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Can't find the other thread(s) with jokes n stuff, so here's a new one.
Please join in and add a cartoon, funny story or meme.
One of my favorite jokes. A farmers son goes to the local Agricultural College. The farmer is proud of his son. The son graduates and comes home. The farmer asks his son what he studied. The son says soil science,animal husbandry and algebra. The farmer says to his son, Say something in Algebra. The boy is puzzled and tells the farmer.Pi are square. The farmer looks down at the ground shakes his head and looks up at his son. Son Pie are round,cornbread are square.
Wife asks husband:
What would you do if we won the lottery?
I'd take my half and leave you!
So She says,
Well, we won Twenty quid - Here's ten - now bugger off.
Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump. I said, "Don't do it!" He said, "Nobody loves me." I said, "God loves you. Do you believe in God?"
He said, "Yes." I said, "Are you a Christian or a Jew?" He said, "A Christian." I said, "Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?" He said, "Protestant." I said, "Me, too! What franchise?" He said, "Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?" He said, "Northern Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?"
He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist." I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region." I said, "Me, too!"
Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912." I said, "Die, heretic!" And I pushed him over.
Curses, failed to figure out how to post this as a picture
(Moderator note: @Fosdick, Fortunately, Moderators have the 'knowHow'... )
It's an adorable cartoon, @Fosdick. I have troubles sometimes, posting pics too (see 2nd post this thread).
OK: Save picture to photo file on whatever computer you choose to use.
Come to comment box.
Write necessary comment.
click on black page with corner bent over.
Click 'Choose Files'.
Choose file. (Double click on the photo in your file, of choice)
Picture coordinates will appear in post.
... wait a minute ...that crisanthe christanthemum flower, is not funny.
I don't get it
Meanwhile ... my brother-in-law fell out of bed whilst holidaying (him and my sister were given too small a bed).
I have suggested he enter the 'All Irish Extreme Base Jumping' competition.
His efforts, no parachute, eyes closed and probably inebriated into unconsciousness is traditional in Irish sports.
He could be in with a chance.
Demo, not humour.
Will change to suit @lobster's warped sense of occasion...
(Pause while moderator, moderates.....)
The wind and the flag.
Two monks were sitting in front of the temple doors, arguing.
"Reality is what it appears to be," the first monk said, then pointed to the flagpole in front of them. "For instance, when I look at that flag, I can see it is moving."
"Nonsense," the second monk said. "Samsara is the illusion that hides reality." He pointed to the same flagpole. "It's the wind that is moving, not the flag. You must see beyond Samsara."
"My good friend," the first monk replied, "you are completely wrong. You confuse your imagination for reality. That flag is moving!"
"My esteemed colleague," the second monk replied, "you are just being stubborn. You don't want to admit I have learned more than you. It's the wind, not the flag moving!"
The Master was walking by, stopped and listened to this exchange. He looked at the flagpole and then back to the monks. He licked his finger and held it up, testing the wind. Finally he shook his head. "You are both wrong," he told them. "There's no wind and no flag. We took down the flag an hour ago. I warned the cook some of those mushrooms he picked looked funny!"
gassho @Federica, gassho @silver, should have figgered that out meself.
Another thread about the things kids pick up from listening in reminded me of this little episode from the past.
Many years ago we used to have our grandson stay with us about every weekend, when he was 6 years old or so. We also liked to go to yard sales and thrift stores. While digging through a box of assorted junk we bought one day, we found a leather flog, of all things. We're talking the type a dominatrix might wave around while telling the guy he's been a bad boy. She chuckled, smacked me with it a few times, and tossed it back in the box to throw away. Well, you never know where it's been, do you?
Skip forward to us meeting at a restaurant with his parents that Sunday when they came to collect him. He reaches into his backpack, pulls out that blasted whip, and tells his parents, "Look what Grandma threw away! Grandpa told her not to hit him with it so hard, because it was leaving marks!"
a photon and a proton arrive at a hotel and are checking in. the man at the desk asks them if they have any luggage for the trolley service. the photon says, "no, thank you. I'm travelling light!" the concierge is surprised by this. "are you sure?" he says. the proton replies, "I'm positive!"
And this made me snort my cuppa tea....
This is a joke of a slightly darker nature - but then someone mentioned werewolves today somewhere:
What do you get when you cross a pitbull with Lassie?
A dog that tears out yer throat and then runs for help.
Some more dark humour of sorts (bearing in mind I'm vegetarian )
One that the Aussies and some Poms will understand ie, Aussie colloquialism
"An Englishman wants to marry an Irish girl and is told he needs to become Irish before he can do so. It is a very simple operation where they remove 5% of your brain.
Anyway the Englishman wakes up after the operation and the doctor comes up to him looking all worried and says "I am terribly sorry, there’s been a mistake to be sure, we accidentally removed 50% of your brain instead of 5%!"
The Englishman sits up and simply says "She'll be right, mate" "
I think I understand it, but what's a Pom?
1.short for Pomeranian."
Okay. (I won't ask)
"This" might be of some help @silver
Hey thanks! I would've never known - I like that...pomegranates!
One Buddhist girl wants to marry a Christian boy. She ask her father. Father replies it's OK but why you need to convert to chritianity. She says otherwise his family members would not accept me but I promise that in next birth I would be Buddhist again. Father says but it is impossible, Christians do not believe in rebirth.
Letter to Agony Aunt:
My husband has cheated on me. I'm certain he has cheated on me more than once, but he denied it. But everybody knows he's a liar and a cheat.
He hasn't held a steady job in years. I'd say a good 15 years, I've supported him and worked my ass off.
Him? He just lazes around with his cronies, plays golf, smokes cigars and plays the big I-am, but he's driving me nuts! What should I do?? "
"For goodness' sake woman, get a grip, kick him to the kerb, you don't need him!
You're running for presidency, for God's sake!!"
Do not eat the red Gummy Bear. You'll be sorry.
ByMike Armeson January 9, 2014
Before a company goes public, the highest level executives embark on a multi-city tour with their investment bankers to drum up support for the upcoming IPO. This trip is called a roadshow and since the group will typically visit dozens of cities on a tight schedule, a private jet is the preferred means of transportation. During a roadshow, it's not unusual to visit two or three cities in a single day so work starts at the crack of dawn. That doesn't mean the group goes to bed early. Every night, the bankers treat their clients to a wild nights, complete with complimentary Gummy Bears and coffee. No matter how hard the group parties the night before, the private jet will lift them off to their next destination very early the next morning.
Just for a minute, pretend you're an investment banker traveling with some very important clients on one of these roadshows. Now imagine that you spent the previous night "dropping Yogi" way beyond your limit only to be startled out of bed by a piercing 6:30 am wake up call. In an attempt to get your head and body feeling remotely human again, you scarf down some more warm Gummy Bears and at least two glasses of coffee at the hotel's breakfast buffet before jumping on the shuttle to the private airport. Within a few minutes of arriving at the airport, your entire group is seated and the plane begins to taxi down the runway. At this point you might feel a bit of relief as the morning's blur subsides. All you have to do is sit back and relax for the one hour flight to the next city.
There's just one problem. In your rush to get out of the hotel, down to breakfast and onto the plane you forgot to do one very crucial thing. Go to the bathroom. And I'm not talking about peeing. You have a stomach full of last nights multi-colored death bears and coffee churning around your lower intestine at 30,000 feet. But that's not the worst part. True horror sets in when you realize you're not on a spacious 20 person G5 with couches, beds, lay-z boys and a fully tucked away private bathroom. No, on this day you are traveling on a six-person puddle jumper sitting shoulder to shoulder with your clients and co-workers. But wait, somehow the story gets even worse…
Just over halfway through the flight, all the coffee in my stomach feels like it's percolating its way down into my lower intestine. I hunker down and try and focus on other things. What feels like an hour, but probably isn't more than twenty minutes, passes. We then enter what turns out to be pretty violent turbulence. With each bounce, I have to fight my body, trying not to poop my pants. "Thirty minutes to landing, maybe forty five" I try and tell myself, each jostle a gamble I can't afford to lose. I signal to [the flight attendant] and she heads toward me.
"Excuse me, where is the bathroom, because I don't see a door?" I ask while still devoting considerable energy to fighting off what starts to feel like someone shook a seltzer bottle and shoved it up my butt. She looks at me, bemused, and says, "Well, we don't really have one per se." She continues, "Technically, we have one, but it's really just for emergencies. Don't worry, we're landing shortly anyway."
"I'm pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency," I manage to mutter through my grimace. I can see the fear in her face as she points nervously to the back seat. The turbulence outside is matched only by the cyclone that is ravaging my bowels. She points to the back of the plane and says, "There. The toilet is there." For a brief instant, relief passes over my face. She continues, "If you pull away the leather cushion from that seat, it's under there. There's a small privacy screen that pulls up around it, but that's it." At this point, I was committed. She had just lit the dynamite and the mine shaft was set to blow.
I turn to look where she is pointing and I get the urge to cry. I do cry, but my face is so tightly clenched it makes no difference. The "toilet" seat is occupied by the CFO, i.e. our freaking client. Our freaking female freaking client!
Up to this point, nobody has observed my struggle or my exchange with the flight attendant. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." That's all I can say as I limp toward her like Quasimodo impersonating a penguin, and begin my explanation. Of course, as soon as my competitors see me talking to the CFO, they all perk up to find out what the hell I'm doing.
Given my jovial nature and fun-loving attitude thus far on the roadshow, almost everybody thinks I'm joking. She, however, knows right away that I am anything but and jumps up, moving quickly to where I had been sitting. I now had to remove the seat top – no easy task when you can barely stand upright, are getting tossed around like a hoodrat at a block party, and are fighting against a gastrointestinal Mt. Vesuvius.
I manage to peel back the leather seat top to find a rather luxurious looking commode, with a nice cherry or walnut frame. It had obviously never been used, ever. Why this moment of clarity came to me, I do not know. Perhaps it was the realization that I was going to take this toilet's virginity with a fury and savagery that was an abomination to its delicate craftsmanship and quality. I imagined some poor Italian carpenter weeping over the violently soiled remains of his once beautiful creation. The lament lasted only a second as I was quickly back to concentrating on the tiny muscle that stood between me and molten hot lava.
I reach down and pull up the privacy screens, with only seconds to spare before I erupt. It's an alka-seltzer bomb, nothing but air and liquid spraying out in all directions – a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. The pressure is now reversed. I feel like I'm going to have a stroke, I push so hard to end the relief, the tormented sublime relief.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." My apologies do nothing to drown out the heinous noises that seem to carry on and reverberate throughout the small cabin indefinitely. If that's not bad enough, I have one more major problem. The privacy screen stops right around shoulder level. I am sitting there, a disembodied head, in the back of the plane, on a bucking bronco for a toilet, all while looking my colleagues, competitors, and clients directly in the eyes. "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!" briefly comes to mind.
I literally could reach out with my left hand and rest it on the shoulder of the person adjacent to me. It was virtually impossible for him, or any of the others, and by others I mean high profile business partners and clients, to avert their eyes. They squirm and try not to look, inclined to do their best to carry on and pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, that they weren't sharing a stall with some guy dropping his intestines out. Releasing smelly, sweaty, shame at 100 feet per second.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry" is all the ashamed disembodied head can say…over and over again. Not that it mattered.
For the older male sexist pigs in the crowd ... I received it in email::
A Buddhist studies for years to become a Coroner, but when he eventually gets a position, he is fired within a week.
Because for every death certificate he had to sign, he put 'birth'.
WARNING - THE FOLLOWING JOKE CONTAINS ADULT SITUATIONS AND BRIEF GRAPHIC LANGUAGE
A backpacker is traveling through Ireland when it starts to rain. He decides to wait out the storm in a nearby pub. The only other person at the bar is an older man staring at his drink. After a few moments of silence the man turns to the backpacker and says in a thick Irish accent:
"You see this bar? I built this bar with my own bare hands. I cut down every tree and made the lumber myself. I toiled away through the wind and cold, but do they call me McGreggor the bar builder? No."
He continued "Do you see that stone wall out there? I built that wall with my own bare hands. I found every stone and placed them just right through the rain and the mud, but do they call me McGreggor the wall builder? No."
"Do ya see that pier out there on the lake? I built that pier with my own bare hands, driving each piling deep into ground so that it would last a lifetime. Do they call me McGreggor the pier builder? No."
"But ya fuck one goat.."
@person your joke is good as it is. No need to advertise in block letters.
Good one ^^^^^^^
Wrong animal. Think 'steer'....
I don't think that funny, is funny.
Maybe I'm weird that way.
No funny stuff thread is complete without this Buddhist joke...
A zen master walks up to a hot dog stand in New York,
And asks the vendor, "make me one with everything".
He then pays with a 20, and is about to walk away,
When he turns and asks, "hold on, where is my change?"
"Ah brother," replies the vendor, "change must come from within".