Best New Jokes: December 10, 2000



SCHIZOPHRENIA: Do you Hear What I Hear?


DEMENTIA: I Think I’ll Be Home for Christmas

NARCISSISTIC: Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me

MANIC: Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Busses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants

PARANOID: Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me.

PERSONALITY DISORDER: You Better Watch Out, I’m Gonna Cry, I’m Gonna Pout, Maybe I’ll tell you

DEPRESSION: Silent Anedonia, Holy Anhedonia, All is Flat, All is Lonely.

OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE DISORDER: Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock. (Better start again)

PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE PERSONALITY: On the First Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me (and then took it all away).

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER: Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire.


The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a nativity scene in Washington, D.C. this Christmas. This isn’t for any religious reason. They simply have not been able to find three wise men and a virgin in the Nation’s capitol. There was no problem however finding enough asses to fill the stable.


A man stopped in a small Florida Panhandle town, and noted that there was a “Nativity Scene” which showed great skill and talent had gone into creating it One small feature bothered him — the three wise men were wearing firemen’s helmets. Totally unable to come up with a reason or explanation, he stopped at a convenience store on the edge of town, and asked the lady behind the counter about the helmets.

She gently rebuked me with a smile, “You Damn Yankees! Y’all never do read your Bible!”

The man assured her that he did, but simply couldn’t recall anything about firemen in the Bible.

She lifted her well worn Bible from under the counter and quickly found the page she wanted. Holding it for me to see, she said, “Looky here, it rightly says, ‘The three wise men came from afar.'”

It may be that your sole purpose in life
is simply to serve as a warning to others.


””Twas the night before the Electoral College, when all through the House Not a partisan was stirring, not even to grouse;

The ballots were locked up in Tallahassee with care, In hopes that a president we might someday declare.

The lawyers were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of billable hours danced in their heads;

And Ma in her slippers, and I in flip-flops so fine, Had just settled in to watch Ted Koppel’s “Nightline”

When out on the lawn there arose such a noise, I sprang from the couch expecting Jim Baker or David Boies.

Away to the window I flew sort of fast, Earnestly wishing I had some rock salt to blast.

The moon illuminated my bug-eaten lawn But I still couldn’t tell what was going on;

When, what to my bleary eyes should appear, But a moving van, with boxes of ballots bouncing out the rear.

The little old driver was moving so quick, I knew in a moment his skull must be quite thick.

More rapid than butterflies, the ballots came, While the old man whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Bush! now, Nader! now, Buchanan and Gore! With candidates like these, who could help but snore?

Out of the van! All of you fall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

Like trailers in a wild hurricane fly, Florida’s ballots lifted up and soared to the sky,

Up, up to my rooftop the votes flew, Thousands of punched ballots — and dimpled ones too.

Then, in a twinkling, I heard on everyone’s roofs The prancing and pawing of TV anchormen’s hooves.

As I bawled up my fists, and was turning around, Down the chimney the driver came with a bound.

St. Nick was dressed in beachwear, from his head to his foot, His Bermudas all spotted with chads and soot;

A bundle of ballots he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pol who’d just shaken down a PAC.

His eyes — how they twinkled! with dimples that counted! But his face was quite sallow, his expression so haunted!

His spittle-lined mouth was drawn up real tight, Jaws clenched as if aching to fight.

A voting stylus he held secure in his teeth, And chads encircled his head like a wreath;

He had bad breath and a big beer belly, That shook so when he cussed that he hollered, “Whoa, Nelly!”

He was a miserable old grump, a right nasty old elf, And I guffawed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

With a wink of his eye and a twist of my ear, He soon let me know I had plenty to fear;

He grabbed me and made me get straight to work, He ordered us all to recount, then left like a jerk,

Laying his thumb to his nose, He made a rude gesture, and up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his van and honked the horn loudly, And away he flew, waving quite proudly.

And I heard him exclaim, as his tires squealed through the night, “HAPPY ELECTION, Y’ALL, AND NEXT TIME VOTE TWICE!”

If you lend someone $20,
and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.


Wine her,
Dine her,
Call her,
Hug her,
Support her,
Hold her,
Surprise her,
Compliment her,
Smile at her,
Listen to her,
Laugh with her,
Cry with her,
Romance her,
Believe in her,
Cuddle with her,
Shop with her,
Give her jewelry,
Buy her flowers,
Hold her hand,
Write love letters to her,
Go to the end of the earth and back again for her.


Arrive naked. Bring food.

Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day.
Teach him how to fish, and he will sit in a boat
& drink beer all day.


Bush Trusts The People, But Not If It Involves Counting.

One Person, One Vote (May Not Apply In Certain States)

I Didn’t Vote For His Daddy, Either.

It Ain’t Over ‘Til Your Brother Counts The Votes.

The Election Can’t Be Broken. We Just Fixed It.

Banana Republicans

George W. Bush: The President Quayle We Never Had

The Last Time Somebody Listened To A Bush, Folks Wandered In The Desert For 40 Years


Stranded on a Desert Island A guy is stranded on a desert island, all alone for ten years. One day, he sees a speck in the horizon. He thinks to himself, “It’s not a ship.” The speck gets a little closer and he thinks, “It’s not a boat.” The speck gets even closer and he thinks, “It’s not a raft.”

Then, out of the surf comes this gorgeous blonde in a wet suit.

She comes up to the guy and she says, “How long since you’ve had a cigarette?” “Ten years!” he says. She reaches over, unzips this waterproof pocket in her left sleeve and pulls out a pack of fresh cigarettes. He takes one, lights it, takes a long drag and says, “Man, oh man! Is that good!”

Then she says, “How long since you’ve had a drink of whiskey!” He replies, “Ten years!” She reaches over, unzips her waterproof pocket on the right, pulls out a flask and gives it to him. He takes a long swig and says, “Wow, that’s fantastic!”

Then she starts unzipping the long zipper that runs right down the front of her wet suit “And how long has it been since you’ve played around?”

He says, “My God! Don’t tell me that you’ve got golf clubs in there!”



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