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According to Freud, what comes between fear and sex? Fünf
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Aug 17, 2013 22:58
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Where is Engagement, Ohio? Between Dayton and Marion.
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Aug 18, 2013 02:29
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Captain Trips posted:When Helen Keller fell down the well, why didn't she grab the rope? Have you heard about that new movie where Hellen Keller can see dead people? It's called the 4th Sense.
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Aug 18, 2013 08:27
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How did Helen Keller burn her ear? She answered the iron. How'd she burn her other ear? They called back. How'd she burn her fingers? Trying to read the waffle iron Why did she masturbate with her right hand? So she could moan with her left. Stottie Kyek posted:According to Freud, what comes between fear and sex? What's a Freudian slip? It's when you say one thing but mean your mother.
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Aug 20, 2013 13:04
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A man has a 6 inch penis hanging from his forehead. How much of it can he see? None, the balls would be hanging in front of his eyes.
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Aug 20, 2013 14:06
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Farmdizzle posted:What's a Freudian slip? How many Freudians does it take to change a light bulb? Two - one to change the bulb and the other to hold the penis, uh, I mean ladder.
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Aug 20, 2013 17:16
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Farmdizzle posted:How did Helen Keller burn her ear? Wait, why would she answer the iron if she couldn't hear the phone ringing?
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Aug 21, 2013 01:54
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zombieman posted:Wait, why would she answer the iron if she couldn't hear the phone ringing? Her mother punished her by pointing to it frantically and motioning her to pick it up.
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Aug 21, 2013 02:18
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Raitzeno posted:Her mother punished her by pointing to it frantically and motioning her to pick it up. But she was blind, how could she see her mom pointing at the iron?
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Aug 21, 2013 02:49
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Captain Trips posted:But she was blind, how could she see her mom pointing at the iron? She heard the ringing iron and found it that way.
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Aug 21, 2013 04:04
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She felt the vibrations of the ringing oh my god are we seriously doing this
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Aug 21, 2013 13:34
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What is the hardest thing Hellen Keller ever read. The basketball.
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Aug 21, 2013 16:22
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DangerDongs posted:What is the hardest thing Hellen Keller ever read. Smallpox. Shingles works well too.
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Aug 21, 2013 18:48
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A woman's husband had come down with a strange illness so she took him to see a doctor. Doc: Well your husbands symptoms are odd but we've managed to narrow the diagnosis down to two things: Aids or Alzheimer. Woman: Oh no doctor! That's just awful! What am I supposed to do? The doctor thought for a moment. Doc: Take him out into the woods and leave him there. If he finds his way home DON'T gently caress HIM.
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Aug 22, 2013 06:28
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In Science news: the Institute of Emo Genetics today announced a spectacular breakthrough in the field of hybridization of fruits and vegetables and unveiled their latest creation, the melon-cauli.
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Aug 22, 2013 09:04
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Jedit posted:In Science news: the Institute of Emo Genetics today announced a spectacular breakthrough in the field of hybridization of fruits and vegetables and unveiled their latest creation, the melon-cauli. gently caress you. This is the hilarious joke thread, not the awful one. Guy walks into his psychiatrist's office, saying "Doc, you gotta help me. I keep having two nearly identical dreams. In one, I'm a teepee. In the other, I'm a wigwam. What's wrong with me?" The psychiatrist says "I know exactly what your problem is. You're too tense!"
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Aug 22, 2013 14:41
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That one was just as lovely, tbqh. Let's just do two cows, then. Republicans: You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. So what? Democratic Party: You have two cows. Your neighbor has none. You feel guilty for being successful. You vote people into office who tax your cows, forcing you to sell one to raise money to pay the tax. The people you voted for then take the tax money and buy a cow and give it to your neighbor. You feel righteous. Bureaucracy: You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. After that it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows. Russia: You have two cows. You drink some vodka and count them again. You have five cows. The Russian Mafia shows up and takes however many cows you have.
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Aug 23, 2013 10:37
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Woman walks into the psychiatrist's office. She says "Doc! You gotta help me! My husband thinks he's a chicken!" The doctor says "How long has he had this problem?" She says "Ten years." The doctor says "Ten years!? Why didn't you come in sooner?" "Well, doc, we have four kids, and you know...we needed the eggs!" Anil Dikshit has a new favorite as of 02:05 on Aug 24, 2013 |
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Aug 23, 2013 14:23
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Aston posted:How do you keep an idiot in suspense? It's been 2 weeks, are you ever going to post the punchline??
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Aug 24, 2013 00:24
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Tias posted:That one was just as lovely, tbqh. Let's just do two cows, then. I've read literally hundreds of these, and every time there's one that makes me giggle like a child: Britain: You have two cows. Both are mad.
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Aug 24, 2013 10:10
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Strom Cuzewon posted:I've read literally hundreds of these, and every time there's one that makes me giggle like a child: Worked for me too. God I love stupidly simple jokes.
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Aug 24, 2013 18:57
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How did Schroedinger keep his catbox closed? He tied it with a maybe-knot.
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Aug 30, 2013 05:51
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Hope this one or one similar hasn't been told. A buddy told me this a few years back, and it's become one of my favorites to tell. The setting: a British ship at sea. It's a nice day, with a refreshing sea breeze blowing, and not a cloud in the sky. All of a sudden, the lookout yells "Pirates portside! All hands to the deck!" The captain emerges from his quarters, looks off on the horizon, and says to his first mate, "Fetch me my red coat." The first mate does this, without asking questions. The pirates attempt to board the ship, but the British fight bravely and drive them off. After the battle, the captain removes his coat, only to reveal that he was injured in the battle, and his arm was bleeding. As his wounds were being attended to, his first mate asked him, "So, why did you ask for your red coat?" The captain replied, "It was so if I was injured during the battle, the crew wouldn't be able to see the blood, and thus wouldn't have their morale shaken." The first mate pondered this for a second and replied, "That's very valiant of you. I am honored to serve under you, sir." A fortnight later, the lookout calls down again. "Men! I see ten pirate ships off in the distance, heading straight for us!" The captain turns to his first mate and says, "Fetch me my brown pants."
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Aug 30, 2013 08:48
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Here's one that I love to tell to people to help ground them on how awful my sense of humor is. I was told this by one of my older brother's friends at his college graduation party. Enjoy! There was once a young boy who lived in a small New England town. His one goal in life was to become the world's greatest comedian. He loved to make people laugh so much that it became the only thing he was interested in. He had read every joke book in the town library three times over, watched every comedy movie he could get his hands on, and had told everyone he could every joke he knew multiple times. He was always hungry to find some new material, some new angle to look at things, and above all, someone new to learn from. One weekend, while he and his parents were out and about downtown, he saw a post bill for a circus going on in the city a week from then. What caught his eye was the headlining act: GRIMALDI, THE GREATEST CLOWN TO HAVE EVER WALKED THE STAGE ENTERTAINER OF ROYALTY AND THE COMMON MAN A FINER WIT THERE HAS NEVER BEEN! "Wow!" thought the boy, "I need to see this! He's gotta be good!" And so he started begging and pleading bribing and threatening his parents until they agreed to take him. The next week, they were all sitting in the main tent, awaiting Grimaldi to come out and perform. The center ring was dark, and the audience was faintly murmuring, growing impatient in the dusty heat. Suddenly, a spotlight snapped on, and there stood Grimaldi the Clown. He was in a black and white stripped clown suit, his face paint a collection of severely angled shapes designed to draw out his cheek bones, giving him a gaunt expression. A black rubber nose, two giant black and white shoes, and a tiny, skewed pointed hat completed the ensemble. A large donkey was sitting to his left. He stepped up primly to a microphone a foot in front of him, and spoke into it with a deep, stately voice, "Laaadies and Gent-el-men, to start the show, I'm afraid that I require a volunteer." At that, the young boy jumped up and started madly waving his arm in the air, repeatedly hollering "OH! OO! OH! OH OH PICK ME OH PLEASE PICK ME!" No one else in the audience volunteered; they all knew how excited the boy was about this, and they were hoping that this might make him shut up with the jokes for a while. This made Grimaldi raise an eyebrow. "Very well, come down, young man," his clipped British accent carefully sliding every word into place like bullets into a clip. The boy ran down, beaming and stumbling a little in his rush to get on stage. "Please, stand to my right, if you could be so kind," requested Grimaldi. The boy did. "Laaaaaadies and Gent-el-men, I present to you, an rear end..." and with this he waved a hand to his right, "...and, a donkey!" A wave to the left. The audience, a good deal of them tired of the boy's constant pestering, exploded with laughter. The boy, however was crushed. He had never felt so humiliated in his short life. He ran out of the tent as fast as he could, straight to his parent's car where he waited the rest of the night. That night, while he was lying in bed, heartbroken, he decided he no longer wanted to make the world laugh. He didn't want to please or entertain anyone. He wanted to bring everyone down, strip them of their confidence and leave them exposed to reality. He was going to become the world's greatest wit, and he was going to prove to himself that he had done it by taking down Grimaldi with a single line. The next day, he went to the library and starting finding everything he could on satire, irony, insults, anything that could vocally stop a person in their tracks. He studied people, learned how to pick out each and every flaw they had, and throw them right into the person's face. He grew up, got into Yale, and joined the Skull and Boneless Rubber Chicken Society, using their personal secret library to hone his wit. He became the club president when he once said an ironic statement that so clearly outlined the recipient's flaws, they tore their own ears off just to never be able to hear the likes of it again. He graduated and moved back to his home town, writing book reviews for the local paper that reminded the authors of the futility of their own existence and drove them to committing suicide. The cops would call him in to break up bar fights with just a couple of one-liners. His saliva was acid, and he left a cloud of bile hanging around the head of anyone who dared to even slightly annoy him. He became the Bastard. One day, his friend, the one person who still spent time with him (mostly because most of the insults sent his way just seemed to pass through him like x-rays) said to him, "Hey, remember that clown that made fun of you a long time ago?" The Bastard feigned disinterest, lightly scratching something off of a fingernail. "Vaguely. Why do you ask?" The friend replied, "Well, he's back in town. That circus is back next week, and he'll be performing with them again!" "Oh, that's pleasant." You could snap icicles off of his "pleasant." The time for revenge had come. The circus came, and the Bastard had found a seat in the big top. The audience surrounding him was few and silent. The town knew that a massacre was about to occur, and only the bravest decided to attend it. Someone had to bear witness to what was about to unfold. The spot light snapped on, and there was Grimaldi, same outfit, same makeup (although some wrinkles had started to become a little too big and his jowls a little too loose to hide behind artful face paint usage), same donkey. He was visibly annoyed at the low turnout. Still, the show must go on. "He doesn't even have new material!" thought the Bastard upon seeing the donkey. "What in hell did I ever see in him?" "Laaadies, and gent-el-men," exclaimed the clown, "I'm afraid I need a volunteer in order to start the show." Dead silence followed. Grimaldi was obviously shaken by this, but he persisted. "Oh please, anyone from this lot will do." The bastard raised his hand, slowly and gently. "Ah, we have someone at last. Please come down." The Bastard strode down, directly standing to the right of Grimaldi without being prompted. This also seemed to perturb Grimaldi, but being a professional, he continued. "Laaadies and gent-el-men, I present to you, an rear end-" -wave to his right- "-and a donkey!" -wave to his left. The silence that followed was probably normally only achieved in intergalactic space. Grimaldi was confused; that joke normally killed! He looked over at the Bastard, and was met by the angriest set of eyes he had ever seen. Grimaldi squinted at him, and then remembered that night so many years ago, what should have just been another bumpkin being teased, another retreading of an old joke that only a group of uncultured yokels would still find funny, another memory to be hidden underneath piles of others of far greater value, but those eyes knocked them all over, tearing at everything in his mind to pull that now all-too-familiar face out. Here. Here is where the Bastard had been preparing to send someone to Hell from. And then the Bastard spoke, a message of pinpoint-focus hatred forged over so much time, hammered from an ingot of stomach churning embarrassment. Here is that message meant to end that god drat Grimaldi’s career and good memory. The bastard raised a finger, pointing, and screamed "gently caress YOU CLOWN! gently caress! YOU!" This works best if you point and scream as well. Also sorry about the bad punch-up, I’m not the best writer.
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Aug 31, 2013 04:12
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Failtron posted:clowns I like to have him return to the town to face off against the clown a couple times, each time thinking he could get the clown back but freezing up at the last moment, so he has to go take public speaking class, and go back for more schooling...etc. You can stretch it out even more using that
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Sep 2, 2013 19:14
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HOW COULD YOU posted:I like to have him return to the town to face off against the clown a couple times, each time thinking he could get the clown back but freezing up at the last moment, so he has to go take public speaking class, and go back for more schooling...etc. You can stretch it out even more using that Yeah, the version I heard had him come back a couple of times at different points in his life as he grew up, each time getting humiliated all over again despite thinking he was prepared for it. The version I heard first also has the clown using a different routine: The clown picks the victim out of the audience. He first asks, "Sir, are you the front end of an rear end?". Then "Are you the back end of an rear end?". And when the victim says no again the clown says "Then you must be no end of an rear end!". It still ends with the grizzled old victim just blurting out a variation of gently caress YOU, CLOWN.
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Sep 2, 2013 19:29
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Feh, all shaggy dog stories are interchangeable. Just say "blah blah, blah blah blah" for 5-20 minutes and then shout out "BETTER NATE THAN LEVER, CLOWN" at the end. It'll be just as funny (as in not at all funny).
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Sep 2, 2013 20:42
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I think I like that variation of the clown's joke; thank you Arschlochkind! I always felt that the person going back to the circus repeatedly would work better for a cut down version of it (Goes to circus, gets made fun of, says they'll have something for next year, goes to circus, doesn't have comeback, says they'll have something next year, goes to circus, certain they have something worth shooting back, implied clown self-buggery). As far as shaggy dog jokes not being funny? Eh. They're really meant to amuse the joke teller, not the audience. Here's something stupid I thought up a while ago. What do you call a turd's disciple? Their poopil.
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Sep 2, 2013 21:44
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What kind of tattoo do vegetarians get? tempehrary
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Sep 3, 2013 00:07
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Failtron posted:
And what does the Master teach his poopil? Patience, young Asshopper.
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Sep 3, 2013 00:21
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A poopil can learn a lot under the master's tootilege.
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Sep 3, 2013 00:31
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This is my grandfather's favorite joke. (not a shaggy dog story though it does involve a shaggy dog) A well-off, stylish man is driving down the highway in his brand-new Cadillac. Just having a great time, out for a Sunday afternoon drive, enjoying his life. As he's cruising along, he passes by a young boy on the side of the road, hitchhiking. The boy, who can't be more than ten years old, has a dog on a long leash and looks completely downtrodden and dejected. So the man, feeling pretty magnanimous about his life in general, decides that he'll pick the boy up. He pulls over and waves to the kid. The kid runs up to the car. "Gee, thanks, mister! I'been out there for goin' on three hours now. Man am I glad you stopped! Thanks so much!" "Hey, no problem, kid. I--" The man has just looked down at the dog. Suddenly he understands why the dog is on this twenty-foot leash -- the dog is revolting. It's mangy and it's got matted fur, it's covered in mud and dirt, and it stinks. He can't let this dog into his brand-new Cadillac! "Uh, kid...look, I'm sorry, I can take you but I can't let that dog in my car." "Oh, that's okay, mister. He'll just run along the side!" "What? No, we're on the highway, here. He can't do that, he'll get left behind. I'm real sorry kid, I think I'll have to pass this time." "No, mister, my dog can run really fast. He'll just run along the side. Here, I'll tie the leash to the bumper and it'll be fine!" The kid goes and ties the leash to the bumper and the man shakes his head and sighs. He figures he'll humor the kid and drive really slowly, until the dog seems to be getting tired, and maybe then the kid will get the idea. He starts up the engine and starts creeping along at five miles an hour. "How's he doing, kid?" "Great, mister! You can go faster!" Sure enough, the dog is just trotting along with some slack in the leash. The man speeds up to ten miles an hour. "You sure about this? This car can go pretty fast, you know." "Yep! My dog's really fast." The dog's got no problem at ten miles an hour, still loping happily. The man speeds up gradually to twenty miles an hour, sure that now the dog will be getting tired out. "Is he doing alright back there?" "No problem! Go faster!" The dog's jogging along at 20 miles an hour but sure enough he's not even panting. Totally happy about it. The man's getting puzzled and more than a little weirded out by this. What's going on? He speeds up to thirty. "Still there?" the man asks, more than a little agitated." "Really, mister, you can just keep going. He'll be fine!" The man speeds up to fifty miles an hour. He looks in the rear view mirror and the dog's still there, running now but not looking the least bit stressed. He accelerates to seventy. The dog's still there. He's speeding past the limit now, eighty, eighty-five, ninety miles an hour and the dog is just keeping pace with his Cadillac like it's nothing! He's not about to let some ugly dirty dog show up his car. With a low scream, a mixture of anger and terror, the man floors the gas pedal and a hundred miles an hour sails past. He looks in the rear view mirror and the dog is still there. The dog has the most beatific expression on its face, like it's just completely happy to be running along in its pack. The man looks at the dog, trying to figure out whether the animal behind him is some sort of holy being, or some kind of demon sent to torment him. Unblinkingly, he stares deeply into the dog's eyes, not even hearing the kid's yells of terror, as *KKKRKRRRRASSHHHHHHHHHHHHH* He plows into the back of an 18-wheeler stopped on the side of the road. The car instantly drops from a hundred miles an hour to zero. The hood crumples. Glass shatters and metal twists as the car slides and tumbles along the highway. The man is thrown from the car and knocked unconscious. Some time later, the man wakes up on the side of the road, aching and confused. The kid, through some miracle, is still alive and not badly injured -- just some cuts and bruises. He's sitting beside the man, and the stinking dog is lying down beside him, totally unfazed. The man sits up, slowly. Looks around and sees the wreck of his Cadillac. The semi-trailer is abandoned; the driver's taken the tractor down the road to get help. He looks at the kid in silence. Looks at the dog. Reaches over and pets it, running his hands through the dog's greasy fur, scratching its neck. "Good dog. Man, this is one hell of a dog you've got here, kid." "Yeah, mister, he's one in a million. He'll keep up with anything." "I can see why you like him. Even with all the dirt and mud and mange...he's really something." He pauses for a second, feeling something strange under the matted fur. "Hey, wait a minute, kid. What's this? What's this thing around his neck?" "Oh, that's his rear end in a top hat, mister. He just ain't used to stopping that fast."
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Sep 3, 2013 01:46
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In a similar vein, my dad's favorite joke. So the mob is running an underground dog-fighting ring. Every Friday night, all the lowlifes and scumbags gather in the basement of a dingy bar and bet on their dogs. For months, the champion dog has been Rex -- the biggest, meanest, nastiest pit-bull you've ever seen. He's only got one eye, and his legs aren't straight from where they've been broken and healed wrong. He's covered in scars and gashes and his fur doesn't grow in some places. He's not smart and he's not even that loyal; there's only one thing he's good at, and that's killing his own kind. He's been in twenty matches and he's completely undefeated. People bring in rottweilers, german shepherds, bulldogs, wolfhounds...it doesn't matter. None of them can stand up to Rex. Well, one night a little boy bangs on the door. The doorman opens the little slot and sees him standing there. "Go away, kid. This isn't a candy shop." "Well I heard there was a dog fight here tonight!" "So what if there is? Whaddaya want to see a dog fight for?" "I don't wanna see it, I wanna enter my dog." The doorman's taken aback and opens the door to see this kid. Sure enough, he's got a dog with him. It's a weird looking dog....short little legs, really low and squat to the ground. An even poo poo-brown color all over. Big head. The leash is just a length of rope tied around its neck. The dog just stares straight ahead. Some kind of mutt wiener dog, wonders the doorman? "Kid, you bring your dog in here, he's gonna get killed. Go home." "No, mister, I wanna fight him! I got fifty dollars from my grandma and I want to bet it on my dog in the fight." The doorman takes a deep breath. "Well, kid...alright, I'll let you bring him in and fight him, but I'm telling you, he doesn't stand a chance. The champ here is the biggest son-of-a-bitch you've ever seen. You're throwing away your money and your dog's going to get killed. Bring him in, though, if that's really what you want." The kid comes inside. The dog follows behind him, slowly plodding its way along. Inside, Rex has just finished eviscerating the last challenger. The fight was over in ten seconds; Rex isn't even tired. He's growling and stalking around, looking for more. The announcer comes on the speaker. "AND THAT'S ALL SHE WROTE! Duke doesn't stand a chance against the mighty REX! But we have a new challenger, a late entry! We have...uh..." "Billy." "Billy! Billy and his dog--" "Ed." "ED! Ed? Well, okay. ED! IN THE NEXT ROUND, REX VERSUS ED! PLACE YOUR BETS!" Everyone's laughing at Billy and Ed as they walk up to the chute. This bizarre-looking old dog doesn't stand a chance against Rex. Easy money, they're all saying. The only person to bet on Ed is Billy himself -- all fifty dollars. Ed is in the chute. Rex is manhandled back into place. Three, two, one, DING and the fight starts! Rex comes EXPLODING out of the chute, roaring and racing around the inside of the ring. Ed sluggishly plods his way out into the middle of the field as Rex sizes him up. Ed just sits there, staring straight ahead. Rex decides he's got this covered and charges for him, teeth bared. Rex launches himself into the air, and *SNAP* In a single motion, Ed opens his mouth and snaps it closed on Rex's head. Rex is decapitated! It's a horrifying scene. The arena is dead silent. Ed swallows Rex's head whole and sits there motionless. Still in silence, Billy walks into the ring, ties the rope around Ed's neck and drags him out. Billy collects his bets -- at twenty to one odds, he's just made a thousand dollars. He walks back to the entrance; as the doorman lets him out, he looks down at Ed. "Jesus Christ, kid. I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it myself. Your...thing...there just took out our champion like he was nothing. What kind of dog did you say he was, anyway?" The kid shrugs. "Well, before I cut off his tail and painted him brown, he was an alligator."
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Sep 3, 2013 02:09
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Speaking of vicious children: A little girl walks into a pet store and rings the bell at the counter for service. The owner comes out and asks what she wants. "I want to buy a couple of rabbitth pleathe, misther!" she replies, her missing-toothed lisp charming the shop owner. "Why certainly, young lady! Right this way!" He leads her over to where the rabbits are kept, and asked if there were any particular ones she was interested in. "I want a couple of big oneth, mithter!" She said, pointing to a cage to the side full of bigger-sized rabbits. "I see! Something big enough to cuddle! Would you like ones with shorter fur, or some really fuzzy ones?" asked the shop keeper, his voice getting more twee with each question. "Uh, I want oneth with short fur, mithter," says the little girl looking a little annoyed. "And Do you want ones with long floppy ears, or short little cute ears?" The little girl rolls her eyes and responds "Short earth, mithter." "And what color rabbits would you like, sweetie?" The little girl looks him square in the eye and answers, "Lithen, mithter, I don't think my python giveth a gently caress about the color, dinner'th dinner, okay?" And a rhyme that I somehow remember from an old joke book that had a whole string of them based around a boy called Little Willy: Little Willy, mad as hell, threw his sister down the well. When his mother tried to get some water, she sighed "It's so hard to raise a daughter." That one makes me think of Norm McDonald shouting "They want to murder you in a well!" at Bob Saget over and over at his roast. Edit: And extra terrible one I just thought of: What do you make out of silicon potatoes? Computer chips! HerniaFlange has a new favorite as of 17:46 on Sep 3, 2013 |
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Sep 3, 2013 02:46
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A pony walks into a bar, coughing. He sits at the bar and croaks out a drink order, barely at a whisper. The bartender can't understand him and says "What? Speak up." The pony clears his throat and replies "Sorry, I'm a little horse"
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Nov 28, 2013 02:18
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Failtron posted:What do you make out of silicon potatoes? Months late, but it should be the other way around, "silicon potatoes" is too specific and the answer doesn't defy expectations nearly as much as the opposite would. How do you make computer chips? Silicon potatoes! For comparison: Who eats mice crispies for breakfast? Cats!
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Nov 29, 2013 11:33
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RillAkBea posted:Who eats mice crispies for breakfast? Haha, holy poo poo I love this joke. It is pitch perfect 7 year old humor. I need to try this on other jokes
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Nov 29, 2013 16:04
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What do you tittilate a lot by oscillating its tit a lot? An ocelot! What do mexicans cut with leetle sceesors? Pizza! Who got to wimbledon at tennish? Sean Connery! you're right, this is fun
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Nov 29, 2013 21:54
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Why did the guy say 'better Nate than lever' and run over a snake?
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Nov 29, 2013 22:05
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What is the weirdest episode of Jeopardy I've ever seen.
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Nov 29, 2013 23:01
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