Jokes News

During his last visit to the United States, Pope John Paul II was interviewed by Barbara Walters for one of her TV specials. In the interview, Ms. Walters asked the Pope if he had any pet peeves. The Pope nodded and said, “I have two.”

“Can you tell us what they are?” asked Ms. Walters.

“Certainly,” said the Pope. “The first would be those stupid Polish jokes. These jokes are really demeaning and insulting to us Poles. We are portrayed as slow and unintelligent which is so far from the truth. Did you know that the great scientist Marie Curie was born a Pole?”

“Of course I do,” replied Ms. Walters. “If I were in your shoes, I would feel bad as well. What’s your other pet peeve, your Holiness?”

“Those M&M candies.”

“Why M&M’s?” wondered Ms. Walters.

“Because I have a hard time cracking open the shells before I can get to the chocolate.”

A woman goes to the dentist. As he leans over to begin working on her, she grabs his balls. The dentist says, “Madam, I believe you’ve got a hold of my privates.”

The woman replies, “Yes. And we’re both going to be real careful not to hurt each other, aren’t we?”

Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Eating his sister Mary.
He stuck in his thumb
And pulled out a plum
And said, “Where the fuck is her cherry?

A beautiful intern in the White House approches President Clinton and says “Mr. President…would you be interested in some “Super Sex”?

After thinking for a moment, the President replies,” I better take the ’soup’, last time I took the sex I got into trouble”.

Two ropes are walking down the street and see a bar. So the first rope goes into the bar, sits down at a stool, and orders something to drink. The bartender growls, “Are you one of dem ropes?” And the rope replies,”Well, yes, I am.” The bartender yells, “Well, we don’t serve your kind!” And he twirls up the rope and throws him out onto the street.

The second rope gets pretty worried and thinks, “I better disguise myself.” So he ties himself up and ruffles himself around the edges and strolls into the bar. He sits down at a stool and orders something to drink.

The bartender looks at him suspiciously and growls, “Are you one of dem ropes?”

The rope replies, “No, I’m a frayed knot.”

Parents are embarrassing, Take my dad. Every time a friend comes to stay the night, he does something that makes my face go red.

Now don’t get me wrong. He is a terrific dad. I love him but sometimes I think he will never grow up. He loves playing practical jokes.

This behavior first started one night when Anna came to sleep over. Unknown to me, dad sneaks into my room and puts Doona, our cat, on the spare bed. Doona loves sleeping on beds. What cat doesn’t? Next dad unwraps a little package that he has bought at the magic shop. Do you know what is in it? Can you believe this? It is a little piece of brown plastic cat poo. Pretend cat poo. He puts this piece of cat poo on Anna’s pillow and pulls up the blankets. Then he tiptoes out and closes the door.

I do not know any of this is happening. Annna and I are sitting up late watching videos. We eat chips covered in sauce and drink two whole bottles of Diet Coke. Finally we decide to go to bed. Anna takes ages and ages cleaning her teeth. She is one of those kids who is into health. She has a thing about germs. She always places paper on the toilet seat before she sits down. She is So clean.

She puts on her tracksuit bottoms and gets ready for bed. Then she pulls back the blankets. Suddenly she sees the bit of cat’s poo. “Ooh, ooh, ooh,” she screams. “Oh, look, disgusting. Foul. Look what the cat’s done on my pillow.” Suddenly dad bursts into the room. “What’s up, girls?” he says with a silly grin on his face. “What’s all the fuss about?”

Anna is pulling a terrible face. “Look,” she says in horror as she points to the pillow.

Dad goes and examines the plastic poo. “Don’t let a little thing like that worry you,” he says. He picks up the plastic poo and pops it into his mouth. He gives a grin. “D’licioush,” he says through closed lips.

“Aargh,” screams Anna. She rushes over to the window and throws up chips, sauce, and Diet Coke. Then she looks at dad in disgust.

Dad is a bit taken aback at Anna being sick. “It’s okay,” he says, taking the plastic poo out of his mouth. “It’s not real.” Dad gives a laugh and off he goes. And off goes Anna. She decides that she wants to go home to her own house. And I don’t blame her.

“Dad,” I yell after Anna is gone. “I am never speaking to you again.” “Don’t be such a baby,” he says. “It’s only a little joke.” It’s always the same. Whenever a friend comes over to stay, dad plays practical jokes. We have fake hands in the trash, exploding drinks, pepper in the food, short-sheeted beds, and Dracula’s blood seeping out of dad’s mouth. Some of the kids think its great. They wish their dads were like mine. But I hate it. I just wish he were normal. He plays trick on Bianca. And Yasmin. And Nga. And Karla. None of them go home like Anna. But each time I am so embarrassed.

And now I am worried. Cynthia is coming to stay. She is the school captain. She is beautiful. She is smart. Everyone wants to be her friend. And now she is sleeping over at our house. “Dad,” I say. “No practical jokes. Cynthia is very mature. Her father would never play practical jokes. She might not understand.” “No worries,” says dad.

Cynthia arrives, but we do not watch videos. We slave away on our English homework. We plan our speeches for the debate in the morning. We go over our parts in the school play. After all that, we go out and practice shooting baskets, because Cynthia is captain of the basketball team. Every now and then I pop into the bedroom to check for practical jokes. It is best to be on the safe side. We also do the dishes because Cynthia offers–yes–offers to do it.

Finally it is time for bed. Cynthia changes into her nightie in the bathroom and then joins me in the bedroom. “The cat’s on my bed,” she says. “But it doesn’t matter. I like cats.” She pulls back the blankets. And screams. “Aagh. Cat poo. Filthy cat poo on my pillow.” She yells and yells and yells. Just then dad bursts into the room with a silly grin on his face. He goes over and looks at the brown object on the pillow. He picks it up and pops it into his mouth. But this time he does not give a grin. His face freezes over. “Are you looking for this?” I say. I hold up a bit of plastic poo that Dad had hidden under the blankets earlier that night. Dad looks at the cat. Then he rushes over to the window and is sick. Cynthia and I laugh like mad. We do love a good joke.

Two buddies were sharing drinks while discussing their wives. “Does your wife ever… well, you know… does she… well, let you do it doggie style?” asked one of the two.

“Well, not exactly,” his friend replied, “She’s more into the trick dog aspect of it.”

“Oh, I see. Kinky stuff, huh?”

“Well, not exactly. Whenever I make a move, she’s most likely to roll over and play dead.”

This is a bricklayer’s accident report that was printed in the newsletter of the English equivalent of the Workers’ Compensation Board. This is this Bricklayer’s report … a true story.

Dear Sir;

I am writing in response to your request for additional information in Block #3 of the accident reporting form. I put “Poor Planning” as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation and I trust the following details will be sufficient.

I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident, I was working alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found I had some bricks left over which when weighed later were found to weigh 240 lbs. Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley which was attached to the side of the building at the sixth floor.

Securing the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to insure a slow descent of the 240 lbs of bricks. You will note on the accident reporting form that my weight is 135 lbs.

Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel which was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed. This explains the fractured skull, minor abrasions and the broken collarbone, as listed in Section 3, accident reporting form.

Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers of my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley which I mentioned in Paragraph 2 of this correspondence. Fortunately by this time I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of the excruciating pain I was now beginning to experience.

At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of bricks hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, the barrel weighed approximately 50 lbs. I refer you again to my weight. As you might imagine, I began a rapid descent down the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth and severe lacerations of my legs and lower body.

Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and fortunately only three vertebrae were cracked.

I am sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move and watching the empty barrel six stories above me, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope and I lay there watching the empty barrel begin its journey back onto me.