Humor

Best New Jokes: December 13, 2004

BEST JOKES OF THE WEEK…GUARANTEED

First the bad news:
The good old days
are gone forever.
Now, the good news:
These are the good old days.


SORRY, NO NATIVITY SCENE THIS YEAR

The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a nativity scene in Washington, D.C. this Christmas.

This isn’t for any religious constitutional reason.

They simply have not been able to find three wise men and a virgin in the ” capitol.

There was no problem, however, finding enough asses to fill the stable.


CAROL FOR THE NARCISSISTIC:
HARK THE HERALD ANGLES SING ABOUT ME


REMEMBER THIS AT CHRISTMAS TIME

According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December.

Female reindeer retain their antlers until after they give birth in the spring.

Therefore, according to EVERY historical rendition depicting Santa’s reindeer, EVERY single one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen, had to be a girl.

We should’ve known:

ONLY women would be able to drag a fat-ass man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost.


CAROL FOR DEMENTIA:
I THINK I WILL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS


THROUGH A REVOLVING DOOR, SMILING

A short, cautionary tale about how Fat Cats make millions playing the Washington Game to the detriment of Seniors and our country. Tommy Thompson on the carpet.


CAROL FOR MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER:
WE THREE QUEENS DISORIENTED ARE


A DIETER’S CHRISTMAS

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips
Were Fannie May candies that sneaked past my lips.

Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
In hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.

While Mama in her girdle and I in chin straps
Had just settled down to sugar-borne naps.

When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash,
Tore open the icebox then threw up the sash.

The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
Sent thoughts of a binge to my body below.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear:
A marzipan Santa with eight chocolate reindeer!

That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I’d wind up sick.

The sweet-coated Santa, those sugared reindeer
Closed my eyes tightly but still I could hear;

On Pritikin, On Stillman, on Atkins on TOPS
Almost in a coma from sugar detox

From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
Now dash away pounds now dash away all.

Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
My clothes were all bulging from too much excess.

My droll little mouth and my round little belly,
They shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly.

I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
Ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk.

And laying a finger beside my heartburn
Gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I turned.

I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry
If temptation’s removed I’ll get thin by and by.

And I mumbled again as I turned for the night
In the morning I’ll starve… ’til I take that first bite!


CAROL FOR THE PARANOID:
SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO GET ME


YOUR QUESTIONS ANSWERED

A young boy asks his father, “Dad, is it OK for us guys to notice all the different kind of boobs?” Surprised, the father answers, “Well, sure son, we wouldn’t be normal if we didn’t. There are all kinds of breasts depending on a woman’s age. In her twenties, a woman’s breasts are like melons, round and firm. In her thirties to forties, they are like pears, still nice but hanging a bit. After fifty, they are like onions.”

“Onions, Dad?” “Yeah, you see them and they make you cry.”

Not to be outdone, his sister asks her mother, “Mom, how many kind of weenies are there?”

The mother, delighted to have equal time, answers, “Well, daughter, a man goes through three phases. In a man’s twenties, a man’s weenie is like an oak, mighty and hard. In his thirties and forties, it is like a birch, flexible but reliable. After his fifties, it is like a Christmas tree.”

“A Christmas tree?” “Yep, dried up and the balls are only there for decoration.”


CAROL FOR THE SCHIZOPHRENIC:
DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?


HAPPY, MERRY, WEEWEECHU, WHATEVER

One beautiful December evening Huan Cho and his girlfriend, Jung Lee were sitting by the side of the ocean. It was a romantic full moon, when Huan Cho said “Hey baby, let’s play Weeweechu.”

“Oh no, not now, lets look at the moon” said Jung Lee.

“Oh, c’mon baby, let’s you and I play Weeweechu. I love you and its the perfect time,” Huan Cho Begged.

“But I rather just hold your hand and watch the moon.”

“Please Jung Lee, just once play Weeweechu with me.”

Jung Lee looked at Huan Chi and finally gave in. “OK. Let’s play Weeweechu.”

Huan Cho grabbed his guitar and they both sang, “Weeweechu a Merry Christmas, Weeweechu a Merry Christmas, Weeweechu a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.”


CAROL FOR A PERSONALITY DISORDER:
YOU BETTER WATCH OUT,
MAYBE I WILL POUT, MAYBE I WILL CRY
AND MAYBE I, WILL TELL YOU WHY
OR MAYBE NOT


HOW THE ANGEL GOT ON TOP OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE

Not long ago and far away, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip…but there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.

Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her Mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more. When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where to. More Stress! Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys.

Totally frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey. When he went to the cupboard, he found the elves had hit the liquor and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he dropped the coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw it was made from.

Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. He opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said: “Where would you like to put this tree fat man?”

And that my friend is how the little angel came to be on top of the Christmas tree.


CAROL FOR THE MANIC:
DECK THE HALLS AND WALLS AND HOUSE
AND LAWN AND STREET AND STORES
AND OFFICE AND TOWN AND CARS
AND BUSSES AND TRUCKS
AND TREES AND FIRE HYDRANTS


GETTING PAST THE PEARLY GATES

Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at
the pearly gates.

“In honor of this holy season,” Saint Peter said, “You must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven.”

The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on. “It represents a candle,” he said. “You may pass through the pearly gates,” Saint Peter said.

The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, “They’re bells”. Saint Peter said,
“You may pass through the pearly gates.”

The third man started searching desperately through his pockets and finally pulled out a pair of women’s panties.

St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, “And just what do those symbolize?” The man replied, “They’re Carol’s”.


CAROL FOR THE SCHIZOPHRENIC:
DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?


A MOMENT OF REFLECTION AT CHRISTMAS

Another year has passed
and we’re all a little older.
Last summer felt hotter
and winter seems much colder.

There was a time not long ago
when life was quite a blast.
Now I fully understand about
“Living in the Past”

We used to go to weddings,
football games and lunches.
Now we go to funeral homes,
and after-funeral brunches.

We used to have hangovers,
from parties that were gay.
Now we suffer body aches
and while the night away.

We used to go out dining,
and couldn’t get our fill.
Now we ask for doggie bags,
come home and take a pill.

We used to often travel
to places near and far.
Now we get sore asses
from riding in the car.

We used to go to nightclubs
and drink a little booze.
Now we stay home at night
and watch the evening news.

That, my friend is how life is,
and now my tale is told.
So, enjoy each day and live it up…
before you’re too damned old!


CAROL FOR A BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER:
THOUGHTS OF ROASTING ON AN OPEN FIRE


FANS OF SUDDENLY SENIOR ARE OUT TO GET YOU

CHRISTMAS HAS BEEN CANCELED AND IT IS ALL YOUR FAULT. We know it was YOU who told Santa you had been good this year.

Poor old Santa laughed himself to death.


CAROL FOR A PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE PERSONALITY:
ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME,
THEN TOOK IT ALL AWAY


A STORY TO REMEMBER

The Sunday after Christmas, the Sunday School teacher told her students about an angel appearing to Joseph in a dream, warning him about danger to the baby Jesus and telling him how to escape from it. After the story time, the students were given an opportunity to draw a picture about the story.

Most of the pictures were predictable, but John’s had an odd element in it.

“Johnny, I see Joseph and Mary with the baby Jesus on a donkey, but what is that following the donkey?

“It’s the flea, teacher.”

“What flea?” asked the teacher.

To which the boy faithfully repeated the Bible verse: “Take Mary and Jesus and flea to Egypt. There’s Mary; there’s Jesus; and there’s the flea


CAROL FOR DEPRESSION:
SILENT NOTHING,
HOLY NOTHING,
ALL IS FLAT,
ALL IS LONELY


THIS WEEK’S DUMB BLOND JOKE

BARBIE FIGHTS BACK

Dear Santa:

Listen, you fat little troll, I’ve been helping you out every year, playing at being the perfect Christmas present, wearing skimpy bathing suits in frigid weather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many tea parties, and I hate to break it to you Santa, but IT’S DEFINITELY PAYBACK TIME!

There had better be some changes around here by next Christmas, or I’m gonna call for a nationwide meltdown (and trust me, you won’t want to be around to smell it).

So, here’s My Holiday Wish List:

1. A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized sweat shirt. I’m sick of looking like a hooker.

How much smaller are these bathing suits gonna get?
Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon and Velcro crawling up your butt?

2. Real underwear that can be pulled on and off.
Preferably white.

What bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation underwear to my skin? It looks like cellulite!

3. A REAL man…maybe G.I. Joe. Hell, I’d take Tickle-Me Elmo over that poor excuse for a boyfriend Ken.

And what’s with that earring anyway? If I’m gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him (and me) anatomically correct.

4. Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp away once he is anatomically correct.

5. Breast reduction surgery. I don’t care whose arm you have to twist, just get it done.

6. A jogging bra. To wear until I get the surgery.

7. A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher just don’t cut it. How about a systems analyst? Or better yet, an advertising account exec.

8. A new, more new millennium persona. Maybe “PMS Barbie”, complete with a miniature container of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a bag of chips;

“Animal Rights Barbie,” with my very own paint gun, outfitted with a fake fur coat and handcuffs; or “Stop Smoking Barbie,” sporting a removable Nicotrol patch and equipped with several packs of gum.

9. No more McDonald’s endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl.

10. Mattel stock options. It’s been 37 years. I think I deserve it.

OK, Santa, that’s it. Considering my valuable contribution to society, I don’t think these requests are out of line.

If you disagree, then you can find yourself a new bimbo doll for next Christmas. It’s that simple.

Love, Barbie

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