The joke thread

[Trav Le Bleu]

I went to the doctor's the other day about my insomnia.

 

I asked, "is it serious?"

 

He replied, "well there's no need for any alarm."

[Trav Le Bleu]

I thought I saw Shaggy today.

 

It wasn't him.

[Parafox]

10 hours ago, Trav Le Bleu said:

I thought I saw Shaggy today.

 

It wasn't him.

 

Was he in your bathroom?

[Trav Le Bleu]

Did you know that after surgery on his back, Quasimodo changed his name to Humphrey?

[davieG]

Reminds me of this joke.

 

Quasimodo is drinking at a bar. He sees this extremely drunk woman. He starts chatting her up and one thing leads to another and they wind up in bed back at Quasimodo’s room at Notre Dame.

The girl wakes up the next morning severely hung over and with little recollection of where she is and who she slept with. She pulls the sheet off Quasimodo’s sleeping form and is so revolted that she vomits all over him.

Quasimodo wakes with a start and looks at the mess he is covered in. “Wha...what happened?”

“You, you disgusting creature! You took advantage of me last night when I was drunk! I woke up this morning and I didn’t know where I was or who I had been with. I pulled the sheet back to see your repulsive body, and I was so disgusted that I vomited all over you!”

“Thank God for that. I thought my hump had burst!”

[Trav Le Bleu]

I was arrested for impersonating Engelbert Humperdinck yesterday, but the police released me, let me go.

[Filbertblue]

A Tottenham fan went into a travel agent and asked where in England is a good place to visit. 

The travel agent said, "You can't beat Leicester!" 

[Trav Le Bleu]

6 hours ago, Filbertblue said:

A Tottenham fan went into a travel agent and asked where in England is a good place to visit. 

The travel agent said, "You can't beat Leicester!" 

A Leicester fan went into a travel age t and asked where in England is a good place to visit.

 

The travel agent said, "you can't beat anywhere else."

[Parafox]

A good looking man walked into an agent's office in Hollywood and said 'I want to be a movie star.' Tall, handsome and with experience on Broadway, he had the right credentials.

The agent asked, 'What's your name?'

The guy said, 'My name is Penis van Lesbian.'

The agent said, 'Sir, I hate to tell you, but in order to get into Hollywood , you are going to have to change your name.'

'I will NOT change my name! The van Lesbian name is centuries old, I will not disrespect my grandfather by changing my name. Not ever..'

The agent said, 'Sir, I have worked in Hollywood for years... you will NEVER go far in Hollywood with a name like Penis van Lesbian! I'm telling you, you will HAVE TO change your name or I will not be able to represent you.'

'So be it! I guess we will not do business together' the guy said and he left the agent's office.

FIVE YEARS LATER..... The agent opens an envelope sent to his office. Inside the envelope is a letter and a check for $50,000. The agent is awe-struck, who would possibly send him $ 50,000? He reads the letter enclosed...

'Dear Sir, five years ago, I came into your office wanting to become an actor in Hollywood , you told me I needed to change my name. Determined to make it with my God-given birth name, I refused. You told me I would never make it in Hollywood with a name like Penis van Lesbian. After I left your office, I thought about what you said. I decided you were right. I had to change my name. I had too much pride to return to your office, so I signed with another agent. I would never have made it without changing my name, so the enclosed check is a token of my appreciation. Thank you for your advice.'

Sincerely,

Dick van Dyke

Edited 22 April by Parafox

[Bilo]

Not so much a joke as the most hilariously repulsive poem ever written.

 

“The Ballad of Bonnie Blue’s Fanny”

 

They say it’s not a neat slit —
no gentle fold, no dainty bloom.
It’s a grenade in a deli counter,
pastrami shrapnel flying past the smoked meats,
a bucket of smashed crabs tipped over
in a pub kitchen during lunch rush.

It’s a pulled-apart cheese toastie,
gutsy and stringing, molten and proud,
an overflowing Turkish kebab
dripping with garlic sauce and shame,
stuffed into warm pitta,
bursting at the seams like secrets too long kept.

It’s been punched like a lasagne,
layered, splattered,
wounded and steaming.
Tossed in the bin, that kebab —
and still, it twitches,
like a tuna sandwich on a barbershop floor,
hair clippings clinging to its mayo-slick skin.

Bonnie Blue’s fanny is barn doors unlatched in a storm,
an axe wound carved into the narrative,
the Dartford Tunnel at rush hour —
humid, echoing, and full of impatient men.

It’s a donkey yawning,
an elephant’s eyelid blinking once in slow disbelief,
a burst couch,
stuffing spilled like hearts on sleeves.
It’s a wet wallet trying to eat a hotdog,
pathetic, messy,
determined against all odds.

It’s a Rottweiler with a mouth full of mayonnaise,
confused, aggressive,
slobbering through the cream.
It’s a squished hedgehog on the roadside,
spines flattened, dignity long gone.

It is an explosion in a corned beef factory,
a butcher’s sleeve,
a ripped-out fireplace,
a radio crackling static in a plasterer’s van,
and an oyster factory torn to the heavens,
pearls and brine raining down like war.

Bonnie Blue’s fanny is legend.
Not soft. Not sweet.
But myth made meat,
and meat made art.