Jokes of the Day

On a city bus, a priest ends up sharing a seat with a man who is very, very drunk.

The drunk is squinting at a newspaper, trying to make out the words. Eventually he leans over to the priest and says, “You know what arthritis is?”

The priest sees his chance for a little sermon. “Arthritis,” he says, “is what you tend to get from a life of excess. Too much drinking, too many drugs, too much carousing with loose women and gambling.”

The drunk nods and goes back to his paper.

After a while, the priest can’t help himself. “So how long have you had arthritis?” he asks.

The drunk looks up, confused:

“Oh, I don’t have arthritis. In the paper is says that the Pope does.”

Sitting around their nursing home, three old-timers start griping about the worst part of getting on in years.

First man: “What I wouldn’t give for a good strong piss like back in my youth. Each morning I stand there 5 minutes waiting, and all that comes out is a dribble.”

Second man: “Me, I’d pay anything for a good solid shit like in the old days. Each morning I’m on that toilet straining and straining before anything happens.”

Third man: “Well, my piss comes every morning at 5, long and strong. And at 6 on the dot, out comes a huge shit.”

His two friends look at him in disbelief. “So what the hell is your problem?”

The third old man says, “I don’t wake up until 7”.

A burglar breaks into a house where every light is off.

He clicks on his flashlight and makes his way to the family room, planning to start with the small stuff and work up to the big items.

He’s just starting to gather the valuables when he hears a voice…

“Jesus is watching.”

The burglar jumps and sweeps the room with his flashlight, but he doesn’t see or hear anything else.

He shrugs it off and gets back to work.

“Jesus is watching,” the voice says again, sounding more like a warning this time.

He points his flashlight toward the sound and spots a parrot.

“Was that you?” he asks.

“Yes,” says the parrot.

“What’s your name?” the burglar asks.

“Moses,” the parrot answers.

The burglar laughs. “Who the hell names their parrot Moses?”

“The same guy that named his rottweiler Jesus.”

For career day, Mrs. Patterson asked her second graders to bring in something that showed what their parents did for work.

Emma went first. She held up a stethoscope. “My mom is a nurse. She helps sick people feel better.” Everybody clapped.

Tyler held up a hammer. “My dad builds houses. He built our house, and the garage, and the deck, but the deck fell down, so he built it again.” Everybody clapped.

Sophia held up a shiny badge. “My dad is a police officer. He keeps everybody safe, and he lets me use the siren on my birthday.” Everybody clapped really hard.

Finally it was Jacob’s turn. He walked to the front, reached into his backpack, and carefully set down an empty bottle of wine, a red pen with no cap and a family-size box of aspirin.

Mrs. Patterson leaned forward. “Jacob, honey, that’s… quite a collection. What does your mom do?”

“She’s a teacher,” said Jacob. Mrs. Patterson didn’t say a word. She just started clapping.

A UK daily paper invited readers to write in and describe what being British really means.

There were some very funny answers, but the best one was sent in by a Swiss reader:

“A Brit drives his German car to an Irish pub and orders a Belgian beer.”

“On the way back he grabs an Indian curry or a Turkish kebab, then settles onto his Swedish sofa to watch American programs on his Japanese TV.”

“He owns a holiday place in Spain, goes skiing in France, has a thing for Swedish women and employs a Romanian au pair.”

And the most British quality of the lot?

“Suspicious of anything Foreign “

One Saturday, a husband and wife went to a livestock auction to look over a farmer’s prize breeding bulls.

The sign on the first pen said: “This bull mated 50 times last year.”

The wife gave her husband a playful nudge. “Wow, that’s almost once a week! Pretty impressive, huh?”

At the second pen, the sign said: “This bull mated 150 times last year.”

She poked him a little harder, grinning. “Goodness, that’s more than twice a week! You could learn a thing or two from him.”

The third pen’s sign said: “This bull mated 365 times last year.”

This time she jammed her elbow into his ribs. “That’s once a day! Can you imagine? You really ought to take lessons from this one.”

Fed up, the husband turned to her and said,

“Why don’t you go ask the farmer if every time was with the same old cow?”

Barnaby signs up at a very exclusive nudist colony.

First day there, he strips down and goes for a stroll.

A stunning petite blonde passes by, and he instantly gets an erection.

She spots it, walks over with a sweet smile, and says, “Sir, did you call for me?”

“No,” says Barnaby. “What do you mean?”

“You must be new. Let me explain. There’s a rule here: if I give you an erection, that means you called for me.”

Still smiling, she takes him over to the pool, lies down on a towel, pulls him eagerly toward her, and happily lets him have his way with her.

Barnaby carries on touring the place. He steps into the sauna, sits down, and farts.

Seconds later, an enormous, grossly overweight, hairy man with a firm erection comes lumbering out of the steam toward him.

“Sir, did you call for me?” the big man asks.

“No,” says Barnaby. “What do you mean?”

“You must be new. There’s a rule here: when you fart, that means you called for me.” The big man easily spins Barnaby around and has his way with him.

Barnaby races back to the front office, where a smiling, naked receptionist asks, “May I help you?”

“Here’s your card and key back,” Barnaby says. “You can keep the $500 enrollment fee.”

“But sir,” she says, “you’ve only been here a couple of hours. You’ve barely seen any of our facilities.”

Barnaby replies, “Listen lady, I am 58 years old, I get a erection once a year but I fart 30 times a day. No thanks.”

Karen, the organist at a small church, was gorgeous and extremely well-endowed.

Her breasts were so big that they bounced and wobbled whenever she played, which kept the congregation from focusing on much else.

The prim church ladies were horrified. Something had to be done, they agreed, or Karen would have to be replaced.

One of them took Karen aside and quietly explained the problem. Her advice: mash up some green, astringent persimmons and rub them over her breasts and nipples, and they ought to shrink.

She added a warning. Karen must not taste the green persimmons, because they’re so sour they’d make her mouth pucker and she wouldn’t be able to speak properly for a while.

Karen wasn’t thrilled, but she agreed to give it a try.

The next Sunday morning, the priest stepped up into the pulpit and announced,

“Dew to thircumsthanthis bewond my contwol, we will not hab a thermon tewday”

Leeroy worked at a little pharmacy in Arkansas, and he was a lousy salesman. Whatever a customer asked for, he could never find it.

Arnold, who owned the place, was fed up, and he told Leeroy that the next sale he blew would be his last.

Right then, a coughing man walked in and asked Leeroy for their best cough syrup.

Leeroy searched high and low, but he couldn’t find the cough syrup anywhere.

With Arnold’s warning ringing in his ears, he sold the man a box of laxatives instead and told him to take the whole thing at once.

The customer did exactly that, then stepped outside and leaned against a lamp post.

Arnold, who had watched all of this, walked over and asked Leeroy what had just happened.

“He wanted something for his cough,” Leeroy said, “but I couldn’t find the cough syrup, so I gave him laxatives and told him to take them all at once.”

“You did what?” Arnold yelled. “Laxatives don’t cure a cough!”

“Sure they do,” said Leeroy, pointing to the man leaning against the lamp post. “Look at him.”

“He’s too afraid to cough.”

After years of terrible headaches, a man finally made an appointment with a doctor.

Following a thorough exam, the doctor gave his verdict.

“The good news is that I can cure your headaches. The bad news is that you have a rare condition in which your testicles press up against the base of your spine, and that pressure gives you one heck of a headache. The only cure is to remove them.”

The man was stunned and miserable, and wondered whether life was even worth living.

He mulled it over, but in the end he felt he had no choice and went ahead with the surgery.

Afterward, for the first time in over 20 years, he had no headache, but he still felt sad about the part of himself he’d lost.

Walking down the street, he passed a men’s clothing store and thought a new suit might lift his spirits.

An old tailor gave him a quick once-over and said, “Let’s see, you’re a 44 long.”

“That’s right,” the man said. “How did you know?”

“I’ve been in this business 60 years!” said the tailor.

The man tried on the suit, and it fit perfectly.

“How about a new shirt?” the tailor asked.

The man nodded.

“Let’s see, 16 and a half neck, 34 sleeve,” said the tailor.

Once again, the man was amazed when the shirt fit perfectly.

“And some new underwear?” the tailor asked.

The man nodded again.

The tailor took a step back, studied the man’s waist, and said, “Hmm, let’s see. Size 36.”

The man laughed. “Finally, I’ve got you! I’ve worn a size 32 since I was 18.”

The tailor shook his head.

“You can’t wear a size 32. Size 32 underwear would press your testicles against the base of your spine and give you one heck of a headache.”

Great Britain’s Beer Festival has just ended, and the heads of all the breweries decide to go out together for a pint at a London pub.

The Corona man is first up to the bar. “Señor, the world’s best beer, por favor. A Corona.”

The bartender has to blow the dust off a bottle before handing it over.

Next comes the head of Budweiser: “I’ll have ‘The King of Beers,’ the best beer anywhere. A Budweiser, please.”

He’s served.

Then the Coors boss: “Mine’s the only beer brewed with Rocky Mountain spring water. A Coors.”

He’s served too.

Finally the man from Guinness steps up and asks for a Coke.

Surprised, the bartender raises an eyebrow but pours it anyway.

The rest of the group can’t believe it. “Why aren’t you having a Guinness?” they ask.

He looks at them and replies,

“Well, if you guys aren’t drinking beer, neither will I.”

Dorothy’s husband, Albert, had just died, and she was heartbroken.

She went to the funeral home to see him, and the moment she laid eyes on him she burst into sobs.

An attendant hurried over to console her.

Between tears, she told him the problem: Albert was in a black suit, and his dying wish had been to be buried in a blue one.

The attendant said he was sorry. They always dressed the bodies in black suits as standard practice, he explained, but he’d see what he could do.

The following day, Dorothy came back for one last moment with Albert before the funeral.

The attendant drew back the curtain, and there was Albert in a handsome blue suit. Dorothy smiled through her tears.

“How on earth did you get hold of that beautiful blue suit?” she asked.

“Well, yesterday afternoon, after you left, they brought in a man about your husband’s size, and he was in a blue suit,” the attendant said. “His wife was very upset because he’d always wanted to be buried in a black one.”

Dorothy smiled.

The attendant went on,

“After that, it was simply a matter of swapping the heads around.”

Mickey, 67 years old, was nursing a drink at the bar when he caught sight of the young, sexy barmaid.

He put a ten-dollar bill down on the bar. “I bet I can keep an eye on this drink while I go to the bathroom.”

The bathroom was around the corner, so she smirked and took the bet.

Mickey popped out his glass eye, set it next to his drink, and strolled off to the bathroom.

Back on his stool, he had another one for her. “I bet you I can touch my nose with my tongue.”

Sure it couldn’t be done, she accepted. Mickey pulled a little rubber nose out of his pocket, stuck it on his tongue, and touched it to his face.

“Alright,” he said, “I’ll give you a chance to win your money back. I bet I can make love to you so tenderly that you won’t feel a thing.”

This was one bet she felt sure of, so she agreed.

The two of them slipped into the back room, where Mickey lifted her skirt and got down to business.

Partway through, she giggled, “I can feel you! I won the bet!”

Mickey just shrugged and kept right at it. “Oh well,” he said,

“you win some, you lose some!”

A woman is out for a few drinks with her boyfriend.

They’re having a great time when she starts raving about an amazing new drink she’s discovered. The more she describes it, the more worked up she gets, until she’s begging him to try one.

Eventually he caves and lets her order it for him.

The bartender sets three things on the bar in front of him: a salt shaker, a shot of Baileys, and a shot of lime juice.

Seeing his puzzled look, she walks him through it.

‘First, put a little salt on your tongue. Then drink the Baileys, but hold it in your mouth. Last, drink the lime juice.’

Wanting to keep her happy, he plays along.

Salt on the tongue... salty, but fine.

The Baileys goes in and stays there... smooth, rich, cool. Actually very nice.

Not bad, he thinks.

Then he picks up the lime juice and knocks it back.

One second in, the sharp lime flavor hits. Two seconds, the Baileys curdles. Three seconds, the salty, curdled taste and that mucus-like texture arrive. Four seconds, it feels like his mouth is full of nasty snot.

He starts to gag, but he’s a man and doesn’t want to let his girlfriend down, so he swallows the foul mess.

Once he’s finally choked it down, he turns to her. ‘Jesus, what do you call that drink?’

She gives him a big smile and says,

‘Blow Job Revenge.’

A guy walks into a tavern, takes a seat at the bar, and asks for a double martini on the rocks.

When he’s done, he sneaks a look into his shirt pocket and orders another double martini.

He knocks that one back, takes another peek into his shirt pocket, and asks for one more.

“Listen, pal,” the bartender says, “I’ll keep the martinis coming all night if you want.”

“But first you have to tell me why you check your shirt pocket every time before you order another.”

“There’s a picture of my wife in there,” the man says.

“When she starts to look good, then I know it’s time to go home.”

A blonde walks into her doctor’s office complaining that it hurts everywhere she touches her body.

“That’s impossible,” the doctor says. “Show me.”

She presses a finger to her elbow and shrieks in pain. She presses her knee and shrieks, then her ankle, and on and on. Every spot she touches makes her scream.

“You don’t dye your hair, do you?” the doctor asks.

“No, I’m a natural blonde.”

“That’s what I figured,” says the doctor.

“Your finger is broken.”

There are two brothers in town, eight and ten years old, and they’re behind just about every bit of mischief that happens there.

At her wits’ end, their mother asks the local preacher to have a talk with them.

He agrees, on one condition: he wants to see each boy on his own.

The younger one goes first. The preacher is an enormous man with a voice like thunder, and he sits the boy down and asks him gravely,

“Do you know where God is, son?”

The boy just stares at him, eyes wide and jaw hanging, and says nothing. So the preacher asks again, sterner this time,

“Where is God?!”

The boy drops his eyes to the floor. Still no answer.

Now the preacher leans in, wags a finger right in the boy’s face, and roars,

“Where is God?!”

With a scream, the boy bolts out the door, races all the way home, and shuts himself inside his closet.

His big brother finds him in there. “What happened? Why are you shaking?”

Still trying to catch his breath, the younger boy says, “We are in big trouble this time...”

“GOD is missing, and they think we did it!”

A few nights ago, I got invited out for a girls’ night.

I told my husband I’d be home by midnight, no later.

Of course, time flew, and the margaritas kept going down far too smoothly.

It was about 3 a.m. when I finally stumbled home, pretty well hammered.

The second I came through the door, the cuckoo clock in the hallway went off and cuckooed 3 times.

Realizing that would probably wake my husband, I thought fast and cuckooed another 9 times myself.

I was very proud of myself for coming up with such a clever fix, while completely wasted, no less, to dodge an argument with him.

The next morning he asked what time I’d come in, and I said midnight.

He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

(Phew! Got away with that one!)

Then he said, “We need a new cuckoo clock.”

When I asked him why, he said, “Well, last night our clock cuckooed 3 times, then said, “Oh, crap,” cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the cat and farted.”

When I was about 16, I went into the drugstore to buy my first pack of condoms.

The woman working the counter was gorgeous, and she could tell right away I had no idea what I was doing. She handed me the box and asked if I knew how to put one on.

I told her the truth: ‘No, this is my first time.’

So she opened the box, took one out, and rolled it down over her thumb. She told me to be sure it was nice and snug.

I guess I still looked lost, because she glanced around to see if anyone else was in the store. Nobody was.

‘Hold on a second,’ she said. She went to the front door and locked it.

Then she took my hand and led me into the back room, where she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, then unhooked her bra and set it aside. ‘Do these excite you?’ she asked.

I was so stunned all I could do was nod.

She said it was time to put the condom on. While I was doing that, she let her skirt drop, slipped off her panties, and lay back on a desk.

‘Well, come on,’ she said. ‘We don’t have much time.’

So I climbed on top. It was so incredible that I couldn’t hold out, and in a matter of moments it was all over.

She frowned at me. ‘Did you put that condom on?’ she asked.

I said, ‘I sure did,’ and held up my thumb to show her.

Ten marriages, ten divorces, and now this woman was walking down the aisle with a lawyer.

When they got to the honeymoon suite, she whispered, “Go easy on me, please. I’ve never done this before.”

He stared at her. “Never? You’ve had ten husbands!”

“I know,” she sighed. “The first one sold for a living. Every night he’d go on and on about how great it was going to be.”

“The second one did software support. Never really figured out how it was supposed to function, but promised he’d look into it and get back to me.”

“The third did field service. Ran all his diagnostics, said everything checked out, and still couldn’t get the system up.”

“The fourth sold over the phone. Swore he had the order, but had no idea when he could deliver.”

“Then came an engineer. Got the basic process, but insisted on three years to research, implement and design some new state-of-the-art method first.”

“The sixth one worked in finance and admin. Figured he knew how, but couldn’t decide if it was really his job.”

“Seventh, a marketing guy. Lovely product, no clue how to position it.”

“Eighth, a psychologist. Only ever wanted to talk about it.”

“Ninth, a gynecologist. Only ever wanted to look at it.”

“And the tenth collected stamps. All he ever did was... God, I miss him!”

She beamed at him. “But now I’ve got you, and I’m so excited!”

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “How come?”

“You’re a lawyer. This time I know I’m going to get really screwed!

A big column of ISIS fighters is marching down a road in Iraq when someone shouts from behind a sand dune: “One Marine is better than ten ISIS fighters!”

The commander immediately sends 10 of his best men over the dune. Gunfire erupts, goes on for a few minutes, and then stops.

The same voice yells again: “One Marine is better than one hundred ISIS fighters!”

Livid, the commander dispatches his next best 100 men, and a massive firefight breaks out at once.

Ten minutes later, silence once more.

Then the voice: “One Marine is better than a thousand ISIS fighters!”

Beside himself with rage, the commander rounds up 1,000 fighters and sends them all over the dune.

Rifles, machine guns, grenades, rockets and cannons roar as a horrific battle rages…

… and then, silence.

At last, a single badly wounded fighter drags himself back over the dune and, with his final breath, tells the commander, “Don’t send any more men… it’s a trap….

… There’s two of them.”

Driving home from a party, a man gets pulled over by a cop.

Walking up to the car, the officer spots a big pile of knives on the back seat.

“Sir,” he says to the driver, “is there a good reason you need all those big knives?”

The driver grins. “There is. I juggle them.”

Seeing the officer’s doubtful expression, he adds, “Officer, if you’ll let me, I’d be happy to show you.”

The officer carefully steps back. “Fine, but you’d better be telling the truth.”

Before long the man is on the shoulder of the road, tossing the knives high in the air without breaking a sweat.

Two old men drive past, staring in disbelief.

One turns to the other and says,

“Sure glad I gave up drinking, these sobriety tests are getting ridiculous!”

A farmer dropped his truck off at the local mechanic’s shop for repairs.

It couldn’t be done while he waited, and since he lived nearby, he decided to walk home.

On the way, he stopped at the hardware store and picked up a bucket and a gallon of paint.

Then he swung by the feed store and bought a couple of chickens and a goose.

Standing outside the store, though, he realized he had no idea how he was going to carry all of it home.

As he stood there scratching his head, a little old lady came up and told him she was lost.

“Could you tell me how to get to 1603 Mockingbird Lane?” she asked.

“As it happens, my farm is right near that house,” the farmer said. “I’d walk you there myself, but I can’t carry all this.”

“Why not put the can of paint in the bucket,” the old lady suggested, “carry the bucket in one hand, tuck a chicken under each arm and hold the goose in your other hand?”

“Well, thank you kindly,” he said, and off they went together.

Partway there, he said, “Let’s cut through this alley. It’ll get us there in no time.”

The little old lady eyed him warily. “I’m a lonely widow with no husband to protect me. How do I know that once we’re in that alley, you won’t hold me up against the wall, pull up my skirt and have your way with me?”

“Holy smokes, lady!” said the farmer. “I’m carrying a bucket, a gallon of paint, two chickens and a goose. How in the world could I hold you up against a wall and do that?”

The old lady answered,

“Set the goose down, cover him with the bucket, put the paint on top of the bucket, and I’ll hold the chickens.”

On the old side of town there’s a place that caters to a particular kind of visitor.

Besides the many items on display, whose unusual uses are well known to the regulars, the place has a number of small booths set up in pairs, each pair sharing a wall.

In that shared wall is a hole roughly the size of a fist.

One day, a pretty young woman walks in, glances around nervously in hopes that no one she knows will see her, and ducks into one of the booths.

On the other side of the wall, in the neighboring booth, an old man sits waiting.

The young woman shuts the door behind her, looking a bit uneasy.

Leaning close to the hole in the wall, she whispers, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ve been a very naughty girl.”

The old man, who has had plenty of experience with this sort of thing, draws a deep breath and lets it out with feeling.

Expecting a long and interesting session, he whispers back,

“You’ve definitely got the right idea, but it’s, ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.’”