Friday, August 28, 2020

Funny Friday


Another Funny Friday, readers, and right off the bat (I will need to look into how that expression came to mean immediately) I will caution that the items below contain risquรฉ content.  Don’t go further if you might be offended.

Some laughs and smiles for the beginning of spring, or autumn if you happen to be in the Northern hemisphere.

Stay safe, readers.



"I'm groping the balls of the storm."

The manager hesitated for a moment on the phone. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" he asked the newly hired immigrant worker.

"I...rub the storm...balls?" the man said, coughing.

Before he could ask again, the manager heard a little commotion on the line, followed by a younger voice.

"I'm so sorry, my father has been learning English. He won't be making it into work today because he's feeling sick."

"Oh! That's perfectly fine, but...what was the part about rubbing...storm balls...?"

The kid laughed. "We were working on popular English idioms this week. He was trying to say he's feeling under the weather."


A blonde was speeding in a school zone when a local police officer pulled her over and walked up to the car. The officer also happened to be a blonde and she asked for the blonde's driver's license. The driver searched frantically in her purse for a while and finally said to the blonde policewoman, "What does a driver's license look like?" Irritated, the blonde cop said, "You dummy, it's got your picture on it!" The blonde driver frantically searched her purse again and found a small, rectangular mirror down at the bottom. She held it up to her face and said, "Aha! This must be my driver's license" and handed it to the blonde policewoman. The blonde cop looked in the mirror, handed it back to the driver and said, "You're free to go. And, if I had known you were a police officer too, we could have avoided all of this."

To the man in the wheelchair that stole my camouflage jacket . . .

You can hide but you can’t run.


A pothead goes to the local dealer.

He says: “Yo, gimme something new, something strong!”

“Alright man, this is the new product in the market. replies the dealer. It's called "Light-Dark".

“Light-Dark? Why?” asks the pothead.

“Just buy some, try it out, and you'll see why.”

The pothead buys the stuff, arrives at home and tells his dad “Eyy, Pops! I'm going out to the balcony for some fresh air.”

His dad approved, he gets  on the balcony, prepares a joint with the product, and starts smoking.

“Maaaan, this is really some good shit!” and suddenly, he sees light, dark. Light, dark. Light, dark.

The next day he goes to the dealer and says: “Yo, dude, you were right! This really is some good stuff, gimme some more!”

“Told you man! Here you go.”

The pothead arrives at home and tells his dad “Eyy, Pops! I'm going out to the balcony for some fresh air.”

“Are you going to be staying there for 3 days again, son?”



A journalist goes to a poor remote Russian village for a documentary.

He saw an old man and asked him to narrate a typical happy story of his village.

The old man smiled and began: "One day, a long time ago, my goat got lost in the mountains. As is our tradition, all the men of the village gathered to drink vodka first and then looked for the goat. When we finally found her, as is our tradition, we all drank some more vodka and all the men in the village each got their turn to mate with the goat. We had so much fun that day!"

The journalist realized that he couldn't publish such a story so he asked the old man if he had another happy story.

The old man smiled again and started all over again: "Once, my neighbour’s wife got lost in the mountains. As per our tradition, all of the village's men gathered to drink vodka and then went to look for her. As is our tradition, when we finally found her, all the men in the village got their turn to mate with the neighbour’s wife. We had great fun that day!"

The journalist couldn't publish that story either and therefore asked: "Don't you have a story that is less happy; something... umm ... sadder?"

The old man's smile faded. His eyes welled up..... In a sad, soft voice he began:

“One day I got lost in the mountains.....”



Last week I posted some of the god-awful limericks of Edward Lear, who popularised the poetic format in the mid 1800s, and some of the parodies of specific limericks by Lear.

The poet Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909)  and his band of merry men liked to attack the bland and mediocre, which included writing parodies of Lear’s limericks.  Some of those in the future.

Which is not to say that Swinburne wasn’t an excellent poet in his own right, as evidenced by his being the author of the following famous classic I have posted previously (whenever the place name comes up in programs such as Escape to the Country I make a point of quoting it to Kate):

There was a girl from Aberystwyth
Who brought grain to the mill to get grist with.
The miller's son, Jack.
Laid her flat on her back
And united the organs they pissed with.

Now that’s poetry!

But I digress.

Another poet in the Lear mould who deserved to be parodied was A C Hilton, the author of “Young Gourmand of Johns”, whose limerick dates from 1872 and refers to the tradition of eating swan in St. John’s College:

There was a young gourmand of Johns,
Who'd a notion of dining on swans.
To the Backs he took big nets
To capture the cygnets,
But was told they were kept for the dons.

Swinburne and Co did parody it:

There was a young man of St. John’s
Who wanted to bugger the swans.
But the loyal hall porter
Said, “Sir take my daughter,
Them swans are reserved for the dons.”





A man walks into an Indian restaurant. The waiter asks, “have you ever ordered here before?”

The man replies, “No, I haven’t.”

The waiter continues, “We’re a little different here. Before you order, I need you read and sign this form,” and he hands a piece of paper to the man.

The man squints at the paper and reads the single sentence, “We have naan at this restaurant.” The man looked up, puzzled, and asked why he needed to sign this worthless statement.

The waiter replied, impatiently, “Just sign the naan disclosure agreement and we can move on.”


I wrote a list down of people I hate on a piece of paper.

I later found out my roommate used that list to roll his joint.

Now he’s high on that list of people I hate.


Why didn't the green pepper practice archery?
Because it didn't habanero.


I've got a great joke about construction...
but I'm still working on it.


My friend didn’t believe me that Slash was in AC/DC . . .
C’mon, he is right there in the middle.


I don't know why the beautiful attendant at IKEA reported me to the police.
All I asked was, "How much for one night stand?"


So I was working my usual shift when a woman sat down next to me and said “Hit me.”

I, of course, said “No way! I’m not a violent person!”

She got mad and kept telling me to hit her so, I did.

Anyway, I don’t work for the casino anymore


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