The Official Jokes Thread

James

Staff member
TICK WARNING!

I hate it when people forward bogus warnings, and I have even done it myself a couple times, unintentionally, but this one is real, and it's important.

Please send this warning to everyone on your e- mail list.

If someone comes to your front door saying they are checking for ticks due to the warm weather and asks you to take your clothes off and dance around with your arms up…….


DO NOT DO IT!! THIS IS A SCAM!!


They only want to see you naked.

I wish I'd gotten this yesterday. I feel so stupid.
 
TICK WARNING!

I hate it when people forward bogus warnings, and I have even done it myself a couple times, unintentionally, but this one is real, and it's important.

Please send this warning to everyone on your e- mail list.

If someone comes to your front door saying they are checking for ticks due to the warm weather and asks you to take your clothes off and dance around with your arms up…….


DO NOT DO IT!! THIS IS A SCAM!!


They only want to see you naked.

I wish I'd gotten this yesterday. I feel so stupid.

:shocked: :thinking:
 
An old man goes to the Wizard to ask him if he can remove a curse he has been living with for the last 40 years.


The Wizard says, 'Maybe, but you will have to tell me the exact words that were used to put the curse on you.'


The old man says without hesitation, 'I now pronounce you man and wife.'
 
A recent e-mail.


Comic Side of Bin Laden




A little humor for a mass murderer.







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



"The death of Osama bin Laden last Sunday has apparently damaged our relationship with al Qaeda. Al Qaeda has released a statement vowing to make America pay for bin Laden's death. Which - I'm pretty sure we did pay for his death. We paid for the whole thing and even took care of the funeral arrangements. Maybe a thank you would be nice." –Jimmy Kimmel


"Osama Bin Laden's supporters want to rename the Arabian Sea where his body was dumped Martyr Sea. Really? Martyr Sea? Hiding in your bedroom for six years? How about Chicken of the Sea?" –Jay Leno


"Osama bin Laden is in the ocean. How ironic. Once again surrounded by seals." –Jay Leno


"Osama bin Laden had money and telephone numbers sewn into his clothes. Apparently we got him just as he was on his way to summer camp." -Jay Leno


"Osama bin Laden's death has been in the news all day. Leftish stations are going, 'President Obama saves the world.' Stations on the right are going, 'Obama kills fellow Muslim.'" –Craig Ferguson


"How about those Navy Seals. We're getting our money's worth there. They broke into Osama bin Laden's compound with 12-foot walls topped by barbed wire, and fired a warning shot into his head." –David Letterman

"Apparently, members of Al Qaeda are online slamming the U.S. I don't understand why they're so upset. Everyone in Al Qaeda just got a promotion." –Craig Ferguson

"Bin Laden was buried at sea. Or as Dick Cheney calls it, 'the ultimate waterboarding.'" –Jay Leno


"Osama bin Laden was apparently shot twice in the face. It looks like Dick Cheney may have been involved." –Jay Leno

"Bin Laden lived in this compound in Pakistan with all of his wives for 6 years. So he did suffer." –David Letterman

"Bin Laden's wives didn't have it too bad.........by looking at the pictures of the inside of the compound, it doesn't look like any of them EVER had to do housework".










 
An old man goes to the Wizard to ask him if he can remove a curse he has been living with for the last 40 years.


The Wizard says, 'Maybe, but you will have to tell me the exact words that were used to put the curse on you.'


The old man says without hesitation, 'I now pronounce you man and wife.'
:lol: :lol: :lol: :devil: :shocked: :argue: :gibbs: :hug: :kissass:
 
There was this guy in the backwoods of Arkansas that was having trouble cutting the amount of wood advertised by the chainsaw manufacturer, Husqvarna (makers of various types of excellent equipment...they're just not from Italy :prof:). They said he should be able to cut at least 4 cords of wood (some areas may differ...:smirk:) in an 8 hour day. He was only getting half that amount so he decided to visit the store where he bought his saw. He walked up to the counter where he was greated by a salesman. "Yes sir, how may I help ya'll?" The man explained to him his predicament...the salesman took the saw from the mans hand, gave it good look, flipped the on switch and gave it a good pull...it started right up...the man looks at the salesman and asked "what's that noise"? :P
 
A blonde decides to try horseback riding, even though she has had no
lessons, nor prior experience. She mounts the horse unassisted, and the
horse immediately springs into motion. It gallops along at a steady and
rhythmic pace, but the blonde begins to slide from the saddle.

In terror, she grabs for the horse's mane, but cannot seem to get a firm grip. She tries to throw her arms around the horse's neck, but she slides down the horse's side anyway. The horse gallops along, seemingly
impervious to its slipping rider.

Finally, giving up her frail grip, the blonde attempts to leap away from the horse and throw herself to safety. Unfortunately, her foot has become entangled in the stirrup, she is now at the mercy of the horse's pounding hooves as her head is struck against the ground over and over.

As her head is battered against the ground, she is mere moments away from unconsciousness when to her great fortune.... Frank, the Walmart greeter, sees her dilemma and unplugs the horse.
 
A black couple was out for a drive through the backcountry of Alabama in their Jeep when all of a sudden Rastus hit a huge rut causing Liza to be thrown out of her seat...Rastus gathered him self after stopping the Jeep and started searching for Liza......he yelled Liza, Liza where is you girl?.....Rastus, I's ova here...in the bushes....Liza oh Liza is you hurt?...Oh Rastus, I've got this terrible gash from my belly button to my asshole...I knows that but is you hurt? :shocked:
 
Dropped Call
----------

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.
3. Poo on seat.
4. Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on
seat.
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 Hell 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 he'll 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.

-- H.R. Poopnsquirt
 
Dropped Call
----------

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.
3. Poo on seat.
4. Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on
seat.
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 Hell 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 he'll 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.

-- H.R. Poopnsquirt
i just about shat my self laughing:lol:
 

James

Staff member
Skinny Dipping

An elderly man in Florida had owned a large farm for several years.
He had a large pond in the back.

It was properly shaped for swimming, so he fixed it up nice with picnic tables, horseshoe courts, and some orange, and lime trees.

One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond, as he hadn't been there for a while, and look it over.

He grabbed a five-gallon bucket to bring back some fruit. As he neared the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing with glee.

As he came closer, he saw it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping in his pond.

He made the women aware of his presence and they all went to the deep end.

One of the women shouted to him, 'we're not coming out until you leave!'

The old man frowned, 'I didn't come down here to watch you ladies swim naked or make you get out of the pond naked..'

Holding the bucket up he said, 'I'm here to feed the alligator.'

Some old men can still think fast.
 
Why does LeBron's new (post NBA championship) phone only have a "vibrate" mode.......because it has "NO RING".......Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh :lol:

Guy goes up to a vending machine that takes only change, he turns to LeBron and asks, do you have change for a dollar, LeBron answers back "sorry but I'm only good for 3 quarters".........Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh :lol:
 
Out on the ocean was an old ship. There's the captain and his crew. One day, the crewman in the Crow's Nest yells, "Captain! There is an enemy ship on the horizon!" The captain says, "Bring me my red shirt!" One crew member asks, "Why the red shirt?" the captain replies with, "I wear a red shirt in battle because if I'm bleeding, none of you will stop fighting to help me." Later that day, they defeat the enemy ship. A few days later, the man in the Crow's Nest yells out, "Sir, there are twenty enemy ships on the horizon!" The Captain replies with, "Bring me my brown pants."
 
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