Joke Bank

[hoarsewhisperer]

Man of the House


The husband had just finished reading a book entitled "You Can Be The "Man of Your House".

He stormed to his wife in the kitchen and announced, "From now on, you need to know that I am the man of this house and my word is Law.

You will prepare me a gourmet meal tonight and when I'm finished eating my meal, you will serve me a sumptuous dessert.

After dinner you are going to go upstairs with me and we will have the kind of sex I want.

Afterwards, you are going to draw me a bath so I can relax. You will wash my back and towel me dry and bring me my robe.

Then, you will massage my feet and hands and fluff my pillows and make me comfortable for a good night's sleep. Then tomorrow , guess who's going to dress me and comb my hair ?"

The wife replied,

"The ******* funeral director would be my first guess! "

[KONQ RADIO]

5 Ways Environmentalists Can Be Less Annoying



Written by Environmental graffiti


Obviously, we’re not against environmentalism and environmentalists, we are of course environmentalists ourselves. But if you go to many environmental meetings or rallies, you’re bound to come across some really annoying environmentalists. There are some people that, for whatever reason, you can agree with completely about political, environmental, or social issues, but still just want to hit in the face repeatedly. I call this the “Michael Moore Effect.” So for our obnoxious brethren in the environmental community, I present 5 ways for you to be less annoying.


1. Practice what you preach.
It’s hard for anyone to take you seriously if you don’t actually do what you tell other people to do. So go plant a tree or something.




2. Get rid of those dreads, white boy.
You are not a Rastafarian. You are a 15-25 year old white boy from the suburbs who likes smoking weed. Get a ****ing haircut that people will let people respect you instead of making them immediately think “Douche bag”. (Note: Dreads do look cool on rastas, just not you.)


3. Shower.
This could also be a sub part of number 2. There are WAY too many smelly environmentalists. I don’t know how it became part of the environmentalist ethos that being involved with nature means not taking showers when they are readily available, but I want to get rid of that idea right now.


4. Read a book.
We admire your rampant enthusiasm for the environmental cause, but when you go around spouting statistics or ideas you just made up or repeated because you heard another moron say it, you look stupid. This makes all environmentalists look stupid. Should you be the type of person who likes to argue and use statistics, try actually finding scientifically researched statistics.


5. While we’re at it, stop arguing.
You know who’s not always right? You. And me. And everyone else. So get off your high horse and shut your mouth on occasion. The absolute worst way to get someone to join the environmental cause is to start arguing with them. People get pissed off and then they hate you and environmentalism forever. You know who doesn’t argue with people? Mormons. And they’re growing like crazy despite being both a religious group and having views that well, some people find a bit difficult to believe.


Not that I think so. I just heard that on South Park.

[hoarsewhisperer]

Dave Barry's Colonoscopy Journal

... I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an
appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy
showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go
all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis.

Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough,
reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really
hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote, 'HE'S GOING
TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'

I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription
for a product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box large enough to hold
a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now
suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of
America's enemies.



I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous.
Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In
accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all
I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor.



Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of
powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm
water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32
gallons.) Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an
hour, because MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture
of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.


The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great
sense of humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose watery bowel
movement may result.'

This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may
experience contact with the ground. MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I
don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a
space-shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with
you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat
belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom,
spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure
you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at
which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and
start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.

The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous.
Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing
occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I
spurt on Andy?' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that?
Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood
and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led
me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a
little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those
hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put
it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand.
Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was
already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in
their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this,
but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to
make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose
Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room,
where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not
see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there
somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll over
on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to
the needle in my hand. There was music playing in the room, and I
realized that the song was 'Dancing Queen' by Abba. I remarked to Andy
that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular
procedure, 'Dancing Queen' has to be the least appropriate. 'You want me
to turn it up?' said Andy, from somewhere behind me. 'Ha ha,' I said.
And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than decade.

If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you,
in explicit detail, exactly what it was like. I have no idea. Really. I
slept through it. One moment, Abba was shrieking 'Dancing Queen! Feel
the beat from the tambourine .....'… and the next moment, I was back in
the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood.

Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent.
I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it was all over, and
that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of
an internal organ.

[KONQ RADIO]

Just because.

[jeezeweeze]

"You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure
you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at
which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and
start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet."

[hoarsewhisperer]

The Love Story Of Ralph And Edna

Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't
mean they don't love you with all they have.

Ralph and Edna were both patients in a mental hospital. One day while they
were walking past the hospital swimming pool. Ralph suddenly jumped into
the deep end. He sank to the bottom of the pool and stayed there.

Edna promptly jumped in to save him. She swam to the bottom and pulled
him out. When the Head Nurse Director became aware of Edna's heroic act
she immediately ordered her to be discharged from the hospital, as she
now considered her to be mentally stable.

When she went to tell Edna the news she said, 'Edna, I have good news
and bad news. The good news is you're being discharged, since you were
able to rationally respond to a crisis by jumping in and saving the life
of the person you love. I have concluded that your act displays sound
mindedness.
The bad news is, Ralph hung himself in the bathroom with his bathrobe belt
right after you saved him. I am so sorry, but he's dead.'

Edna replied, 'He didn't hang himself. I put him there to dry. How soon can I
go home?'

[jeezeweeze]

[quote=KONQ RADIO;75793]Just because.



OMG that was not Necessary.........my eyes! my eyes!

[hoarsewhisperer]

One more mystery solved

Guts or balls? There is a medical distinction. We've all heard about
people having guts or balls, but do you really know the difference
between them? In an effort to keep you informed, and to alleviate
further confusion, the following definitions are listed below:

GUTS - Is arriving home late after a night out with the guys, being
met by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to ask: "Are you
still cleaning, or are you flying somewhere?"

BALLS - Is coming home late after a night out with the guys,smelling
of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on
the butt and having the balls to say: "You're next, Chubby." I hope
this clears up any confusion on the definition. Medically speaking,
there is no difference in the outcome, since both ultimately result in
death.

[KONQ RADIO]

So that’s what imbedded means!

CBS chief foreign correspondent Lara Logan has been knocked up by a married military contractor she met in the Gulf.

Well, that’s at least one member of the media who didn’t choose an early pull out in Iraq.

[hoarsewhisperer]

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty or in some new, 'cost-efficiency' bathrooms there isn't one at all. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume ' The Stance.'

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance.'

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose with yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It's wet of course. You bolt up knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and live form on the uncovered seat because your never laid down toilet paper-not that there was any even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knes. Certainly her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly dear, 'you just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.'

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warml y, 'Here, you just might need this.'

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, 'WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG, and WHY IS YOUR PURSE HANGING AROUND YOUR NECK??'

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!).

It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!

This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately!

Send this to all women that need a good laugh AND, don't forget to have a mammogram!!!!!! It could save your life!