frederic, we have discovered the violins inherited in the cistern.
Posted by Armsmasher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:21 PM
What's the best part about having sex with a Cub Scout?
In the Polaroids, your dick looks enormous.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:23 PM
Continuing in the Crooked Timberite vein (from which I think I tapped both this and the previous joke):
Mr. Baudrillard (apologetic): Sorry I'm so late for dinner, dear, I got stuck at the office. Have I missed everything?
Mrs. Baudrillard (annoyed): Welcome to the dessert of the meal.
Posted by Armsmasher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:23 PM
(clarification: It was ogged, not Bridgeplate, who autopwned that time.)
I collaborated in inventing the following series of jokes:
"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Your mama."
"My mama who?"
"I fucked her!"
So a man wallks into a bar... and he fucks your mama!
A guy goes to see the doctor. The doctor says, "I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want to hear first?" "Good news." "I fucked your mama!"
etc.
My collaborator once was telling one of these jokes in a bar while sitting next to a biker dude, and the biker dude wanted to hear the joke. So he told it. Interestingly, this is not how he wound up on the morphine drip.
Posted by Matt Weiner | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:24 PM
Joke two, which everyone here will instantly know the answer to:
How do you give a woman an orgasm?
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:25 PM
Moo
Posted by Interrupting Cow | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:25 PM
What's the difference between light and hard?
You can pee with a light on.
What's the difference between dark and hard?
It stays dark all night.
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:26 PM
Ok, let's see if I can do this any justice.
Rene the French fighter pilot and his girlfriend Marie are going on a pique-nique on the banks of the Seine. Being French, they have packed their pique-nique basket full of elaborate foods and drinks, and as they settle down on their blanket under the twilit haze, they've got a feast before them and an evening of romance to look forward to.
As they nibble on some rosbif and dressed beans, Marie looks over at her lover, whose moustachoes in the fading light make him look so virile, and she says: "Kiss me, Rene."
Renee looks deep into Marie's eyes, leans over--but before he kisses her, he sprinkled her lips with some of the red wine they'd been drinking.
Delighted, Marie giggles: "Why, Rene, what aire you doing?"
"I am Rene zee French Fightaire Pilot! When I eat red meat, I dreenk red wine!"
The couple sits comfortably on their blanket, watching the cars and pedestrians move slowly across the pont Louis-Phillippe. Marie coquettishly licks a strawberry, and then, looking at Rene through her eyelashes, unbuttons her blouse. "Rene, Rene, kiss me. Kiss me here, Rene."
Ever gallant, Rene rises to the call--but, before he kisses those magnificent lolos, he sprinkles them with champagne. Then he nuzzles them passionately, with Marie exclaiming: "Oh, you seelly man, what aire you doing!"
Rene lifts his head and declaims: "I am Rene zee French fighter pilot! When I eat white meat, I drink white wine!"
"Oh, Rene!" Marie sighs, with great pleasure, and she leans back in his arms.
The light is falling now, and the couple watches the bateaux-mouches cruise by, idly wondering what sorts of parties are aboard. Laughter from the terrace brasseries on Ile St-Louis drifts down from above, and a student down the quai has begun to play a guitar. Marie is beginning to feel very romantic. Squirming out of her tight leather pants, she says urgently to Rene: "Rene, mon tres cher Rene, kiss me. Kiss me down here!"
Rene twirls his moustache with anticipation. Then he sprinkles her crotch with brandy and lights it on fire!
Marie jumps into the Seine. Treading the filthy water, she screams: "Rene, what zee FUCK aire you doing?"
Rene looks at her in incomprehension. "Mais, Marie! I am Rene zee French fighter pilot! When I go down, I go down in flames!"
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:27 PM
How do you give a woman an orgasm?
Who fucking cares?
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:27 PM
More in the Timberite vein.
Posted by Matt Weiner | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:27 PM
What's 18 inches long and makes a woman scream all night?
Stillbirth.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:28 PM
61: I'm so adding that to my repertoire.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:29 PM
62: Exactly. Also good is the alternate answer:
"I dunno."
"Yeah, so I've heard."
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:30 PM
Why do women fake orgasms?
Because men fake foreplay.
Posted by Matt Weiner | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:30 PM
And jackmormon shows us all up on a thread designed to provide her with jokes!
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:33 PM
26 is still just so awesome.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:33 PM
68: Well, that is pretty much my only joke.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:34 PM
The Wen province of ancient China was famous for its wisemen. People would travel from far and wide, on horseback and by foot, to reach this remote mountain area, only to kneel at the feet of these learned scholars and learn.
So refined were these mystics, one could not gain a response from them simply by asking a question. Instead, a supplicant had to perform their query in the form of a dance, or make a painting, or compose a poem and brush it onto a scroll. Only those creative works deemed worthy were answered by the old men of Wen. But their advice was so sound, so wise, that those in need of it would devote all of their energy to creating something worthy of response.
The Emperor, hearing of these wise men and in dire need of the correct course of action concerning the wild hordes of the steppes and their constant incursions into his realm, sought to summon the Wennite scholars to his summer palace.
Three times he sent couriers, and each time they returned in failure, before their executions reporting only that they had spoken the Emperor's request to the wise men, and each time received no response.
Facing yet another incursion in the spring and with still no course of action, the Emperor resolved to waste no more time and bring his court to Wen, where he could ask his questions directly. Travelling a thousand miles, the Emperor uprooted his entire capital and travelled with his retinue of tens of thousands, palanquins, chains of donkeys bearing supplies, and of course his harem of 500. On and on the journey went, wending through flood plains and forest, desert and jungle, foothills and then high mountain passes, finally to arrive at the valley of the Wen folk.
With great pomp and ceremony, the EMperor set up court, and then had the wise men brought to him in chains.
"So, wise men of Wen!" he cried, "I have travelled a thousand miles to hear your answer to my question. What should be done about the incursions of the barbarians?"
The learned scholars were silent.
The emperor in fury rained imprecations and threats upon the men. Again, he repeated his question. "What is to be done, oh Wise Men of Wen, about the incursions of the barbarian?"
Again, silence.
The emperor began to froth. Signalling to his guards he gestured for the men to be executed.
Just as the first scholar was bent over the chopping block, an advisor of the Emperor's--a poet from Japan--stepped forward. "Oh Emperor of All, recall if you wil that the Wennites are known only to respond to requests made in the form of art--having travelled all this way, might I try to meet their requirements?"
The Emperor, not wanting to waste the months that he had spent getting to Wen, grunted and waved his assent.
The advisor stood before the assembled learned men of Wen, thought briefly, then spoke aloud:
Wolves prowl at the gates
What can prevent our kingdom
falling like cherry blossoms?
Again, the bearded ancients alertly but solently gazed at the advisor. Saddened, the poet turned to the Emperor, bowed, and left to prepare himself for suicide at dawn.
Seeing him leave, the Emperor's 3rd favorite courtesan--an accomplished singer--stepped forward. Composed on the spot, her song left all who heard it devastated. Keening with sorrow and the incursions of the barbarians and the helplessness of the countryside, her lamentations caused all of the members of the court to weep at their beauty.
And yet, the magi of Wen were unmoved and silent. The courtesan, haven given her all only to arrive at failure, died on the spot of heartbreak.
Furious at having lost his favorite poet and 3rd favorite courtesan at the intransigence of the men of Wen, the Emperor again signalled the executioners forward. As the first executioners sword rose, the Emperor's eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the nearing end to all of his frustration. At the very last second, the voice of a small child rang out: "Stop! Father, stop!"
It was the prince! The emperor's seven year old son! Glaring, the emeperor turned to his youngest.
"Father! Let me try!" Not waiting for answer, the lad leaped before the assembled wise men. His mother cried out, knowing that to fail the emperor would mean death, even for his own son.
Capering before them, the prince began a pantomime. Scowling in a predatory manner, he prowled before the assembly, miming the shooting of arrows and the slashing of swords. Cowering with upraised arms, the deaths of thousands of peasants were indicated. Turning then to the wise men, he raised one eyebrow and held out both hands in an inquisitive fashion.
Glancing between each other significantly, the wise men of Wen seemed to arrive a confusion. At last, the eldest stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he rustily proclaimed:
"Big a big wall."
Triumphantly, the young prince turned to his father and said "Father! Don't you see? The Sages of Wen are Deaf!"
Posted by Chopper | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:35 PM
But after 61, this thread has lost its purpose.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:35 PM
This is the most truly tasteless joke I know. For the goyim (i.e., not the gentiles), necessary background on this joke: My Jewish relatives were not German Jews. This is a joke told by Jews like my relatives, who survived the Holocaust, at the expense of German Jews, whom they viewed as less than stalwart in resisting the Nazis:
Kaufmann, yellow star on his lapel, is walking home for lunch down the Unter den Linden when a long low black car pulls up next to him. Out pop a couple of SS, who hustle him into an alleyway and order him to kneel down with his hands behind his head. Then, who comes sauntering up behind them but the Führer himself.
“All right, Jude,” says the Führer. “You want to live, don’t you?”
Kaufmann nods, sweats bullets.
“Then get down in the gutter and eat that pile of schweinscheiss!”
One of the SS guys points his gun meaningfully. Kaufmann gets down, starts eating.
He looks up, sees the SS guys starting to laugh. He sees his chance—he leaps to his feet and grabs a pistol from one of the SS guys and points it at the Führer!
“One false move and your Führer gets it!” he shouts. “Now, paper-hanger! You get down in the gutter and eat that schweinscheiss!”
The Führer gets down and starts eating. The SS guys stare, horrified. Kaufmann sees he’s lucky for the second time today, and runs hell-for-leather out of the alley, and all the way home.
He bursts in the door, scaring his wife half to death. “Meshuggener! ” she says. “Why are you banging in like that? Good God, why do you have a pistol? And why are you smiling?”
Kaufmann puffs out his chest, says, “Darling! You’ll never guess who joined me for lunch today!”
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:35 PM
I find your efforts insufficiently offensive (although B.'s first joke was getting there). How about this:
LizardBreath and I were walking in Battery Park one day when we saw a female dog licking herself between her legs. LizardBreath, blushing, confessed: "I've always wanted to be able to do that."
"Why don't you try"? I said.
Her response: "I'm afraid the dog would bite me."
Posted by Idealist | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:35 PM
Thank you, thank you, I will now demonstrate the three kinds of orgasm:
Type 1: The Positive Orgasm
Yes. Oh yes. Yes. Yes. Yesyesyyesyes YES YES YEEEEESSSS!
Type 2: The Personal Orgasm
Mmm, Becks. Oh, Becks. Yeah, Becks. Becks, BECKS BECKS....becks.
Type 3: The Fake Orgasm
Oh, Labs. That's good Labs. Keep going, Labs. DON'T STOP LABS. Ah, Labs.
(This one's better if you tell it in person.)
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:36 PM
72: When did that ever stop us?
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:41 PM
But have I mentioned I go down in flames!!?
You really liked that grean pea joke, didn't you?
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:41 PM
You really liked that grean pea joke, didn't you?
You know what's almost as funny?
Q. Why was six afraid of seven?
A. Because seven eight nine!
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:46 PM
OK. Here's my entry in the offensive joke category:
What do you call the area around the vagina?
The woman.
Posted by My Alter Ego | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:47 PM
So if I object, you'll tell a joke that involves me having sex with Farber, is that it?
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:49 PM
A guy is cruising by the elementary school with a bag of candy. He spots one boy walking home and rolls down the window, pulling a piece of candy out of the bag.
"Hey son, I'll give you a piece of candy if you come in my car."
The kid replies, "Tell you what: you give me the whole bag and I'll come in your mouth."
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:49 PM
I can't tell you what will happen, Labs. Proceed at your own risk.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:50 PM
What's the worst thing about molesting children?
Getting the bloodstains out of the clown suit.
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:50 PM
I used to know a cannibalism joke revolving around a guy who keeps saying "I 'ate" in ways that imply he means "I hate" but at the very end it becomes clear that he really was saying "I ate."
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:51 PM
Ok, 1: Build a big wall.
and, 2: Come on, people, I made that joke up! You know that's some funny shit.
Posted by Chopper | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:51 PM
Here's the other joke I made up:
Q: How does Jesus Christ jerk off?
A: [Hold hand out, palm and fingers horizontal to the ground, move up and down rapidly.]
Posted by Chopper | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:53 PM
You're killing me, Tia. At least it wasn't as bad as the Sages of Wen joke.
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:54 PM
Chops, as vile as that is, I heard it in my youth. Which is not to say that you didn't make it up, but either (a) convergent evolution or (b) mad joke-networking skillz.
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 1:56 PM
I'm guessing convergent evolution--I've only told it maybe a dozen times.
God damn it. I try to bring something beautiful into the world, only to have it turn into ash before my very eyes.
Posted by Chopper | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:03 PM
So Labs's girl offers him breakfast. "A spot of tea," she says, "perhaps some toast?"
"No thanks," he says, "It's the Viagra. It's taken the edge off my appetite."
Later that day, she offers him lunch: "How about I make you a sandwich?"
"No thanks," he says, "It's the Viagra. It's taken the edge off my appetite."
Finally, at dinnertime, she tells him, "I ordered Chinese, would you like some?"
"No thanks," he says, "It's the Viagra. It's taken the edge off my appetite."
"Well would you mind getting off of me then?" she asks. "Because I'm STARVING."
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:06 PM
A Parisian, a Londoner, and a New Yorker are shipwrecked on a tropical island. They are captured by a cannibal tribe, whose chief says to them: "Yes, we're going to eat you. But there are two consolations. First, we will allow you to choose your own method of death. Second, after we have eaten you, we will tan your skin, and make it into a beautiful canoe. As the canoe glides through the azure waters of the Pacific, we believe that your spirit, too, will glide through those waters. Now, how would you like to die?"
The Londoner steps forward and says "Honestly, old chap, I'd rather not make any unnecessary fuss. If you've got a pistol, I'll just pop off and shoot myself in the head." The chief provides him with a pistol, and he quietly commits suicide.
The Parisian says "As a Fronchman, I die by ze sword!" The chief hands him a rapier, and he promptly runs himself through, saying "I die for La Belle Patrie!"
The New Yorker requests a fork. Unsure that he's heard correctly, the chief asks him to repeat himself. "'Ats right, a fawk." So the chief hands him a fork. The New Yorker begins viciously stabbing himself, over and over again, in the arms and legs and torso. He becomes weak from loss of blood, and as he sinks to the ground, still stabbing, he says "So much for ya gah-dam canoe."
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:06 PM
A nickel has more cents.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:07 PM
In the offensive joke category, here's the final joke in my quiver. (It's possible that I can retain only a very limited number.)
A guy is sitting and drinking in a pretty seedy bar at the end of a long and profoundly boring day. We'll call him Steve. Gradually he becomes aware of another guy next to him, and this guy and Steve fall into conversation. The other guy seems like a worldly sort, something of a go-getter, and the two trade stories, order many beers, and Steve is having a wonderful time.
Some six pints in, the other guy leans over and whispers: "Hey, Steve, you know what? There's this amazing thing right nearby, no really, there's this place, on top of one of those buildings right around the corner, and you'll never believe me, but there's something about the wind currents, some local vortex conditions or updraft, or shit, I dunno, but you can jump off that building in this one spot, and I swear to God, the winds lift you right back up."
Steve takes a long swig of his pint and concedes that that that sounds awesome. The two continue to talk for a while, getting drunker and drunker.
Six pints or so later, the other guy leans over and says, "Hey, Steve, that thing I was talking about earlier? I so wasn't shitting you. It's right around the corner, you wanna check it out?" At this point, Steve is more enthusiastic, and the two men head out into the night.
At the top of the twenty-story building, though, Steve gets nervous. The other guy licks his finger and tests the wind at different places around the roof. "Yeah. Yeah! I think it's just about perfect. Oh man, this is great. Hey, don't worry, Steve, I'll go first."
And the other guy takes a running leap off the side.
With a *WHHHHHOOOOOOOSH!* he's blown back up onto the building.
"Oh my God!" shouts Steve. "My turn!" He runs and jumps off the roof exactly where the other guy had. Far below, Steve's body hits the ground with a faint "thud."
The other guy puts back on his coat and returns to the bar, where he orders another beer.
The bartender brings it to him, but he can't restrain his disapproval:
"Shit, Superman, you can be such an asshole when you're drunk."
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:08 PM
LB, I've heard that done with an Irishman in place of the NYer. Equally right, I think.
Tia, how does she order Chinese?
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:09 PM
Her cell is by the bed. You were distracted.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:10 PM
So this family walks into a talent agents office, and the father says "Have I got an act for you!"
Posted by Chopper | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:11 PM
May I? Horribly offensive, be warned.
What did one tampon say to the other?
Nothing, they're both stuck up cunts.
A priest and a rabbi are walking down the street. The priest says, "Let's go screw that little boy over there." The rabbi says, "Out of what?"
A blonde, a brunette, and a red head escape from prison. They hide in an old barn. Inside they hide in potato sacks. The police, hot on their trail, enter and notice the bags. The chief says, "Okay boys check and see if they're in those bags." So one of the cops goes up to the bag with the brunette in it and gives it a little kick. The brunette says, "Meow, meow." "Nothin' in that bag but kittens," says the chief. Then the cop goes to the second bag, with the red head inside, and gives it a little kick. The red head says, "Woof, woof." "Nothin' in that bag but puppies says the chief. Then the cop gives the third bag, with the blonde inside, a little kick. The blonde says, "Potatos, potatos."
Posted by stroll | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:12 PM
LB, I've heard that done with an Irishman in place of the NYer.
What's the difference between an American and an Irishman?
An American looks up at the big house on the hill, and says "One of these days, I'm going to work hard and have me a big house just like that."
The Irishman says "One of these days, I'm going to get that fucker."
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:12 PM
'
Posted by Chopper | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:12 PM
91 is great.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:12 PM
Four kids are walking along when they notice a pile of brown stuff on the sidewalk.
Kid 1: That looks like shit.
Kid 2 (kneels down next to it and inhales through his nose): It smells like shit.
Kid 3 (puts his had in the pile): It feels like shit.
Kid 4 (picks some of it up and puts it in his mouth): Tastes like shit.
All together: It is shit. Good thing we didn't step in it.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:15 PM
94 & 95 - If you were a more attentive partner, Labs, perhaps she wouldn't have to fake it.
Posted by Becks | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:16 PM
There is this one, which would have been the last paragraph of a piece about a photograph of the hands of a politician who has bitten his fingernails to the quick, except that at the last moment decorum prevailed:
There is nothing about hair pulling or nail biting in Charles Darwin’s “The Expression of the Emotions in Man and the Animals” though here is a great deal about the tendency of lunatics to make their hair bristle at times of madness, and of all humans to do so when they wish to appear impressive. It would be fascinating to know whether the hair of politicians grows bigger when they face each other across the dispatch box. But it looks obvious that nail-biting, hair-pulling, and skin-picking are all degenerate grooming behaviours. They are actions designed to give pleasure when performed on someone else’s body, which look odd when performed opn our own. It would be vulgar to mention the paradigm of all such actions – anyway it is only politicians from the parties we disapprove of who could ever relieve their anxieties in that way and they certainly wouldn’t walk around with the evidence all over their hands.
Posted by Andrew Brown | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:17 PM
Some mexican dude told me this joke, which was originally about Tia, but I changed it:
A man goes bear hunting, and after several hours of frustration, finally spots a massive bear just over the next rise. He aims his rifle, fires, and thinks he's made a good kill. He rushes over to collect his booty, and there's the bear, very much alive and waiting for him. The bear says, "Look, I can tear you limb from limb, or you can let me fuck you up the ass." The man thanks his lucky stars and bends over.
But the next week he comes back, determined to avenge his humiliation. This time he's brought a bazooka and after searching and searching, finally spots his bear, and fires. Unfortunately, when he goes to gaze upon the carcass, there's the bear again, who says, "You know the drill."
Now the man is more determined than ever, and when he comes back the next week, he brings a massive bomb that he plants near the river, and waits. Soon the bear saunters over for a drink, and the man sets off the bomb, leveling trees and making a huge crater. He goes down to the river to see if there's anything left of the bear, and to his shock and dismay, there's the bear, alive, leaning against a stump. The bear just looks at him and says, "You don't come here to hunt, do you?"
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:18 PM
I love that one. Although I prefer my version of the punchline:
The bear reaches out one massive paw and rests it gently on the man's shoulder: "This isn't about hunting, is it?"
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:21 PM
A student's biology professor announces an exam next week on birds. "You will have to know everything about every type of bird there is," he says. The student spends the week studying beaks, wings, and feathers of dozens of bird species.
On the day of the exam, the professor has a table with five paper bags on it. Under each bag is a model of a bird. The professor lifts the first bag to reveal only the legs, and tells the class to write down the type of bird. The student groans, because she can't even guess the type of bird. When the professor gets to the third bag, the student stands up, walks up to the table, and throws her crumpled test paper onto the table. She says, "This is the most ridiculous test I have ever seen, and you are an IDIOT!"
The professor says, "Just hold it right there, what is your name?"
The student raises her dress to the knees and says, "You tell me!"
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:23 PM
Read aloud:
What's the best thing about screwing twenty nine year olds?
There's twenty of them.
Posted by ptm | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:33 PM
An engineer dies and goes to heaven. At the pearly gates, he is met by St. Peter, who looks for his name in the Book of Life. St. Peter frowns, puzzled.
"I don't understand it, as you've lead an exemplary life, but it seems you've been assigned to Hell for all eternity."
"Is there anything you can do?"
"No. I really do apologize, um, just try to make the best of it."
With that, the engineer heads down to the land of eternal torment. Being a naturally creative and industrious sort, and given Hell's abundance of minerals, metals, and heat, with a few years, the engineer has completely transformed the place. Hell now has`air conditioning, a swimming pool, and a really great sound system.
Word of this gets back to God. He calls up Satan for a meeting.
"This is unacceptable," God blusters. "You're supposed to be in charge of eternal torment, and now I find that this engineer has built you a paradise. I demand that you return him immediately!"
Satan answers, "I shall do no such thing. The engineer is mine by rights; it's not my fault there was a scheduling problem."
God thunders, "I'll sue."
Satan chuckles. "Sue? God, where are you gonna get a lawyer?"
Posted by Cala | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 2:42 PM
So, an elderly Jewish man who plays the lottery every day finally wins, and wins big. He moves out of the home where his ingrate kids stashed him, and buys a huge mansion and a solid gold car and various other luxurious products, including a gigantic statue of Hitler giving the Nazi salute. To celebrate his wealth and show off his new stuff, he invites all friends over for a fantastic party.
Everyone comes and is very impressed with his new belongings. One of his friends, though, corners him and asks him, why is there this big statue of Hitler? And the man says, I figured I owed him—after all, he gave me the numbers.
----------
There's also the story of the London Jew who acquires great wealth, changes his name from Greenberg to Green, moves into a place on Park Lane, and sets about acquiring various objets d'art, including a painting by Reubens.
The following year, his affluence having increased, he exchanged the Reubens for a Goya.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:02 PM
I didn't make either of the above jokes up; one was from Ted Cohen's book and the other is from the Joy of Yiddish. Really, though, people should only tell jokes they've made up. Everyone's already heard all the others.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:06 PM
Wolfson, hitting from three point range!
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:07 PM
Neither of Wolfson's #109 would be transferable to another group, as so many jokes are. It's because of the particulars, of course, but something else too. The second one relies on a familiar discourse that most educated Americans have been initiated into. Wouldn't get many laughs in a trailer park or lumber camp. Other groups haven't got everybody else speaking their language, so to speak.
Posted by John Tingley | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:15 PM
104: it was a running gag on the TV show Homicide that they'd cut to someone telling that punchline, but of course this being network tv, we never got to hear the rest of the joke.
OK, how do you titilate an ocelot?
You ocillate its tit a lot!
Posted by sw | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:32 PM
A man walks into a bar and orders some abalone. The bartender says, "We stopped serving that after the last guy who ordered it shot himself. Terrible tragedy. He left behind a wife and two kids. No one knows why he did it."
Disappointed, the man leaves the bar, goes back to his apartment building, and takes the elevator all the way to the 30th floor. It's raining outside. Downstairs the night watchman is sleeping.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:33 PM
What does an interrupting cow say?
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:37 PM
Ah yes I've heard the interrupting cow,
I'm sorry to have to note it,
But I can tell you anyhow,
I'll ignore you if you quote it.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:39 PM
OK, how do you titilate an ocelot?
You ocillate its tit a lot
I've seen this reported as GHWB's favorite joke.
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:39 PM
117: That fits so well. It's such an old-fashioned, almost genteel dirty joke. The sort of thing that the Drones Club member laughed their faces off over when Plum wasn't around.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:49 PM
I miss GHWB.
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:55 PM
This is my favorite joke:
What did the Zen Buddhist say to the hot dog vendor?
Posted by Joe Drymala | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:57 PM
"Make me one with everything."
Posted by Joe Drymala | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:57 PM
You know, he was moderately less embarrasing and damaging, but he was absolutely no prize himself. What the hell was Panama about?
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:58 PM
This is my friend Nick's favorite joke:
How many surrealists does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Posted by Joe Drymala | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:58 PM
A cup of fur!
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:59 PM
FISH!
Posted by Joe Drymala | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 3:59 PM
I prefer to think that
is an answer to
Posted by Joe Drymala | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:00 PM
You didn't finish that joke, Drymala.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:02 PM
Brightly colored bicycles in the bathtub.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:03 PM
What the hell was Panama about?
Why did the U.S. invade Panama? Just 'cause.
You know, he was moderately less embarrasing and damaging, but he was absolutely no prize himself.
Oh, I'm with you—except, “moderately’ s / b “exponentially”.
And, U.S. / Panama relations have always read slightly as though scripted by Gilbert and Sullivan.
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:03 PM
122 : well, you know what they say about apples not falling far from the tree. This one just fell hard, hit a stone, was run over by a cart, then shat upon by a parade of barnyard animals.... being bruised and abused like that obviously stunted its development.
Posted by soubzriquet | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:04 PM
123 is NOT funny.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:06 PM
That's the answer to, "how many feminists" etc.
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:07 PM
Is it? Huh. Well, just goes to show you that feminists don't know many jokes.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:08 PM
Incidentally.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:08 PM
I huffed GHWB.
Posted by Armsmasher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:13 PM
This is some definition of "huff" or of "GHWB" with which I'm unfamiliar. Or else it's related to the cup of fur.
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:20 PM
Reference.
Posted by Armsmasher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:22 PM
Actually further research indicates that GHB isn't typically huffed. No worries, I'll ban myself on my way out.
Posted by Armsmasher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:26 PM
I'll ban myself on my way out
Is that a Ban on the Run?
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:31 PM
I made up a joke once, but I've since forMoooooooo.
Posted by Standpipe Bridgeplate | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:37 PM
I've never gotten a chance to try GHB, although I've heard a couple of reports about short-term, pleasant delirium. GHWB only fits two out of three, if that.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:39 PM
I've been told repetition is funny.
Posted by Standpipe Bridgeplate | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:41 PM
I've been told repetition is funny.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:42 PM
I've been told repetition is funny.
Posted by Standpipe Bridgeplate | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:44 PM
I, also, have been told ... no, my French accent isn't up to that joke.
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:44 PM
Repetition is funny, or so have I been told.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:46 PM
Orange you glad I didn't say "Moo"?
Posted by Interruping Cow | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:46 PM
There once was a navel orange.
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:48 PM
I was saying Moo-orange.
Posted by hans moleman | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:48 PM
Naval oranges are dark blue.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:49 PM
Well, it doesn't scan, but at least there are words that rhyme with "blue".
Posted by slolernr | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:51 PM
At least this thread hasn't degenerated the level of the naval gays.
Posted by Standpipe Bridgeplate | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:52 PM
In fact, it was just that type of orange that inspired Mahan's famous The Influence of Vitamin C Power on History.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 4:52 PM
I screwed up the telling of this joke. The tea drinker is actually Labs and there's this whole other part where the waiter sleeps with his girlfriend.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:03 PM
Oh, I almost forgot!
What's the difference between a family of midget trapeze artists and a sorority track team?
One is a bunch of cunning runts.
And, more simply:
What's the difference beween a trapeze routine and a sorority?
One is made up of cunning stunts.
Posted by A White Bear | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:21 PM
Fontana Cohen bought a parrot, only intending to have some silent companionship, until one day he discovered that the parrot could daven in Hebrew. From then on, every Shabbos the parrot repeated his prayers perfectly, till finally Fontana had his tailor make the parrot a bird-sized yarmulke and tefillin, figuring he ought to do it up right. Then a thought occurred to him: no one would believe he had a parrot who could daven; maybe there was a way to make a few bucks off the deal. So the week before Rosh Hashanah, he goes to shul, and he says, "You guys will never believe this. I have a davening parrot." And in fact they don't believe it, and more than a few of them offer him a friendly wager that his parrot can't really daven. Fontana Cohen goes whistling home, and next week, on Rosh Hashanah, he takes the bird to shul. When the appropriate time came in the service, the bird was silent. "Daven," he hissed. But the bird sat still as a rock, and remained so for the entire service. After shul, FC had no choice to pay up. Walking home, he asked the parrot, "What did you do that for? Do you know how much money you cost me?" And the parrot said, "Just think of the odds we'll get on Yom Kippur!"
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:21 PM
Tia, did you tell that joke just a week or so ago? I swear I've read it online recently.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:26 PM
I'd heard it before, but it was in the comments to the cartoon contest I linked to. Labs remarked on it, in fact.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:27 PM
Later, the parrot took to misbehaving -- swearing at guests, chewing up furniture -- Fontana was at his wits' end. Unable to figure out how else to discipline a parrot, he finally, in amoment of annoyance, shut it in the refrigerator.
Ten minutes later, he opened the door. The parrot, chastened, flew quietly out, and sat politely on its perch for the rest of the day, speaking only when spoken to, and then with the greatest of respect. Finally, as Fontana was about to go to bed, the parrot said: "Sir, I'll be good. I promise I'll be good. But I have one question.
What did the chicken do?"
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:31 PM
Failed to cross the road.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:34 PM
Rubens. Reubens is Peewee Herman.
Posted by John Emerson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:34 PM
At the secondhand clothing store, Peewee Herman's pants are half off.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:35 PM
Or more than one hot corned beef, swiss and sauerkraut sandwich.
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:36 PM
155: How dare you call sororities "stunning"?
Posted by washerdreyer | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:37 PM
You want offensive? How's this?
What do you get when you butcher a 12 year old with a machete?
An erection.
Yet, I prefer this one:
A young couple is in the hospital and she's about to deliver her first child. The doctor's there and it's his first delivery too. So helping her get through it and he's telling her all the reassuring things he's supposed to say. You know "I can see the head" and "it's almost here" and "one more push" and all that and finally she delivers the child.
The doctor, upon delivering his first baby, is ecstatic. He's running around the room; he's got the baby over his head like its a trophy; he does a little dance and then he throws the baby on the ground like he's spiking a football.
Mom and dad are horrified and dad says, "Why'd you do that to my child?"
The doctor says jovially, "Hey, I was just kidding around. That baby was already dead."
Posted by bg | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:46 PM
How do you make a dead baby shake?
Two scoops of ice cream, two scoops of dead baby.
Posted by A White Bear | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:48 PM
How do you get a thousand dead babies into a VW Bug?
A blender.
How do you get them out?
A straw.
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:51 PM
On the off chance somebody hasn't heard these...
How do you get a dog to stop humping your leg?
Pick it up and suck its dick.
Two brooms were hanging in the closet and as will happen in such situations, they fell in love and decided to get married. One broom was, of course, the bride broom and the other was the groom broom. The bride broom looked very beautiful in her white dress. The groom broom was suave in his tuxedo.
The wedding was lovely, and all their friends agreed it was one of the most touching affairs they had seen. At the reception dinner, the bride broom leaned over and whispered to the groom broom, "I think I am going to have a little whisk broom."
"That's impossible!" said the groom broom. "We haven't even swept together!"
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:53 PM
Okay, people. 123/131/133 was itself a joke. Which apparently I have to explain.
Ingrates.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:58 PM
I got it, B!
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 5:59 PM
169: You can blame it on the audience or just come to grips with the fact that humor is like math.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:02 PM
Base 8 is like base 10, if you've lost your thumbs.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:05 PM
Also.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:08 PM
I was once sitting around with the doctor and nurses in a doctors' office where I was working as the receptionist, telling light-bulb jokes. The doctor said "How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb?" As the leftiest woman present, I figured I'd help out with the punch line and snarled "That's not funny." He blanched and apologized.
Apparently there's a different punch line. Who knew?
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:09 PM
170: Yay!
171: Typical man. Trying to reduce the subtle complexity of wit to some kind of equation.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:12 PM
How many apostrophers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
One. He holds it and the world revolves around him.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:12 PM
174: That's brilliant.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:13 PM
Why do doctors slap babies on the butt when they're born?
To knock the penises off the smart ones.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:14 PM
Apparently there's a different punch line. Who knew?
One to accuse the lightbulb of violating the socket, and one to wish she were the socket.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:15 PM
Most offensive Canadian joke I know:
A Newfie, a Quebecer, and an Albertan are walking down a path together. They come across an old lantern, and while they're cleaning off their find, an All-Powerful Genie appears in a puff of smoke and offers them one wish each.
The Newfie says: "My forefathers was fishermen, I'm a fisherman, and my son's gonna be a fisherman. I want oceans full of fish!" POOF! and it is done.
Impressed, the Quebecer says: "I'd like a wall around the province of Quebec, so nothing can get in." POOF! and a wall appears.
The Albertan hesitates a moment, then says: "Tell me more about this wall."
The genies replies: "It is a mighty wall indeed, puny mortal. Three hundred feet high, fifty feet thick, and made of solid concrete."
The Albertan says: "Great. Fill it up with water."
(Depending on where you are in the country, you can substitute pretty much anyone for the Albertan. Except if you're in Quebec, of course, in which case you'd better give it a miss.)
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:15 PM
Why would he want the wall to be filled with water?
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:17 PM
A man walks into the emergency room. He's got a fever, he's limping, he's covered in rashes and sores, he's got all kinds of symptoms. The doctors immediately isolate him and run all sorts of tests and then leave him alone while they analyze the results.
One of the doctor returns and says, "We've got bad news. You've got multiple diseases and you're still highly contagious. We're going to have to put you on a strict diet of flapjacks and flounders."
"Flapjacks and flounders?!" the man yells. "Is that really going to help me?"
"No," says the doctor, "but it's all we can fit under the door."
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:18 PM
Also, didn't he use up his wish by asking the genie for information about the wall?
Posted by jms | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:19 PM
181 and 183: Good questions. I'll take them to the National Humour Commission in Ottawa; we'll have an answer for you in about fifty years or so.
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:22 PM
A question is not a wish. Also, 184 is funny b/c it's true.
Posted by bitchphd | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:23 PM
To throw a penny in the water-filled wall and make another wish, of course.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:23 PM
GlaxoSmithKline has announced they are developing a morning after pill for men. It changes your blood type.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:27 PM
In the meantime, here's one a Nish buddy of mine is fond of (best appreciated if you know roughly what the Nish accent sounds like):
A well-to-do Torontonian couple are driving out to their cabin in North Ontario. On their way, they decide to stop and have some breakfast in a quaint little greasy-spoon diner. "It's no Bonjour Brioche," the husband says, "but it'll be a really down-to-earth experience."
They take their seats, and a heavyset Ojibwe waitress makes her way over to take their order. She's smiling broadly, and they feel immediately at ease. The husband orders a typical eggs-and-toast breakfast, and the wife orders a salad, and they both get coffees. "Oh," adds the wife as the waitress is walking away, "and can I get the salad with some bacon bits?"
The waitress stops cold, and gives the woman a long, hard stare before she stamps away. The couple, wondering what they've done to offend her, wait for their meal in an agony of anxiety.
Finally, the waitress comes stamping brusquely back. She unceremoniously slams several items down on the table: a pair of coffees, eggs and toast, an unadorned plate of greens and a sizzling plate of back bacon. "There!" she says. "There's your sald, and there's your bacon, but if you call me a bits again I'll kick your ass!"
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:36 PM
A Mexican family was considering putting their grandfather in a nursing home. All the Catholic facilities were completely full so they had to put him in a Jewish home. After a few weeks in the Jewish facility, they came to visit.
"How do you like it here?" asks the grandson.
"It's wonderful! Everyone here is so courteous and respectful," says grandpa.
"We're so happy for you. We were worried that this was the wrong place for you. You know, since you are a little different from everyone."
"Oh, no! Let me tell you about how wonderfully they treat the residents here," grandpa says with a big smile. "That's Silverstein over there. He's 85 years old, hasn't played the violin in 20 years, and everyone still calls him 'Maestro'!"
"That fellow there, Mr. Goldfarb. He's 95 years old, hasn't been on the bench in 30 years and everyone still calls him 'Your Honor'!"
"And the guy over there by the window, Bernstein? 90 years old. He hasn't been practicing medicine for 25 years and everyone still calls him 'Doctor'!"
"And me? Your grandmother has been dead for 35 years and they still call me 'The Fucking Mexican'!"
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:37 PM
Which is easier to unload, a truck full of bowling balls or a truck full of dead babies?
The one with the dead babies--you can use a pitchfork.
Posted by Chopper | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:41 PM
A Brit, an American, and a Mexican each check into a hotel for the weekend. After staying over Friday night, they each leave the hotel to do typical touristy things.
The Brit returns first. As he passes the maitre d', he's told "Welcome back Mr. Wellington. You'll be happy to know we've placed fresh sheets on your bed." Pleased, the Brit thanks him.
The American comes back next. He is also told "Sir, we've given you fresh sheets on your bed." The American is pleased, and resolves to leave the maid an extra 50 cents.
Last, the Mexican returns. As he comes into reception area, the maitre d' greets him. "Ah, Mr. Sanchez. Welcome back. We've put fresh sheets on your bed."
The Mexican lunges at the maitre d', grabs him around the throat, and begins to choke him, yelling "You sheet on my bed? I keel you!"
Posted by Chopper | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:50 PM
185: Probably a low estimate, actually.
189: The best jokes are when you can see the punchline a mile away and it's still funny...
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 6:54 PM
I found 189 quite funny, but Ellen thought it was "not so nice".
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:01 PM
We always told 191 with a long sequence of similar misunderstanding -- "shit" for "sheet", "piss" for "peace", "fuck" for "fork", etc. My brother told that one pretty well as I recall.
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:04 PM
I'm going to try to remember 180 for my Yukoner dad, but I'm just going to pretend that Wolfson didn't quibble over the punchline because I can't think of a more accurate and still funny phrasing.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:10 PM
How 'bout "Cause it to be filled with water"?
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:36 PM
It's the "it" that's the problem, TMK.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:40 PM
Just doesn't have the same punch.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:41 PM
Technically, the joke does note that the wall is solid rather than hollow, which is probably why El Wolfson is the first person I've seen quibble with it. But if the ambiguity is bothersome, something like "Flood everything inside it with water" should do the trick.
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:48 PM
Technically, the joke does note that the wall is solid rather than hollow, which is probably why El Wolfson is the first person I've seen quibble with it. But if the ambiguity is bothersome, something like "Flood everything inside it with water" might do the trick.
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:48 PM
Oops.
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:49 PM
JM, the Albertan could clarify: "and Quebec is entirely surrounded?" And then the genie could say yes, and then the guy could say, "fill it up with water," and the immediate antecedent would be Quebec.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:51 PM
While the genie does note that the wall is solid, the genie's a genie; he could fill a solid wall with water.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 7:52 PM
My old roommate would tell this one:
Knock Knock
Interrupting Watermelon
Interrupting watermelon who?
By which point his checks would be blown way out and turning red. Unfortunately, I lack his mad watermelon imitating skilz.
Posted by oz | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 8:39 PM
µ
Posted by Interrupting Cow-efficient of Friction | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 8:43 PM
Well, I don't want to be banned so soon (at least not for such a silly thing), so here's a joke I made up:
A Mexican and a Canadian are disussing the alphabet:
Canadian: What comes after B, eh?
Mexican: Sí.
Posted by Stanley | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 9:01 PM
I confess that I was confused by the genie joke, because I took "it" to refer to the wall itself. Then I reread the joke, saw that the wall was solid, and wrote off the whole thing as some weird Canadian issue. Only on third thought did I realize the final wish involved filling the area carved out by the wall with water.
Also, joe D, change comes from within.
Finally, I'm very happy to have become a joke fixture.
Posted by FL | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 9:07 PM
117: crap, that ruins the ocelot thing for me. At least I have a dumb Canada joke: How did Canada get its name? The first bunch of settlers couldn't decide on a name, so they got a bag of Scrabble tiles and decided to name it the 1st three letters that came out:
"C...eh? N...eh? D...eh?"
Posted by sw | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 9:45 PM
Oh, the Alberta joke is fine. (Alberta = Texas, Quebec = NYC, for a rough U.S. translation of the attitudes.) Spoken aloud, most people not on a grammar crusade would get it.
Posted by Cala | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 9:55 PM
And the ending I heard went:
"Quebec's surrounded by a wall, and nothing can get in or out?"
"Yes."
"I'll have a Coke."
Posted by Cala | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 9:58 PM
I hope this one hasn't already been posted.
While in Israel, a reporter sees an old man praying at the Western Wall. As the man leaves, the reporter interviews him:
"How long have you been coming to the Wall?"
"Fifty years."
"And what do you pray for?"
"For fifty years, I have been praying for peace between the Jews and the Arabs."
"And after fifty years, how do you feel about the effect of your prayers?"
"Like I'm talking to a fucking wall!"
Posted by Juicy | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 10:31 PM
A doctor's in his office when a college-aged woman walks in for a physical. The doctor notices a blotchy red rash-like skin condition on her abdomen. The weird thing is, it's shaped like two lines joined in the middle, kind of like a big, blocky letter H.
The doctor asks, "Miss, that's a very unusual skin condition you have there. If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like the letter H. How did you get it?"
The woman looks down at her belly and blushes. "Oh, Doctor, that's not a skin condition. That's just from my boyfriend's sweater," she explained. "You see, he and I both go to Harvard, and he insists on wearing his Harvard sweater all the time — even when we're, well, you know... intimate. I guess the weight of his body just presses the fuzzy letter H from his sweater into me, leaving that mark."
Hmm, thinks the doctor. Unusual, but hardly a medical emergency. So he finishes the physical and sends her on her way.
Later in the day, a second woman comes in. She appears to have a blotchy mark on her abdomen, too, except it's shaped like two lines merging into one. Kind of like a "Y".
The doctor asks her about it and, sure enough, she explains that she and her boyfriend are Yalies, and the boyfriend wears his Yale sweater during sex, pressing its fuzzy letter Y into her belly.
By now, the doctor thinks he's caught on to one of those wacky new college trends. So when a third woman comes in later on, and he notices a blotchy red M-shaped mark on her abdomen, he immediately guessed the cause.
"Excuse me, miss," he asked, "but I'll bet you're a student at... let me see... Michigan!"
"No," she answered. "Wellesley."
Posted by Gaijin Biker | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 10:34 PM
It's an oldie, but it's the only one I know.
A Brit, and Aussie, and an Irishman are all in a bar. In Baltimore. Each finds a fly in his drink. Brit summons barkeep: "Do say, my good man, there's a fly in my Bass. Please bring me another." Bartender brings another. The Aussie plucks the fly out of his beer, shrugs, tosses it on the floor, drinks it. The Irishman then holds the fly over his glass yelling, [put on brogue here] "Spit it out, you little son of a bitch."
OK, I guess I know another. A zoolipogical expedition is returning from Indonesia with a captive orangutan. A female. As the ship is sailing back to North America, the vet realizes that the orang isn't doing very well. Won't eat, won't sleep, losing weight, seems to be pining away. For a few days the vet tries one thing and another, and finally realizes that it's just plain loneliness. Then he notices a burly red haired Irishman who works the boilers. He tells the fellow he'll need to go into the cage with the orang for the rest of the voyage. The Irishman responds [putting on brogue] "Alright, I'll do it, on three conditions. First, the must be two men standing by with rifles, the murder the beast should it start towards me. Second, there must be three men with pistols standing by, at all times, the kill the beast if it so much as lays a finger on me. And finally . . . finally . . . should any children come of this unholy match, I want them brought up in the Roman Catholic faith."
Posted by CharleyCarp | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 10:42 PM
This guy's girlfriend tells him, "I'm breaking up with you, because I head you're a pedophile!"
The guy is shocked.
"Pedophile? Pedophile?" he sputters. "Who's been teaching you grown-up words?"
Posted by Gaijin Biker | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 10:53 PM
Isn't that a guy who likes shoes?
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 10:55 PM
Oops, that should be "I heard", not "I head". Feel free to fix it.
Posted by Gaijin Biker | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 10:57 PM
A Brit, and Aussie, and an Irishman walk into a bar. The bartender says, "What is this, a joke?"
Posted by Josh | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 11:10 PM
210: I like that alternate ending better, actually.
217: They say "ouch."
For the road (and probably cranking up the offense-o-meter a little; fair warning):
A famous journalist is obsessed with interviewing ex-dictators and recording their warped perspectives on their reigns for posterity. After having interviewed every living deposed or exiled dictator she can find, she decides to go beyond the grave, and hires the services of a medium to summon up the ghost of Adolf Hitler.
True to her word, the medium -- after many an incantation -- summons up a ghostly image of the long-dead Fuehrer, and the journalist starts questioning him. They start out with relatively small talk, but eventually she can't help but say:
"Look, I think my readers would like to know. If you had it all to do over again, would you do anything differently?"
Adolf's ghost surprises her by saying, "Ja, ja, absolutely."
"What would you change?"
The spirit draws himself up, puffs out his chest proudly and says, "I would six million Jews... and one clown."
Perplexed, the journalist says: "One clown? Why one clown?"
"Ha, you see?!" Adolf crows triumpantly. "You see?! Nobody cares about the Jews!"
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 11:14 PM
Ah, I've heard a version of that joke, Slack, that goes a little differently.
A tourist on vacation in Argentina sees two men on a beach who look an awful lot like Hitler and Goebbels. He walks by them a few times to overhear their conversation. The Hitler-like man says, "My friend, this time, nothing can stop us!". The Goebbels-looking fellow replies, "Indeed! At last, we will wipe out the Jews and the electricians, once and for all!"
The tourist is puzzled by this and you can probably figure out how things proceed from here, based on Slack's version.
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 11:38 PM
There's a story that Brezhnev's mom, visiting him after he took over the USSR and seeing the opulence in which he was then living, asked him what he was going to do if the Communists ever got back in power.
Posted by eb | Link to this comment | 03-23-06 11:42 PM
No, no. They decide that it's loneliness, so they say to the Irishman "Would you sleep with the orangutan for fifty pounds?" And the Irishman says "Yes, on three conditions. First, no one outside the crew must ever know about this. Second, any children are to be brought up in the Catholic faith. And third, you'll have to give me a couple of days to come up with the fifty pounds."
Posted by ajay | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 3:24 AM
How does Snoop Dogg get his laundry nice and white?
Bleeyotch!!!
Posted by Gaijin Biker | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 3:50 AM
Knock knock.
Who's there?
Elephant.
Elephant who?
You don't get down off an elephant. You get down off a duck.
Posted by John Emerson | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 4:56 AM
Luke Skywalker's fallen into a bog during another fight with Darth Vader -
"Help me! I'm sinking!"
"Yes," says Darth. "It is your density."
Posted by ajay | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 5:26 AM
207 -- walls do not "carve out"; they "surround" or "enclose".
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 5:44 AM
222: You know why Snoop carries an umbrella?
Fo' drizzle.
Posted by apostropher | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 6:00 AM
this thread has a whole lot of jokes in it, ones everybody's already heard and some new (to me) ones, some of them are quite funny.
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 6:14 AM
214: I always heard this as:
So, I'm doing my girlfriend doggie-style, and I pull it out and put it into her ass. She turns around and says, "That's awfully presumptuous of you." And I said, "Presumptuous? That's a pretty big word for a 9-year-old."
Posted by Joe Drymala | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 8:12 AM
Mickey sues Minnie for divorce. They go before the judge, who says, "I'm sorry, Mickey, but a spouse's insanity is not grounds for divorce in this state." Mickey says, "I didn't say she was crazy. I said she was fucking Goofy."
Posted by Joe Drymala | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 8:17 AM
228: Ouch.
In similar vein: a man and a little girl are walking at night through the woods. The girl turns to him and says, "Mister, I'm scared." The man replies: "What the hell are you whining about? I'm the one who has to walk home alone!"
Posted by Doctor Slack | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 8:21 AM
Finally, I'm very happy to have become a joke fixture.
Damn, I'll have to find a new way to punish you. I know, I'll withhold sex! I'm good at that. I'm withholding sex from each and every one of you right now, you just don't realize it.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 9:44 AM
Your choice:
a) Young Schmitty was taking confession, when he told Father Flanagan that he was having impure thoughts about his sister. "Is this a sin, Father?" he asked.
The priest nodded and said, "Yes Schmitty, indeed it is a sin....Look at the two beautiful brothers you have."
or,
2) Later, Father Flanagan has terrible cramps while in the confessional, and has to leave the booth to use the facilities. He sees young Schmitty, an altar boy, grabs him by the arm, and says: "Doing this is simple. When they tell you their sin, just look on the chart and find the penance and tell them two Hail Marys, or whatever it says." The priest leaves and Johnny gives out two Hail Marys to the parishoner sitting in the booth.
The next person is homosexual, who confesses his oral pleasures with his partner. Johnny looks on the chart, but cannot find oral sex. He sees Michael, his fellow altar boy, and asks him "Mike! Quick, what does Father Flanagan give for a blowjob?" Michael replies " I don't know about anyone else, but he gives me two candy bars and a coke."
Posted by shpx.ohfu | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 3:31 PM
How do I get to Carnegie Hall?
Posted by ben wolfson | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 4:03 PM
A busdriver actually pulled that one on me once. I can't remember where I was trying to get, Lincoln Center maybe, and he actually said, "Practice, practice, practice" and looked extremely pleased that he had that opportunity.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 4:06 PM
231: are you sure about that?
Posted by anony-mouse | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 4:13 PM
Shit. Screwed up the altar boy name in part 2 - too hopped up on candy bars and Coke, I guess.
Posted by shpx.ohfu | Link to this comment | 03-24-06 5:24 PM
Well, I'm really late to this thread, and I know no one is probably even going to read this at this point, but this has got to be the best blonde joke ever.
Posted by Urple | Link to this comment | 03-26-06 9:02 PM
You know, I really don't think that will help my comedy career.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-26-06 9:21 PM
Why -- are you blonde?
Posted by Urple | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:01 AM
I forgot to link to these jokes, invented by yours truly.
Posted by Tia | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:07 AM
Since the thread has opened back up, why did Jesus die on the cross?
Posted by Ttam R. | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:09 AM
238 -- the juxtaposition of the round-in-circles blonde joke and your comedy career makes me wonder, are there any stand-up comics who are doing blog-related jokes? Of course I do not mean "look at this weird geek activity"-type jokes, of which I'm sure there have been some but I can't see how they would really sustain a half-hour act, I am thinking jokes which require a passing familiarity with some of the major blog and/or with blogging conventions to get.
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:12 AM
And, any bloggers who are also stand-up comedians? (Is this set different from "stand-up comedians who also blog"? I am not intending it to be when I ask the question.)
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:18 AM
What I think more likely is something I notice in my kids: the attempt to vocalize comment/instant messaging conventions, as if reading a blog comment aloud. So, at the dinner table, either will say "el-oh-el" or "dubiyah-tee-eff."
Posted by John Tingley | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:20 AM
The Rude Pundit took his show to the stage, didn't he? I'm not sure that meets your criterion for blog-related standup comedy, though. And the reviewers, at least the ones I read, basically said that his blog was funnier than his show.
Ttam R.: why?
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:21 AM
Margaret Cho has a blog.
Posted by ac | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:23 AM
241: He forgot the safe word.
(243: Bob Somerby, and this is not technically standup but it sounds a lot like it.)
Posted by Ttam R. | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:24 AM
Oh yeah, forgot about the rude pundit -- that would not quite fit my criterion in 242 but would certainly work for 243.
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:24 AM
Your epidemiologist joke was pretty good, Tia, but I really want to hear Tripp's TB jokes now.
Posted by Jackmormon | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:25 AM
Well the top Google result for "blog-related stand-up comedy" is Previously Owned, the blog of Will McKinley of New York, "corporate propagandist by day and a stand-up comedian by night."
Posted by The Modesto Kid | Link to this comment | 03-27-06 9:31 AM
Admiral Nelson wass preparing for the battle of Trafagalar. The lookout cried "A French ship is in sight!"
Nelson said to the captain of the Victory: "Hardy -- bring me my red cape."
"But sir, you'll be a target."
"Yes, but if I am wounded, the blood will not show against the red cape, and so the men will not be disheartened."
The wind freshened, blowing away some clouds. The lookout cried again "Thirty French ships on the horizon!"
"Hardy -- bring me my brown pants."
Posted by LizardBreath | Link to this comment | 03-28-06 9:55 AM
Nice little blog you've got here... wouldn't want anyone to spam it!
Posted by arthegall | Link to this comment | 04- 1-06 11:35 AM
The rest of Drymala's joke above is that the Buddhist pays for his hot dog with a ten, and then stands around waiting. Finally he asks the vendor what the holdup is, and is informed that change must come from within.
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