A New Joke Thread

Q. What can both suck and not suck at the same time?
A. A vacuum cleaner!

I was gonna say "a girlfriend."

Eleven-year-old Ricky tells his little brother, nine-year-old Frankie, that they have to start incorporating cursewords into their speech, in order to become accepted among the other neighborhood boys.

"We'll have to practice at home," he explains.

"Are you crazy?" Frankie asks. "You know how Mom is about swearing, she'll go through the roof if she hears even one word like that."

Ricky replies, "Not if we do it kind of casually, like it's normal speech, then she'll understand that it's just the way that guys talk."

The younger boy shakes his head while automatically rubbing his rear end, thinking of his sweet and loving but very strict, 'spare-the-rod-and-spoil-the-child,' socially conservative mother. "I don't think so."

His sibling persists. "Trust me, this will work. Now, when we're at breakfast I'm going to work the word 'hell' into my conversation, and I want you to find a way to casually use 'ass,' so Mom will accept it as just normal guy-talk."

Since Frankie idolizes his big brother, he reluctantly agrees to the plan.

Their mother is in the kitchen on that Saturday morning when both boys come in, and she kisses each of them on the cheek. "Good morning, my darlings, what would you like for breakfast today?"

Ricky reflects before answering. "What the hell, I guess I'll have some corn flakes..."

"What did you just say?!?" the woman explodes, immediately before picking up a wooden spoon from the counter, spinning her older son around by his arm, yanking down his pajama bottoms and giving him a dozen hard whacks on the bare behind. Then she pushes the blubbering boy out of the kitchen. "You go up to your room, young man, and you're staying there the rest of the morning. I'll be up to see you before lunch with my hairbrush, and we're going to have a long, pointed discussion about swearing in this household. Do you understand me, mister foul-mouth?"

Whimpering, Ricky nods in resignation while pulling up his PJ bottoms. "Yuh-Yes, ma'am."

As the sniffling boy trudges toward the stairway, his mother turns to face Frankie. "I'm sorry about that interruption, sweetheart," she says brightly. "So what would you like for breakfast, honey?"

He responds, "You can bet your ass it's not corn flakes..." --C.K.

Yet another variation of a classic. I've heard it with a brother and sister that were young enough to share a room, two brothers, the mother freaking out, the father freaking out (weird - it's always just the one parent in the room when it happens), a spanking at the breakfast table, a son being chased upstairs with his father kicking his ass the entire way, and now this version.

There's just one slight flaw with this very well written version. The humour is the second kid misunderstanding why the first kid was punished. Reacting as if the freak out was because the first kid asked for cornflakes instead of it being because of the swearing.


The "foul-mouth" bit ruins that. Change it to " I'll be up to see you before lunch with my hairbrush. Do you understand me mister?" and the joke's back on track.

Goodgulf

Okay, I see your point--it would work better that way, perhaps adding "and we're going to have a long, pointed discussion about your misconduct this morning," after mentioning her hairbrush.

Although even so, the nine-year-old comes off as pretty naive, since earlier he'd expressed concern about his mother's reaction to cursewords (as opposed to choice of breakfast foods). Of course, immediately following the conclusion of the joke, his mother would certainly redden Frankie's bare behind with her wooden spoon, then send him upstairs, having an appointment of his own with her hairbrush.

Perhaps he and Ricky would figure it out then... --C.K.

Three ducks walk into a bar. "Hello," says the barman, "we don't get too many ducks in here. And what's your name?" he asks the first duck.

"Huey," says the duck.

"Well, hello Huey. Had a good day?"

"Oh yes, great. In and out of puddles all day long. What more could a duck want?"

"Well, that's good," says the barman. "And your name?" he asks the second duck.

"Dewey," says the duck.

"Welcome, Dewey. How was your day?"

"Terrific, thanks. In and out of puddles - just the way a duck likes."

"Glad to hear it," says the barman, turning to the third duck. "So you must be Louie?"

"Oh no," says the duck, batting her eyelashes. "My name is Puddles."

Reminds me of what is supposed to be "The only country song titled in the subjunctive mode"

namely: "I wish I were in Dixie -- but she's out of town this week"

There was once a Franciscan monastery that decided to raise some money by operating a florist shop. They became very successful at it. In fact they were so successful that the other florists in town got jealous of the competition. So they hired a local tough guy named Hugh to rough them up. So Hugh traveled to the monastery and beat up all the friars. He then told them to close up shop or he'd be back. This frightened the friars so much that they decided to close up their flower shop.
And that just goes to show you that Hugh and only Hugh can prevent florist friars.

"I was investigating my ancestry recently and came upon a
curious character, my great-great-great uncle Ralph Vinson. In his
youth he was a colorful character; he was a spy for England in France
during the Napoleonic Wars. Later he became dreadfully enamoured of
the notorious George Sand, who scornfully turned him down.
Eventually he settled down in England where he raised horses and
became a patron of the arts; he particularly supported some of the
Norwegian composers. As a result he was called J.C. by all his
friends."

"You mean..." someone asked.

"Yes:
'He was the spy Sand rejected,
a man of sorrels,
and acquainted with Grieg.'"