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Yeps, writing in this thread is like beating a dead horse :) (Posted in the Joking around thread and moved here)

How about making it into one where we exchange "trade jokes" and we can all relax and smile?

I'll start the ball rolling:

A girl is driving along the expressway listening to the radio when she hears a song she really, really likes. When the song is over the announcer says the title of the record was, "Hot Lips and Tender Kisses."

When she gets home she's very excited about the new song and decides to call her local music store to see if they have the record. Hurriedly, and excitedly, she dials the store's number. But in her excitement, she unknowingly misdialed and got an auto repair shop instead.

"Hello," the mechanic answers.

"Oh, yes! Do you have Hot Lips and Tender Kisses?" the girl asks.

The mechanic was puzzled, but says, "Well, no, but I've got hot pants and seven inches."

"Oh, is that a record?" she says.

"No," he says, "but it's better than average."
 
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Since a little levity helps keep us sane in the shop, (if there is such a thing as being sane in this business) I'm going to experiment here with a thread devoted to humor.

Warning... Anything I consider in bad taste will be deleted... Period...

I'll start it with a post by Gordon B. Clarke who actually requested such a thread.

rj
 
Since a little levity helps keep us sane in the shop, (if there is such a thing as being sane in this business) I'm going to experiment here with a thread devoted to humor.

Warning... Anything I consider in bad taste will be deleted... Period...

I'll start it with a post by Gordon B. Clarke who actually requested such a thread.

rj

Thanks :) and I hope we can all keep it reasonably clean. A good joke is one where (amost) everyone can smile or laugh and no one gets offended.

Here's another couple -

Surgery;
Five surgeons were taking a coffee break and were discussing their work. The first said, "I think accountants are the easiest to operate on. You open them up and everything inside is numbered."
The second said, "I think librarians are the easiest to operate on. You open them up and everything inside is in alphabetical order."
The third said, "I like to operate on electricians. You open them up and everything inside is color-coded."
The fourth one said, "I like to operate on lawyers. They're heartless, spineless, gutless, and their heads and their butts are interchangeable."
Fifth surgeon said, "I like Engineers...they always understand when you have a few parts left over at the end..."


and

REAL ENGINEERS... · Real Engineers consider themselves well dressed if their socks match.
· Real Engineers buy their spouses a set of matched screwdrivers for their birthday.
· Real Engineers wear mustaches or beards for "efficiency". Not because they're lazy.
· Real engineers have a non-technical vocabulary of 800 words.
· Real Engineers think a "biting wit" is their fox terrier.
· Real Engineers know the second law of thermodynamics - but not their own shirt size.
· Real Engineers repair their own cameras, telephones, televisions, watches, and automatic transmissions.
· Real Engineers say "It's 70 degrees Fahrenheit, 25 degrees Celsius, and 298 degrees Kelvin" and all you say is "Isn't it a nice day"
· Real Engineers give you the feeling you're having a conversation with a dial tone or busy signal.
· Real Engineers wear badges so they don't forget who they are. Sometimes a note is attached saying "Don't offer me a ride today. I drove my own car".
· Real Engineers' politics run towards acquiring a parking space with their name on it and an office with a window.
· Real Engineers know the "ABC's of Infrared" from A to B.
· Real Engineers rotate their tires for laughs.
· Real Engineers will make four sets of drawings (with seven revisions) before making a bird bath.
· Real Engineers' briefcases contain a Phillips screwdriver, a copy of "Quantum Physics", and a half of a peanut butter sandwich.
· Real Engineers don't find the above at all funny.


Now I'll give others a chance :willy_nilly:
 
To the citizens of the United States of America

from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II




Greetings to you, my subjects.



In light of your failure in recent years to nominate competent candidates
for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give
notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately. (You
should look up 'revocation' in the Oxford English Dictionary.)



Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over
all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does
not fancy).



Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America
without the need for further elections.



Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated
next year to determine whether any of you noticed.



To aid in the transition to a British Crown dependency, the following rules
are introduced with immediate effect:



-----------------------

1. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'colour,' favour,'
'labour' and 'neighbour.' Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut'
without skipping half the letters, and the suffix '-ize' will be replaced by
the suffix '-'ise.' Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary
to acceptable levels (you might want to look up 'vocabulary').

------------------------

2. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as
''like' and 'you know' is an unacceptable and inefficient form of
communication. There is no such thing as U.S .English. We will let Microsoft
know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take
into account the reinstated letter 'u'' and the elimination of '-ize.'

-------------------

3. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.

-----------------

4.You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or
therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that
you're not quite ready to be independent. Guns should only be used for
shooting grouse. If you can't sort things out without suing someone or
speaking to a therapist, then you're not ready to shoot grouse.

----------------------

5. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more
dangerous than a vegetable peeler. Although a permit will be required if you
wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

----------------------

6. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start
driving on the left side with immediate effect. At the same time, you will
go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion
tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the
British sense of humour.

--------------------

7. The former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been
calling gasoline) of roughly $10/US gallon. Get used to it.
It's all your blasted fault the prices are so high here.

-------------------

8. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are
not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are
properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and
dressed not with ketchup but with vinegar.

-------------------

9. The cold, tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer
at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer,
and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as
Lager. South African beer is also acceptable, as they are pound for pound
the greatest sporting nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer.
They are also part of the British Commonwealth - see what it did for them.
American brands will be referred to as Near-Frozen Gnat's Urine, so that all
can be sold without risk of further confusion.

---------------------

10. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good
guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English
characters. Watching Andie Macdowell attempt English dialogue in Four
Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one's ears removed
with a cheese grater. Ditto Kevin Costner as Robin Hood.

---------------------

11. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of
proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in
time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American
football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or
wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of nancies).

---------------------

12. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an
event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of
America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware there is a world beyond your
borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will
let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their
deliveries.

--------------------

13. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.

-----------------

14. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's
Government will be with you shortly to ensure the acquisition of all monies
due (backdated to 1776).

---------------

15. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 p.m. with proper cups and saucers,
and never mugs, with high quality biscuits (not cookies) and cakes; plus
strawberries (with cream) when in season.
 
Tom had been in the liquor business for 25 years. Finally sick of the stress he quits his job and buys 50 acres of land in Alaska as far from humanity as possible. He sees the postman once a week and gets groceries once a month. Otherwise it's total peace and quiet.
After six months or so, of almost total isolation, someone knocks on his door. He opens it and a huge, bearded man standing there.
'Name's Lars, your neighbor from forty miles up the road. Having a Christmas party Friday night... Thought you might like to come. About 5.00?'
'Great', says Tom, 'after six months out here I'm ready to meet some local folks. Thank you.'
As Lars is leaving, he stops. 'Gotta warn you......be some drinkin'.'
'Not a problem' says Tom. 'After 25 years in the business, I can drink with the best of 'em.'
Again, the big man starts to leave and stops. 'More 'n' likely gonna be some fightin' too.'
'Well, I get along with people, I'll be all right. I'll be there. Thanks again.'
'More'n likely be some wild sex, too,'
'Now that's really not a problem' says Tom, warming to the idea 'I've been all alone for six months! I'll definitely be there. By the way, what should I wear?'
'Don't much matter ..... Just gonna be the two of us.'
 
I'm actally being serious for a minute. Gordon B. Clarke doesn't sound like me. I usually only go by the name Gordon, but when I started to register Gordon was taken so I added Clarke, which was also taken. The B. (for Bruce) was put in out of "desperation" :rolleyes5:

I forgot that my name isn't so unusual out there in the big world as I'm the only one in Denmark with the name I have and once received a letter (without any delay) addressed only to
Gordon Clarke
Denmark

Pls. don't try this as I don't want to enrage the postal service ;)
 
A man with a gun goes into a bank and demands money. After he gets the money, he turns to a customer and asks,

'Did you see me rob this bank?'
The man replied, 'Yes sir, I did.'
The robber then shoots him in the head, killing him instantly.

He then turns to a couple standing next to him and asks the man,
'Did you see me rob this bank?'
The man replied, 'No sir, I didn't, but my wife did!'

When I die, I want to go peacefully like my Grandfather did, in his sleep---not screaming, like the passengers in his car.

Statistically,six out of seven dwarves are not happy.

A Muslim was sitting next to Paddy on a plane.
Paddy ordered a whiskey.
The stewardess asked the Muslim if he'd like a drink.
He replied in disgust 'I'd rather be raped by a dozen whores than let liquor touch my lips!'

Paddy handed his drink back & said 'Me too, I didn't know we had a choice!'

Q. What do you do if a Blonde throws a pin at you?
A. Run, she's got a grenade in her mouth!

Normal people believe that if it isn't broken, don't fix it.
Engineers believe that if it isn't broken, it doesn't have enough features

Police are seeking a man who has so far stabbed six people to death with knitting needles, all in the same area. He seems to be following some sort of pattern..
 
A husband and wife are shopping in their local supermarket. The husband picks up a case of Budweiser and puts it in their cart.
"What do you think you're doing?" asks the wife.
"They're on sale, only $10 for 24 cans," he replies.
"Put them back! We can't afford them," orders the wife.
They carry on shopping.
A few aisles farther on the woman picks up a $20 jar
of face cream and puts it in the basket.
"What do you think you're doing?" asks the husband.
"Its my face cream. It makes me look beautiful," replies the wife.
Her husband retorts, "So does 24 cans of Budweiser, and it's half the price."
 
A fisherman from the city was out fishing on a lake in a small boat.
He noticed another man in a small boat open his tackle box and take out a mirror. Being curious the man rowed over and asked, "What is the mirror for?"

"That's my secret way to catch fish," said the other man. "Shine the mirror on the top of the water. The fish notice the spot of sun on the water above and they swim to the surface. Then I just reach down and net them and pull them into the boat."

"Wow! Does that really work?"

"You bet it does."

"Would you be interested in selling that mirror? I'll give you $30 for it."

"Well, okay."

After the money was transferred, the city fisherman asked, "By the way, how many fish have you caught this week?"

"You're the sixth," he said
 
BUREAUCRATS:

A young man walking through San Francisco's Chinatown noticed a shop with the name "Olaf the Swede's Chinese Laundry."

His curiosity got the better of him and he walked into the shop.

Seeing an elderly Chinese man standing behind the counter, he asked to see Olaf:

Old man - "Speaking."

Young man - "You're Olaf the Swede!"

Old man - "Yes."

Young man - " ... but, you're Chinese ... aren't you?"

Old man - "Yes."

Young man - "Then, how did you come to be named Olaf the Swede?"

Old man - "It happened many years ago when I first came to America. I stood in line behind a large blonde man and when the lady from Immigration asked his name he replied "Olaf the Swede" and she wrote it in her book. Then it was my turn, she asked my name and I said "Sam Ting" ... and I have been "Olaf the Swede" ever since.



ENGINEERS:

An engineer got a large stuck in a tunnel.

Soon a machinist came along and found that the truck's load was wedged against the ceiling.

The machinist suggested that the engineer let the air out of the tires.

The engineer replied angrily, "You moron! What good will that do? It's obvious the truck is stuck on top!"
 
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething
cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over
forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart
the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber
cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a
bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my
insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the
occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I
had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for my girlfriend. I
completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way
back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must
Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent
cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.

I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I
have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your
convenience:

0. Occupied.
1. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the
occupied one.
2. Poo on seat.
3. Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on
seat.
4. No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base
of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou
and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ****ter. I wasn't happy
about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet
sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and
then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a
cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it
needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut.

The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. pooper was blathering to
Mrs. pooper about the poopy day he had. I sat there, cramping and
miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged
on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy
day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know
in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would
be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no
longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other
hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was
rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound
of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being
torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily
modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I
managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my *** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's
continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the
bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a
gateway to •••• had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way
under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald"
fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could
hear that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could
swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes,
poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of
stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous
force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had
actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on
to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation
made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible...
throw up...in my mouth...not... make it... tell the kids... love
them...oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum
at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was
winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by
string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into
the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly
quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A
final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks
plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I
heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was
thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door
behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the
damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I
knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle
that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with
filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the
bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the
bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around
for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my
supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my
anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring
himself to poop in public -- and I doubt ••••• ever again answer his
cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never
talk on your phone in the bathroom. Do your business and get out.
 
Oy! ARB - Ditto - I'm dyin' here with tears and laughter.

Reminds me of the "The Steakhouse Incident" written by a guy here in Raleigh many years ago. Google it and you'll find it.

walt
 
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