Joke of the Day : Joke Diary

Joke of the Day For Everybody

Pronunciation

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 30, 2010 | No Comments

One day George W. Bush and Dick Cheney walk into a diner. A waitress walks up to them and asks if she can take their order. Bush leans close to her and says, “Honey, can I have a quickie?” The waitress is appalled and yells at the President about women’s rights and storms away. Cheney then says to Bush, “George, it…s pronounced ‘quiche’.”

Bird Seeds

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 29, 2010 | No Comments

This guy wanted a parrot who talked. He asked the pet store manager if there was a bird who was already speaking. The manager directed the guy to a bird by the window. “This bird has a vocabulary of 1000 words and another 50 phrases that would fit most occasions.”

The guy bought the bird and took it home.

Next day, the guy was back in the pet store to complain. The bird hadn’t said a word.

The pet store manager said, “That’s not unusual. Why not buy a few of the toys the bird had been used to playing with while here and put it in his cage. That should get him more comfortable with his surroundings and loosen him up.” The man paid for the toys and took them home to the bird.

Two days later the guy showed back up. “Still not talking, huh?” asked the manager. “Well, perhaps a birdbath would do the trick.” The credit card was whipped out, the purchase made, and the guy was back home with his new birdbath.

And, like clockwork, two days later the guy was back to complain that the bird STILL hadn’t said one word. This time the shop owner scratched his head and said, “You know, sometimes the bird would be praised in his training and allowed to ring this bell.” The guy was hesitant, but he really wanted to hear the bird talk, so he reluctantly purchased the bell.

Two days later, the guy was back in the shop. This time the pet shop owner suggested the bird was lonely. The guy was upset that he’d have to purchase ANOTHER bird when the first one wasn’t talking. The pet shop owner told him that, no, he wouldn’t have to do that. Just buy a mirror and trick the bird into thinking he had company.

You guessed. Two days later, the man was back in the store, this time with the parrot. The parrot was dead.

“What happened! Didn’t the bird ever talk?” asked the pet store owner.

“Yep. Right before he died it said, ‘Don’t they sell fucking birdseed at that pet store?'”

Hotel is Restricted

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 28, 2010 | No Comments

In the winter of 1926, Thelma Goldstein from Chicago treated herself to her first real vacation in Florida. Being unfamiliar with the area, she wandered into a restricted hotel in North Miami.

“Excuse me,” she said to the manager. “My name is Mrs. Goldstein, and I’d like a small room for two weeks.”

“I’m awfully sorry,” he replied, “but all of our rooms are occupied.”
Just as he said that, a man came down and checked out.

“What luck,” said Mrs. Goldstein. “Now there’s a room.”

“Not so fast, Madam. I’m sorry, but this hotel is restricted. No Jews allowed.”

“Jewish? Who’s Jewish? I happen to be Catholic.”

“I find that hard to believe. Let me ask you, who was the Son of God?”

“Jesus, Son of Mary.”

“Where was he born?”

“In a stable.”

“And why was he born in a stable?”

“Because a schmuck like you wouldn’t let a Jew rent a room in his hotel!”

Famous “New Age” Holistic Doctor

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 27, 2010 | No Comments

A woman who had the worst chronic headache goes to a famous “new age” holistic doctor, as a last resort.

“Doctor, I have tried everything, but my headache just won’t go away.”

The doctor replied, “You have come to the right place. This is what I want you to do: go home, stare at yourself in the mirror, point your index fingers at your temples, and repeat this mantra:

“I really don’t have a headache, I really don’t have a headache”.

Do it as long as it takes, the headache is just going to vanish.”

As she leaves the doctor’s office, skeptical but curious at the same time, she tries the maneuver in front of the mirror in the elevator. Fingers pointed at her temples, she starts repeating “I really don’t have a headache, I really don’t have a headache…”. She has barely said it four times, when she realizes her headache is gone. Shocked and elated, she runs back up to the doctor.

“Doctor, you are a genius! Can I please send you my husband? He’s been having problems in a certain department… how can I put it… ”

“When was the last time you two had sex?”

“About eight years ago.”

“Send him over.”

A few days later, she is waiting with baited breath for her husband to come home from the doctor. He arrives, asks her to wait, and goes straight to the bathroom. When he comes out, he throws her on the couch and starts making wild passionate love to her. When he’s finished, he goes right back to the bathroom.

A few minutes later he comes out, rouses her from her bliss and starts at it again, like an insatiable young man. After another hour of great sex he goes and locks himself in the bathroom again. At this point the wife has become unbearably curious. She tiptoes to the bathroom door, looks through the keyhole, and sees her husband, staring at himself in the mirror, fingers pointed at his temples, repeating:

“That woman is not my wife, that woman is not my wife…..”

Both Doctors

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 26, 2010 | No Comments

One night a man and a woman are both at a bar knocking back a few beers. They start talking and come to realize that they’re both doctors. After about an hour, the man says to the woman.

“Hey. How about if we sleep together tonight. No strings attached. It’ll just be one night of fun.”

The woman doctor agrees to it.

So they go back to her place and he goes in the bedroom. She goes in the bathroom and starts scrubbing up like she’s about to go into the operating room. She scrubs for a good 10 minutes.

Finally she goes in the bedroom and they have sex for an hour or so. Afterwards, the man says to the woman,

“You’re a surgeon, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

The man says, “I could tell by the way you scrubbed up before we started.”

“Oh, that makes sense”, says the woman. “You’re an anesthesiologist aren’t you?”

“Yeah”, says the man, a bit surprised. “How did you know?”

The woman answers, “Because I slept through most of it and didn’t feel a thing.”

Stutter

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 25, 2010 | No Comments

These two guys meet after not having seen each other for many, many years. First guy asks the second guy,

“How have things been going?”

The second guy, speaking very slowly tells the first guy,

“I was almost married.”

The first guy says in amazement,

“Hey, you don’t stutter any more.”

The answer comes, “Yes, I went to a doctor and he told me that if I speak slowly I will not stutter.”

The first friend congratulates him and than asks again about how he was almost married.

“Well, my fiancee and I were sitting on her porch and the dog was scratching his back and I told her that when we are married, she can do that for me. And then she threw the ring in my face.”

“Why should she throw the ring in your face for that?” asks the first friend.

“Well, I speak so slowly, that by the time she looked at the dog, he was licking his balls!”

A St. Patrick’s Day Encounter

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 24, 2010 | No Comments

A man stumbles up to the only other patron in a bar and asks if he could buy him a drink.

“Why of course,” comes the reply.

The first man then asks: “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Ireland,” replies the second man.

The first man responds: “You don’t say, I’m from Ireland too! Let’s have another round to Ireland.”

“Of course,” replies the second man.

Curious, the first man then asks: “Where in Ireland are you from?”
“Dublin,” comes the reply.
“I can’t believe it,” says the first man.
“I’m from Dublin too! Let’s have another drink to Dublin.”
“Of course,” replies the second man.

Curiosity again strikes and the first man asks:
“What school did you go to?”
“Saint Mary’s,” replies the second man.
“I graduated in ’62.”

“This is unbelievable!” the first man says.
“I went to Saint Mary’s and I graduated in ’62, too!”

About that time in comes one of the regulars and sits down at the bar.
“What’s been going on?” he asks the bartender.

“Nothing much,” replies the bartender. “The O’Malley twins are drunk again.”

Ryan’s SteakHouse Restaurant in Raleigh, NC

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 23, 2010 | 1 Comment

If you fail to see any humor in diarrhea and projectile vomiting – you probably won’t enjoy this at all. You have been warned, It’s pretty long too

“This apparently came from the triangle.dining newsgroup, and is about Ryan’s SteakHouse Restaurant in Raleigh, NC. Pretty damn funny.”

“Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth.

Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan’s Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served.

Wednesday night is also kid’s night at Ryan’s, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards.

It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you — in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.

Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble.

There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing.

At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It’s amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress…

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall.

One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit.

I went to the normal stall.

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.

I began “The Move.”

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain “The Move.”

Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time.

It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into “The Move” when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.

Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end.

To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.

At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake…you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of “30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi” or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat.

Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you’re going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit…

While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed.

OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?

One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though.

Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles?

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants…on the inside…with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no fucking toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left.

At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt immediately.

Until I asked her, I’m sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers.

And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being.

She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.

Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan’s making minimum wage of just slightly above.

At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.

He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan’s Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

Hope it never happens to you!!!!!!!!!!!!

Robbed

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 22, 2010 | No Comments

One night, Murphy was walking home when, all of a sudden, a thief jumped on him. Murphy and the thief began to wrestle. They rolled about on the ground and Murphy put up a tremendous fight. However, the thief managed to get the better of him and pinned him to the ground.

The thief then went through Murphy’s pockets and searched him. All the thief could find on Murphy was 25 cents.

The thief was so surprised at this that he asked Murphy why he had bothered to fight so hard for 25 cents.

“Was that all you wanted?” Murphy replied, “I thought you were after the five hundred dollars I’ve got in me shoe!”

Famous Churches Around the World

Joke of the Day Posted on | April 21, 2010 | No Comments

An American decided to write a book about famous churches around the world. For his first chapter he decided to write about American churches.

So he bought a plane ticket and took a trip to Orlando, thinking that he would work his way across the country from South to North.

On his first day he was inside a church taking photographs when he noticed a golden telephone mounted on the wall with a sign that read $10,000 per call”. The American, being intrigued, asked a priest who was strolling by what the telephone was used for. The priest replied that it was a direct line to heaven and that for $10,000 you could talk to God. The American thanked the priest and went along his way.

Next stop was in Atlanta. There, at a very large cathedral, he saw the same golden telephone with the same sign under it. He wondered if this was the same kind of telephone he saw in Orlando and he asked a nearby nun what its purpose was. She told him that it was a direct line to heaven and that for $10,000 he could talk to God. “O.K., thank you,” said the American.

He then traveled to Indianapolis, Washington DC, Philadelphia, Boston, and New York. In every church he saw the same golden telephone with the same $10,000 per call” sign under it.

The American, upon leaving Vermont saw a sign for Canada and decided to see if Canadians had the same phone. He traveled through many towns, cities, and rural villages, again and again there were the same golden telephones, but this time the sign under them read “10 cents per call.”

The American was surprised so he asked a priest about the signs. “Father, I’ve traveled all over America and I’ve seen this same golden telephone in many churches. I’m told that it is a direct line to Heaven, but in every state the price was $10,000 per call. Why is it so cheap here?”

The priest smiled and answered, “Look around you. Mountains, lakes, and wide open spaces. Clean air, clean water, and pastures green. You’re in Canada now Son………… it’s a local call”.

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