At a wedding last weekend, I leaned over to the person beside me and whispered, “Wow… the bride isn’t exactly easy on the eyes.”
They turned to me and said, “Excuse me? That’s my daughter!”
I quickly replied, “I’m so sorry… I didn’t realize you were her father.”
“I’m not her father, you idiot,” they snapped. “I’m her mother!”
A gorgeous young redhead goes into the doctor’s office and said that her body hurt wherever she touched it.
“Impossible!” says the doctor. “Show me.”
The redhead took her finger, pushed on her left breast and screamed, then she pushed her elbow and screamed even more. She pushed her knee and screamed; likewise she pushed her ankle and screamed.
Everywhere she touched made her scream.
The doctor said, “You’re not really a redhead, are you?”
“Well, no,” she said, “I’m actually a blonde.”
“I thought so,” the doctor said. “Your finger is broken.”
A man goes to the therapist and says…
“Doctor, you got to help me. My wife is unfaithful to me. Every night, she goes to Larry’s bar and picks up a man.
She sleeps with anybody who asks her. I can’t take this anymore!”
The therapist says:
“Relax. Take a deep breath, sit down, and tell me exactly, where’s Larry’s bar?”
A man was walking home from his local in Belfast when he felt something prod in his back and a voice whisper in his ear, “Tell me. Are you Catholic or Protestant?”
He gulped and said nothing.
The voice angrily whispered, “Tell me! Are you Catholic or Protestant?”
The man shat himself a little and thought, it’s fifty fifty if I live if I tell the truth or lie.
The thing in his back was pushed harder, the voice now much louder, “Tell me! Are you Catholic or Protestant!?”
In a very quiet voice the man says, “I’m a Jewish boy” and the voice behind him says, “I must be the luckiest Arab in Belfast tonight!”
After five years on the wagon, my friend Natasha started hitting the bottle again. I just have to remember that it’s a sickness, not a weakness, to be addicted to artificially blonde hair.
If Saddam Hussein ever kills me with mustard gas, I hope it’s the yellow French’s kind, and not that brown Dijon stuff. I always hated that foo-foo gourmet crap.
Someone should put up a sign next to a NASCAR track reading “FREE BUDWEISER, NEXT RIGHT.”
What do Winnie the Pooh, Alexander the Great, and Andre the Giant all have in common?
Same middle name.
