Jokes
- Thread starter dgabriel
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Q: What do you call 4000 Republicans at the bottom of the sea?
A: A good start!!
A: A good start!!
A pair of traders are away on a shooting weekend, when they approach a pond full of ducks.
At once, the first trader loads his gun, aims and shoots missing the duck by about a meter to the right. Without thinking twice, he aims, shoots and again misses the duck, but by about a meter to the left this time. Then, with a satisfied look on his face, he lowers the gun and starts walking away.
Surprised, the second trader asks him where he is going as he replies:
"Well, on average the duck is as good as dead!"
At once, the first trader loads his gun, aims and shoots missing the duck by about a meter to the right. Without thinking twice, he aims, shoots and again misses the duck, but by about a meter to the left this time. Then, with a satisfied look on his face, he lowers the gun and starts walking away.
Surprised, the second trader asks him where he is going as he replies:
"Well, on average the duck is as good as dead!"
YARD WORK AS VIEWED FROM HEAVEN
God: Francis, you know all about gardens and nature; what in the world is going on down there in the U.S.? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistles and the stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought, and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts
butterflies, honeybees, and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of color by now. All I see are patches of green.
St. Francis: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. They are called the Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers "weeds" and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.
God: Grass? But it is so boring, it's not colorful. It doesn't attract
butterflies, bees or birds, only grubs and sod worms. It's temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want grass growing there?
St. Francis: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it has grown a little, they cut it....sometimes two times a week.
God: They cut it? Do they bale it like hay?
St. Francis: Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.
God: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?
St. Francis: No sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.
God: Now let me get this straight...they fertilize it to make it grow and when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?
St. Francis: Yes, sir.
God: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.
St. Francis: You aren't going to believe this Lord, but when the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.
God: What nonsense! At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep the moisture in the soil and
protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves become compost to enhance the soil. It's a natural circle of life.
St. Francis: You'd better sit down, Lord. As soon as the leaves fall, the Suburbanites rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.
God: No way! What do they do to protect the shrubs and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?
St Francis: After throwing the leaves away, they go out and buy something called mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.
God: And where do they get this mulch?
St. Francis: They cut down the trees and grind them up to make mulch.
God: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. Saint Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?
St. Catherine: "Dumb and Dumber," Lord. It's a really stupid movie about....
God: Never mind--I think I just heard the whole story from Saint Francis!
God: Francis, you know all about gardens and nature; what in the world is going on down there in the U.S.? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistles and the stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect no-maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought, and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracts
butterflies, honeybees, and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of color by now. All I see are patches of green.
St. Francis: It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. They are called the Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers "weeds" and went to great lengths to kill them and replace them with grass.
God: Grass? But it is so boring, it's not colorful. It doesn't attract
butterflies, bees or birds, only grubs and sod worms. It's temperamental with temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want grass growing there?
St. Francis: Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it has grown a little, they cut it....sometimes two times a week.
God: They cut it? Do they bale it like hay?
St. Francis: Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags.
God: They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?
St. Francis: No sir, just the opposite. They pay to throw it away.
God: Now let me get this straight...they fertilize it to make it grow and when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?
St. Francis: Yes, sir.
God: These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work.
St. Francis: You aren't going to believe this Lord, but when the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it.
God: What nonsense! At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep the moisture in the soil and
protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves become compost to enhance the soil. It's a natural circle of life.
St. Francis: You'd better sit down, Lord. As soon as the leaves fall, the Suburbanites rake them into great piles and pay to have them hauled away.
God: No way! What do they do to protect the shrubs and tree roots in the winter to keep the soil moist and loose?
St Francis: After throwing the leaves away, they go out and buy something called mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves.
God: And where do they get this mulch?
St. Francis: They cut down the trees and grind them up to make mulch.
God: Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. Saint Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?
St. Catherine: "Dumb and Dumber," Lord. It's a really stupid movie about....
God: Never mind--I think I just heard the whole story from Saint Francis!
An old man lived alone out in the country. He wanted to dig his yearly
collard green garden, but it was always very hard work for him because
the ground was hard. His only son, who used to help him, was in prison.
The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament.
Dear Son,
I am feeling pretty bad because it look like I won't be able to plant my
collard green garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging
up a garden. If you were here my troubles would be over. I know you
would dig the plot for me.
Love Dad
A few days later he received a letter from his son...
Dear Daddy,
Whatever you do, don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the
BODIES.
Love ,
Your Son
At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived
and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies.
They apologized to the old man and left.
That same day the old man received another letter from
his son...
Dear Daddy,
You can go ahead and plant the collard greens now.
that's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love Your Son
collard green garden, but it was always very hard work for him because
the ground was hard. His only son, who used to help him, was in prison.
The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament.
Dear Son,
I am feeling pretty bad because it look like I won't be able to plant my
collard green garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging
up a garden. If you were here my troubles would be over. I know you
would dig the plot for me.
Love Dad
A few days later he received a letter from his son...
Dear Daddy,
Whatever you do, don't dig up that garden. That's where I buried the
BODIES.
Love ,
Your Son
At 4 a.m. the next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived
and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies.
They apologized to the old man and left.
That same day the old man received another letter from
his son...
Dear Daddy,
You can go ahead and plant the collard greens now.
that's the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love Your Son
Just noticed this thread was on page 666, so thought I would google around for a 666 joke, and this is what I found... Enjoy! 
+-*/ Math_Wiz
============================
The Devil and Neilochka by Neil Kramer
I was feeling depressed, and even Wellbutrin didnât help. My marriage was in shambles. My career was going nowhere. Suddenly, Satan appeared in a pillar of smoke, like Bon Jovi at a rock concert from 1990.
âNeilochka,â he said. âHow would you like to have all your dreams fulfilled? Love, success, everything?
âSounds great,â I said.
âBut thereâs one hitch. You have to sell me your soul.â
âOK.â
Satan handed me a contract. I looked at it and quickly signed it. Years passed. My marriage with Sophia flourished. The top five best-selling novels were all written by me. The top single in America was my song, âSophia.â Dooce quit blogging to become my typist and foot masseuse. Life was perfect. One day, there was a knock on the door. It was Satan.
âHello, Neilochka,â he said.
âOh, hi, Satan. Iâm sorry. You surprised me. Iâm having a little dinner party tonight and I was expecting Gore Vidal, Scarlett Johannson, or Mikhail Gorbachev.â
âIâm here for my payment. You owe me your soul.â
âOh, right. Sure. Iâll be right back.â
I left Satan at the door. In a few minutes, I returned carrying a large platter of Fillet of Sole Florentine, one of Sophiaâs best dishes.
âBut you know, Satan, youâre really putting me in a jam. What is Sophia going to serve for dinner now?â
âNeilochka, you must be confused. I donât want this sole. I want your soul.â
âOh yeah?â
I took out Satanâs contract and unrolled the scroll.
âLook here, Satan â it says here: âWhen I return in 5 years time, you must give me your sole.â So, do you want it or not?â
Satan pounded his fist against his leg.
âDarn it! My bad spelling foiled me again!â
Satan looked pretty down on himself.
âItâs your own faultâ I said. âMaybe if you had spent more time studying in school rather than doing evil deeds, you would have become a better speller.â
âThis is not the only time Iâve screwed up. Just last week I couldnât collect on a contract with this guy, because it said that June 4th will be the last âsundaeâ of his life. And then I signed it âPrints of Darkness.â
I could tell his self-esteem was shot. I quietly thanked Mrs. Goldfarb, my first grade teacher, for teaching me about the importance of spelling. I looked over at Satan and felt pity. Sure he was evil, but he was only doing his job.
âYou know. We have plenty of food for another guest tonight. Sophia is an excellent cook. Oh, and I also have last weekâs Scripps National Spelling Bee on Tivo. I think you might enjoy it.â
Satan was surprised by the offer. I guess he doesnât get invited over too much because of his really bad breath.
âIs Scarlett Johannson really coming to dinner? She has great knockers!â
âTell me about it, you devil!â
We both laughed. It was good to see some color coming back into his face. I showed Satan into the living room.
âHey, Sophia,â I yelled into the kitchen. âAdd another setting. Satanâs in the house!â
+-*/ Math_Wiz
============================
The Devil and Neilochka by Neil Kramer
I was feeling depressed, and even Wellbutrin didnât help. My marriage was in shambles. My career was going nowhere. Suddenly, Satan appeared in a pillar of smoke, like Bon Jovi at a rock concert from 1990.
âNeilochka,â he said. âHow would you like to have all your dreams fulfilled? Love, success, everything?
âSounds great,â I said.
âBut thereâs one hitch. You have to sell me your soul.â
âOK.â
Satan handed me a contract. I looked at it and quickly signed it. Years passed. My marriage with Sophia flourished. The top five best-selling novels were all written by me. The top single in America was my song, âSophia.â Dooce quit blogging to become my typist and foot masseuse. Life was perfect. One day, there was a knock on the door. It was Satan.
âHello, Neilochka,â he said.
âOh, hi, Satan. Iâm sorry. You surprised me. Iâm having a little dinner party tonight and I was expecting Gore Vidal, Scarlett Johannson, or Mikhail Gorbachev.â
âIâm here for my payment. You owe me your soul.â
âOh, right. Sure. Iâll be right back.â
I left Satan at the door. In a few minutes, I returned carrying a large platter of Fillet of Sole Florentine, one of Sophiaâs best dishes.
âBut you know, Satan, youâre really putting me in a jam. What is Sophia going to serve for dinner now?â
âNeilochka, you must be confused. I donât want this sole. I want your soul.â
âOh yeah?â
I took out Satanâs contract and unrolled the scroll.
âLook here, Satan â it says here: âWhen I return in 5 years time, you must give me your sole.â So, do you want it or not?â
Satan pounded his fist against his leg.
âDarn it! My bad spelling foiled me again!â
Satan looked pretty down on himself.
âItâs your own faultâ I said. âMaybe if you had spent more time studying in school rather than doing evil deeds, you would have become a better speller.â
âThis is not the only time Iâve screwed up. Just last week I couldnât collect on a contract with this guy, because it said that June 4th will be the last âsundaeâ of his life. And then I signed it âPrints of Darkness.â
I could tell his self-esteem was shot. I quietly thanked Mrs. Goldfarb, my first grade teacher, for teaching me about the importance of spelling. I looked over at Satan and felt pity. Sure he was evil, but he was only doing his job.
âYou know. We have plenty of food for another guest tonight. Sophia is an excellent cook. Oh, and I also have last weekâs Scripps National Spelling Bee on Tivo. I think you might enjoy it.â
Satan was surprised by the offer. I guess he doesnât get invited over too much because of his really bad breath.
âIs Scarlett Johannson really coming to dinner? She has great knockers!â
âTell me about it, you devil!â
We both laughed. It was good to see some color coming back into his face. I showed Satan into the living room.
âHey, Sophia,â I yelled into the kitchen. âAdd another setting. Satanâs in the house!â
KNOW YOUR STATE MOTTO
Alabama: Hell Yes, We Have Electricity.
Alaska: 11,623 Eskimos Can't Be Wrong!
Arizona: But It's A Dry Heat.
Arkansas: Literacy Ain't Everything.
California: By 30, Our Women Have More Plastic Than Your Honda.
Colorado: If You Don't Ski, Don't Bother.
Connecticut: Like Massachusetts, Only The Kennedy's Don't Own It Yet.
Delaware: We Really Do Like The Chemicals In Our Water.
Florida: Ask Us About Our Grandkids.
Georgia: We Put The Fun In Fundamentalist Extremism.
Hawaii: Haka Tiki Mou Sha'ami Leeki Toru (Death To Mainland Scum, Leave
Your Money)
Idaho: More Than Just Potatoes...Well, Okay, We're Not, But The Potatoes
Sure Are Real Good!
Illinois: Please, Don't Pronounce the "S"!
Indiana: 2 Billion Years Tidal Wave Free.
Iowa: We Do Amazing Things With Corn.
Kansas: First Of The Rectangle States.
Kentucky: Five Million People; Fifteen Last Names!
Louisiana: We're Not ALL Drunk Cajun Wackos, But That's Our Tourism
Campaign.
Maine: We're Really Cold, But We Have Cheap Lobster.
Maryland: If You Can Dream It, We Can Tax It
Massachusetts: Our Taxes Are Lower Than Sweden's.
Michigan: First Line Of Defense From The Canadians.
Minnesota: 10,000 Lakes...And 10,000,000,000,000 Mosquitoes!
Mississippi: Come And Feel Better About Your Own State.
Missouri: Your Federal Flood Relief Tax Dollars At Work.
Montana: Land Of The Big Sky, The Unabomber, Right-wing Crazies,
and Very Little Else.
Nebraska: Ask About Our State Motto Contest.
Nevada: Hookers and Poker!
New Hampshire: Go Away And Leave Us Alone!
New Jersey: You Want A ##$%##! Motto? I Got Yer ##$%##! Motto
Right here!
New Mexico: Lizards Make Excellent Pets.
New York: You Have The Right To Remain Silent, You Have The Right
To An Attorney...
North Carolina: Tobacco Is A Vegetable.
North Dakota: We Really Are One Of The 50 States!
Ohio: At Least We're Not Michigan!
Oklahoma: Like The Play, But No Singing.
Oregon: Spotted Owl...It's What's For Dinner!
Pennsylvania: Cook With Coal
Rhode Island: We're Not REALLY An Island.
South Carolina: Remember The Civil War? Well, We Didn't Actually Surrender
Yet!
South Dakota: Closer Than North Dakota.
Tennessee: The Edyoocashun State.
Texas: Se Hablo Ingles.
Utah: Our Jesus Is Better Than Your Jesus!
Vermont: Ay, Yep!
Virginia: Who Says Government Stiffs And Slackjaw Yokels Don't Mix?
Washington: We have more rain than you do.
West Virginia: One Big Happy Family...Really!
Wisconsin: Come Cut The Cheese!
Wyoming: Where Men Are Men... And The Sheep Are Scared!
Alabama: Hell Yes, We Have Electricity.
Alaska: 11,623 Eskimos Can't Be Wrong!
Arizona: But It's A Dry Heat.
Arkansas: Literacy Ain't Everything.
California: By 30, Our Women Have More Plastic Than Your Honda.
Colorado: If You Don't Ski, Don't Bother.
Connecticut: Like Massachusetts, Only The Kennedy's Don't Own It Yet.
Delaware: We Really Do Like The Chemicals In Our Water.
Florida: Ask Us About Our Grandkids.
Georgia: We Put The Fun In Fundamentalist Extremism.
Hawaii: Haka Tiki Mou Sha'ami Leeki Toru (Death To Mainland Scum, Leave
Your Money)
Idaho: More Than Just Potatoes...Well, Okay, We're Not, But The Potatoes
Sure Are Real Good!
Illinois: Please, Don't Pronounce the "S"!
Indiana: 2 Billion Years Tidal Wave Free.
Iowa: We Do Amazing Things With Corn.
Kansas: First Of The Rectangle States.
Kentucky: Five Million People; Fifteen Last Names!
Louisiana: We're Not ALL Drunk Cajun Wackos, But That's Our Tourism
Campaign.
Maine: We're Really Cold, But We Have Cheap Lobster.
Maryland: If You Can Dream It, We Can Tax It
Massachusetts: Our Taxes Are Lower Than Sweden's.
Michigan: First Line Of Defense From The Canadians.
Minnesota: 10,000 Lakes...And 10,000,000,000,000 Mosquitoes!
Mississippi: Come And Feel Better About Your Own State.
Missouri: Your Federal Flood Relief Tax Dollars At Work.
Montana: Land Of The Big Sky, The Unabomber, Right-wing Crazies,
and Very Little Else.
Nebraska: Ask About Our State Motto Contest.
Nevada: Hookers and Poker!
New Hampshire: Go Away And Leave Us Alone!
New Jersey: You Want A ##$%##! Motto? I Got Yer ##$%##! Motto
Right here!
New Mexico: Lizards Make Excellent Pets.
New York: You Have The Right To Remain Silent, You Have The Right
To An Attorney...
North Carolina: Tobacco Is A Vegetable.
North Dakota: We Really Are One Of The 50 States!
Ohio: At Least We're Not Michigan!
Oklahoma: Like The Play, But No Singing.
Oregon: Spotted Owl...It's What's For Dinner!
Pennsylvania: Cook With Coal
Rhode Island: We're Not REALLY An Island.
South Carolina: Remember The Civil War? Well, We Didn't Actually Surrender
Yet!
South Dakota: Closer Than North Dakota.
Tennessee: The Edyoocashun State.
Texas: Se Hablo Ingles.
Utah: Our Jesus Is Better Than Your Jesus!
Vermont: Ay, Yep!
Virginia: Who Says Government Stiffs And Slackjaw Yokels Don't Mix?
Washington: We have more rain than you do.
West Virginia: One Big Happy Family...Really!
Wisconsin: Come Cut The Cheese!
Wyoming: Where Men Are Men... And The Sheep Are Scared!
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