Tuesday, May 05, 2009

A grasshopper walks into a bar...


Last week I told my psychiatrist, "I keep thinking about suicide." He told me from now on I have to pay in advance.

I love jokes. I love telling jokes. I love hearing jokes. Dirty jokes, clean jokes, clever jokes, puns, riddles, it doesn't matter.

What do you call a monkey in a minefield ? A Baboom!

Even a really bad joke can be made good in the telling and often, an inept joke teller is more entertaining than the joke itself.

I want to die peacefully in my sleep like my grandfather. Not screaming in terror like his passengers.

Men, in my experience, like jokes more than women. I don't know why.

His motto is "Love Thy Neighbor". His neighbor just turned 18.

I started thinking about jokes this weekend, listening to an interview with comedian Carol Leifer who credited her father for her love of jokes. This is the one she said was her father's favorite:

A man takes his pet chicken to the movies and the ticket taker tells him he can't bring a chicken into the theater. So the man ducks around the corner, tucks the chicken into his pants and walks in.

Halfway through the newsreel, the chicken gets squirmy. The guy zips open his fly and lets the chicken poke its head out.

After a few minutes, the woman sitting next to him whispers to her friend, "The man next to me unzipped his pants and his thing is out."

Her friend says, "So what? You've seen one, you've seen them all."

The woman says, "Yeah, but this one is eating my popcorn."

One of my father's favorite jokes was about the boy who wanted a pony. The punchline is "With all this horse shit, I know there's got to be a pony in here somewhere."

I've always thought that this was the perfect joke for my old man. He was an optimist to his bones.

So today, I'm looking for the pony. Because there certainly is enough horse shit.

Have a joke you like? Tell it, and bring a little light into the Dark Planet.


C.L.J. said...

An Australian ventriloquist visiting New Zealand, walks into a small village and sees a local sitting on his porch patting his dog. He figures he'll have a little fun.
Ventriloquist: "G'day Mate! Good looking dog, mind if I speak to him?"
Villager: "The dog doesn't talk, you stupid Aussie."
Ventriloquist: "Hello dog, how's it going mate?"
Dog: "Doin' all right"
Villager: (look of extreme shock)
Ventriloquist: "Is this villager your owner?" (pointing at the villager)
Dog: "Yep"
Ventriloquist: "How does he treat you?"
Dog: "Real good. He walks me twice a day, feeds me great food and takes me to the lake once a week to play."
Villager: (look of utter disbelief)
Ventriloquist: "Mind if I talk to your horse?"
Villager: "Uh, the horse doesn't talk either....I think."
Ventriloquist: "Hey horse, how's it going?"
Horse: "Cool"
Villager: (absolutely dumbfounded)
Ventriloquist: "Is this your owner?" (pointing at the villager)
Horse: "Yep"
Ventriloquist: "How does he treat you?"
Horse: "Pretty good, thanks for asking. He rides me regularly, brushes me down often and keeps me in the barn to protect me from the elements."
Villager: (total look of amazement)
Ventriloquist: "Mind if I talk to your sheep?"
Villager: "The sheep's a liar"

deangc said...

Sometime in the early part of the last century, a young man got himself in some sort of trouble and ran away to join the French Foreign Legion.

While in the Legion he did spectacularly well, and soon found himself promoted, and promoted again, and then commissioned.

His first command was of a remote garrison fort deep in North Africa, miles away from mainstream civilization. When he arrived, his aide de camp took him for a tour.

"Here, sir, is the well. Here is the armoury. And here is the stable."

"Oh, let me see the horses," the new commandant said.

"I'm sorry sir, we don't have any horses. We have a camel," the aide said.

The commandant opened the stable door and stared in. There, in the corner, was the mangiest camel he had ever seen.

"What good is one camel?" he demanded.

"Well, sir, if you must know..." the aide said, his reluctance plain "well... it is a remote outpost, and when a man has been out here for months without a woman, well, sometimes they use the camel..."

The commandant cut him off. "I don't want to hear about that! That's disgusting! Get rid of the camel immediately! I will not sanction such abuses under my command."

"But sir! This is a remote outpost. There will be mutiny if we get rid of the camel! I beg you, reconsider."

The commandant thought for a moment or two.

"Very well," he said, "but I don't want to hear a word about the camel. I don't even want to know that it exists. If the slightest mention of the camel, the merest passing glance, reaches me, I will get rid of it. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!" The aide said, and led the camel outside the fort, presumably to a safe place nearby.

The months went by, and the new commandant got used to his command. But more and more, as each day without female companionship went by, his thoughts turned more and more to the camel, though it caused him to shudder with revulsion.

Finally, he had been on the post for nearly a year, and he could not stand it any more.

"Where is the camel?" he asked his aide.

"It is nearby, sir," the aide said warily.

"Take me to it at once!"

The aide complied. The camel seemed quite happy in a little corral in the brush.

"Well? Turn around, man!" the commandant said when they got there. The aide turned around, and, mounting a convenient rock, the commandant gave the camel a thorough rogering, although fortunately for all involved he had been deprived for a long time, and so the embarrassment was short.

As the commandant was zipping up his pants, he noticed that the aide was staring at him with eyes as wide as cannon muzzles.

"Haven't you ever seen a man use the camel before?" the commandant snapped.

"Y..Yes sir," the aide said. "It's just... forgive me sir, but that's not how the men do it."

"Not how the men do it? How on earth do the men do it if they don't do it that way?"

"Well, sir, most of the men get ON the camel and ride IN to town to the whorehouse," the aide said.

Anonymous said...

In the vein of your "woods" joke:

"My girlfiend said to me in bed last night' 'you're a pervert' I said, 'that's a big word for a girl of nine'."
- Emo Philips

Tom said...

Barack Obama Visits a Glasgow Hospital

A Glaswegian doctor leads The Prez to a ward of patients with no obvious sign of injury or illness.

Obama greets one, who replies:

Fair fa your honest sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin race,
Aboon them a ye take yer place,
Painch, tripe or thairm,
As langs my airm.

Obama is confused, so he just grins and moves on to the next patient, who responds:

Some hae meat an canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat an we can eat,
So let the Lord be thankit.

Even more confused, his grin now rictus-like, the President moves on to
the next patient, who immediately begins to chant:

Wee sleekit, cowerin, timorous beasty,
O the panic in thy breasty,
Thou needna start awa sae hastie,
Wi bickering brattle

Now extremely troubled, Obama turns to the accompanying doctor and asks, “Is this a psychiatric ward?”

“No,” replies the doctor, “this is the serious Burns unit.”

(by Steve Crittall)

Gerard Saylor said...

Have you heard about those new corduroy pillows?

They're making headlines.

JD Rhoades said...

A priest is sitting in the confession booth. He hears someone come in and take a seat. A small quavery voice says, "Bless me, faddah, for I have sinned. I'm eighty-two years old, but I'm having an affair with a beautiful twenty-two year old girl. Oy Vey, so insatiable she is! We do it three, four times a day, every position, every room in the house. Yesterday we had a threesome with her nineteen year old sister..."

Suddenly the priest recognizes the voice. "Saul?" he says, "Saul Steinberg?"


"Saul, you're Jewish. I'm a Catholic priest. Why are you telling me this?"

"You?" Saul says, "I'm tellin' EVERYBODY!!"

JD Rhoades said...

In a monastery in the north of Ireland, there were two parrots. The parrots were known far and wide as miraculous, for all they did all day was sit on their perch and pray with their rosary beads. Priests, nuns, and pilgrims came from miles around to see the miraculous praying parrots.

One day, an abbot from Dublin paid a call.

“Brother,” he said to the abbot of the monastery, “we have a parrot in our care as well. But this one is not so holy. In fact, this parrot was raised from birth in a brothel. All she can say, all day, is “fuck me, I’m a filthy whore.” It’s rather embarrassing. I was wondering if you’d be so kind, can we bring our poor benighted Polly to sit with your holy parrots in the hopes that perhaps some of their piety will rub off on her?”

The abbot agreed.

When the female parrot was brought in, the miracle parrots were busy, their little claws clicking away on the rosary, their petitions ascending to heaven. Polly looked at them and called out “fuck me, I’m a filthy whore!”

The first parrot cried “drop the beads, Seamus, our prayers are answered!”

David Terrenoire said...

Thank you all for the fine jokes.

Tom, in my humble opinion, your Serious Burns joke wins the trophy.

Did I mention how much I love silly jokes?

Anonymous said...

For Round 2, how 'bout we just do punchlines?

"...but first, a little ru-ru."

Yer pal Spike.

Anonymous said...

A skeleton walks in to a bar.

Bartender says, "What'll ya have?"

Skeleton says, " A beer and a mop."

[Can't remember where I heard it.]

John McAuley

Gerard said...

From the six year old: What do you call a dog that likes a bath? A shampoodle. Why is an old car like a baby? It does not go anywhere without a rattle.