A child asked his father, “what’s a democrat?”

The father replied, “someone who wants everything you have, except your job!”

The IRS suspected a fishing boat owner wasn't paying proper wages to his deckhand and sent an agent to investigate him.

IRS AUDITOR: "I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them."

BOAT OWNER: "Well, there's Clarence, my deck hand, he's been with me for 3 years. I pay him $1,000 a week plus free room and board. Then there's the mentally challenged guy. He works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of Bacardi rum and a dozen beers every Saturday night so he can cope with life. He also gets to sleep with my wife occasionally."

IRS AUDITOR: "That's The guy I'm here to talk to, the mentally challenged one."

BOAT OWNER: "That would be me. What would you like to know?"

 thisbody wrote:

Osama, Ted Kennedy, and Peter Noone? I'm lost. 

After numerous rounds of, “We don’t know if Osama is still alive,” Osama himself decided to send Ted Kennedy a letter in his own handwriting to let him know he was still in the game. Kennedy opened the letter which appeared to contain a single line of coded message, 370HSSV-0773H. Kennedy was baffled, so he e-mailed it to John Kerry. Kerry and his aides had no clue either, so they sent it to the FBI. Noone could solve it at the FBI, so it went to the CIA, then to the NSA. With no clue as to its meaning, the FBI finally asked Marine Corps Intelligence for help. Within a few seconds the Marine Corps cabled back with this reply, “Tell Kennedy he’s holding the message upside down.”

 Bill_J wrote:

My wife called out from the bedroom asking, "Do you ever get a shooting pain across your body, like someone has a voodoo doll of you and is stabbing at it?"
I replied, No."
After a short pause she then asked, "How about now?"

 thisbody wrote:


  

A little boy goes to his dad and asks, “What is politics?” The dad says, “Well son, let me try to explain it this way: I’m the breadwinner of the family, so let’s call me capitalism. Your mother, she’s the administrator of the money, so we’ll call her the government. We’re here to take care of your needs, so we’ll call you the people. The nanny, we’ll consider her the working class. And your baby brother, we’ll call him the future. Now, think about that and see if that makes sense.” The little boy goes off to bed thinking about what dad had said. Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to check on him. He finds that the baby has soiled his diaper. The little boy goes to his parents’ room and finds his mother sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny’s room. Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed. The next morning, the little boy says to his father, “Dad, I think I understand the concept of politics now.” The father says, “Good son, tell me in your own words what you think politics is all about.” The little boy replies, “Well, while capitalism is screwing the working class, the government is sound asleep, the people are being ignored and the future is in deep shit.”

 oldviolin wrote:

We used to have his records at home before he became a bumpkin Graham Kerr. He was originally doing safety lectures at the refinery, and found that they'd listen to him when he did the funny character. Eventually, a legendary stand up. Then, in his old age, a PBS chef. 
His albums were mandatory at many a drunken parents' party. 

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went on a camping trip. After a good meal and a bottle of wine, they laid down for the night, and went to sleep. Some hours later, Holmes awoke and nudged his faithful friend. “Watson, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.” Watson replied, “I see millions and millions of stars.” “What does that tell you?” Watson pondered for a minute. “Astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies, and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful and that we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. What does it tell you?” Holmes was silent for a minute, then spoke. “It tells me that someone has stolen our tent.”

 Manbird wrote:

And my vision's slowly fading
and other senses are degrading...

Hello darkness my old friend...



I stood up too fast again

An oldie but a goodie...

Jim Mooney had been retired for a few years when suddenly he received a summons one day from the IRS. He’s been selected randomly for a tax audit, so he decides it might be wise if he takes his attorney with him.

Unsurprised by the attorney’s presence, the IRS auditor explains the procedure and then says to Jim, “Mr Mooney, we have been reviewing your affairs and it appears that you have an extravagant lifestyle and yet you’re not in full-time employment nor do you have any other obvious sources of income. You’ve explained this by saying that you win money gambling. Well, sir, I have to tell you, the IRS doesn’t believe that’s a credible explanation.”

“Well I am a skilled gambler,” says Jim, “and I can prove it to you if you’re willing to participate in a wager with me.”

The IRS auditor considers this proposition momentarily and then says, “Yes, I’m willing to give that a try, so go ahead.”

Right,” says Jim, “I’ll bet you one thousand dollars that I can bite my own eye.” The IRS auditor considers this carefully and decides that it’s impossible.

“OK then Mr Mooney,” he says, “You have a bet.”

At this point, and to the IRS auditor’s great surprise, Jim removes his glass eye and then bites it. The auditor sits there in stunned silence, Jim then says, “I’ll bet you two thousand dollars that I can bite my other eye.”

Mr Mooney isn’t blind, so he can’t have another glass eye, thinks the auditor. That’s got to be impossible, surely? So, the auditor accepts the bet.

So, Jim removes his dentures and then bites his good eye. The auditor is stunned, once again, as he now realizes he’s lost three grand and Jim has his attorney as a witness. Naturally, the auditor is starting to get a little nervous.

“Want to go again?” asks Jim.. “What do you have in mind now?” asks the auditor. Jim smiles and says, “I’ll bet you six thousand dollars that I can stand on this side of your desk and pee into that wastebasket next to your chair, without a single drop going anywhere in between.”

The auditor, realizing now that he’s dealing with a wily old fox, is feeling very cautious. However he thinks carefully about the proposition and he decides there’s no way this old guy could possibly manage that stunt, so he agrees.

Jim stands in front of the desk, lowers his zipper, and strains mightily but the trajectory of his pee fails to reach the wastebasket and splashes all over the auditor’s desk. The auditor is both ecstatic and relieved. He’s just turned a major loss into a huge win for him.

However, Jim’s attorney in obvious pain puts his head in his hands face-down on the auditor’s desk.

“What’s the matter?” asked the auditor. “When my client asked me to attend this audit today,” the attorney responded, “he bet me twenty-five thousand dollars that he could come in here and pee all over your desk and that you’d be happy about it.”

 Bill_J wrote:
Yep. Not sure what was "funny" about it. Of course, don't know if mine was any better...

 thisbody wrote:

That was horrible. IMHO.

A few weeks after drummer and noted jerkface Buddy Rich died, the phone rings at his house. His widow answers.
"Hello, is Buddy there?"
"Buddy Rich is dead."
"Oh." click.

a few days later the phone rings.
"Hello, is Buddy there?"
"Buddy Rich is dead."
"Oh." click.

a few days later, the phone rings and she picks it up again.
"Hello, is Buddy there?"
"I told you, Buddy Rich is dead. Why do you keep calling me?"
"I just like to hear it."

An old joke, befitting a sense of oneself, often portrayed in public:

Anger Management

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don’t take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don’t know.

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I’d forgotten to make. I found the number and dialed it. A man answered, saying “Hello.”
I politely said, “This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?”
Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear “Get the right f***ing number!” and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn’t believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn’s correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

After hanging up with her, I decided to call the ‘‘wrong’’ number again. When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled “You’re an asshole!” and hung up. I wrote his number down with the word ‘‘asshole’’ next to it, and put it in my desk drawer.

Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I’d call him up and yell, “You’'re an asshole!” It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic ‘‘asshole’’ calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, “Hi, this is John Smith from the telephone company. I’m calling to see if you’re familiar with our Caller ID Program?”

He yelled “NO!” and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, “That’s because you’re an asshole!” and hung up.

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking Spot. Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I’'d been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a “For Sale” sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole (I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that I’d better call the BMW asshole, too.
I said, “Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?”
He said, “Yes, it is.” I asked, “Can you tell me where I can see it?”

He said, “Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax. It’s a yellow rambler, and the car’s parked right out in front.”
I asked, “What’'s your name?”
He said, “My name is Don Hansen,”
I asked, “When’s a good time to catch you, Don?”
He said, “I’'m home every evening after five.”
I said, “Listen, Don, can I tell you something?”
He said, “Yes?”
I said, “Don, you’re an asshole!”

Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call.

Then I came up with an idea. I called asshole 1.
He said, “Hello.”
I said, “You’re an asshole!” (But I didn’'t hang up.)
He asked, “Are you still there?”
I said, “Yeah,”
He screamed, “Stop calling me,”
I said, “Make me,”
He asked, “Who are you?”
I said, “My name is Don Hansen.”
He said, “Yeah? Where do you live?”

I said, “Asshole, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, a yellow rambler, I have a black Beamer parked in front.”
He said, “I’m coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers.”
I said, “Yeah, like I’'m really scared, asshole,” and hung up.
Then I called Asshole no. 2.
He said, “Hello?”
I said, “Hello, asshole,”
He yelled, “If I ever find out who you are…”
I said, “You’ll what?”
He exclaimed, “I’ll kick your ass,” I answered, “Well, asshole, here’‘s your chance. I’'m coming over right now.”

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Oaktree Blvd, in Fairfax, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover.

Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree Blvd. in Fairfax. I quickly got into my car and headed over to Fairfax. I got there just in time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news crew.

NOW I feel much better. Anger management really does work!

Mommy! Mommy! Billy threw up and Suzy's getting the big pieces!

A Christian guy named Bill saw an ad online for a Christian horse, so he went to check it out. The horse’s owner said, “It’s easy to ride him. Just say ‘Praise the Lord!’ to make him go and ‘Amen!’ to make him stop.” Bill got on the horse and said, “Praise the Lord!” Sure enough, the horse started to walk. “Praise the Lord!” he said again, and the horse began to trot. “Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!” he yelled, and the horse broke into a gallop. Bill was enjoying his ride so much that he almost didn’t notice the cliff he and the horse were about to go over. Bill shouted “AMEN!” at the top of his lungs, and the horse stopped right at the edge of the cliff. Relieved, Bill said, “Phew! Praise the Lord!”