The whole Joke archive. Tons of jokes!
On duty as a customer-service rep for a car-rental company, I took a call from a driver who needed a tow. He was stranded on a busy highway, but he didn’t know the make of the car he was driving. I asked again for a more detailed description beyond a “blue, four-door sedan.”
“It’s the one on fire,” he replied.
In an upscale pet-supply store, a customer wanted to buy a red sweater for her dog. The clerk suggested that she bring her dog in for a proper fit.
“Oh, no, I can’t do that!” the lady said. “See, the sweater is going to be a surprise!”
In the early 1990’s, when I was stationed at Caserma Carlo Ederle in Italy, it was very common to see soldiers riding bicycles back and forth to work. So it came as no big surprise that, after a series of painfully comic accidents, a new policy was announced, saying in summary,
“Soldiers shall no longer salute officers who are engaged in the riding of a bicycle.”
Setting off the alarm while passing through a metal detector at McCarran Airport in Las Vegas, a blonde traveler was asked by a security agent if she had any change in her pockets.
“Gee,” the blonde says, turning towards her husband, I told you we should of gone to Florida instead…..everyone here expects to be tipped.”
As a soldier approaches a checkpoint in the dark the voice of the sentry suddenly barks, “Halt! Who’s there?”
“I’m an American,” came the reply.
“Is that so? Okay, advance and recite the second verse of the ‘Star Spangled Banner.'”
“It’s, uuuuh, something-something, the morning’s first gleam, tell you the truth I don’t really know it,” came the confession finally.
“Proceed,” said the sentry.
When a golf supply store near our house went under, the only evidence it had existed was a sign that read “Hole in One Golf Supplies.”
Recently, a new company moved into the building. Rather than throw away the sign, the owners merely made a few edits. The sign now reads “Hole for One Mortuary Supplies.”
On my four-year-old daughter’s first trip to Disneyland, she couldn’t wait to get on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.
As the car zoomed through the crazy rooms, into the path of a speeding train, and through walls that fell away at the last second, she clutched the little steering wheel in front of her.
When the ride was over, she said to me a little shakily, “Next time, you drive. I didn’t know where I was going.”
It was early morning at the military base, and the first sergeant was calling out names for the daily work parties listed on a piece of paper:
“Ames”
“Here!”
“Jenson”
“Here!”
“Jones”
“Here!”
“Magersky”
“Here!”
“Seeback”
No answer.
“SEEBACK!
The troops remained totally silent.
At that point, someone whispered into the first sergeant’s ear. He looked again at what the last name really said, turned a bright crimson red, and quickly turned over the list to continue calling the names printed on the other side.
First thing – every single morning – one of the secretaries in our office opened the newspaper and read everyone’s horoscope aloud.
“Gwen,” said our boss finally, “you seem to be a normal, levelheaded person. Do you really believe in astrology?”
“Of course not,” Gwen answered. “You know how skeptical we Capricorns are.”
A woman calls an import parts warehouse and asks for a 28-ounce water pump. “A what?” says the confused parts guy.
“My husband says he needs a 28-ounce water pump.”
“A 28-ounce water pump? What kind of car does it fit?”
“A Datsun.”
As the parts guy writes down “Datsun, 28 oz. water pump” the light in his head goes on. “Oh yes ma’am. We’ve got 28-ounce water pumps. We have 24-ounce and 26-ounce water pumps too.”
“Finally,” she says. “You’re the first place I’ve called that knew what I was talking about.”
“Yes ma’am. That’s because we’re a full-service parts warehouse; it’s our job to have the parts you need, like a 28-ounce water pump,” he says, smiling, as he jots down customer pick-up, Datsun 280Z water pump, part number…
Our mom needed a new mattress for her antique bed, so my brother, Josh, and I decided to buy her one as a gift. The problem was we weren’t sure what to get, because it was an odd size. Fortunately, my brother happened to be visiting my mother one day when I called home.
“Measure the bed frame before you leave,” I told him.
“I don’t have a tape measure.”
“You can use a dollar bill,” I suggested, “each one is six inches long.”
“Can’t,” he replied after digging through his wallet, “I only have a ten.”
I sat with my infant son in front of the TV, hostage to my husband’s channel-surfing. He eventually settled on an R-rated movie in which the actress was soon topless.
“Honey, change the channel,” I said, shielding my son’s eyes. “He shouldn’t see this.”
“It’s okay.” my husband replied. “He probably thinks it’s the Food Network.”
A woman said to her friend, “I don’t know what to do. My husband is such a mess maker that you can’t imagine. He doesn’t put anything in its place, I am always going around the house organizing things.”
The friend says, “Take a tip from me. The first week after we were married I told my husband firmly, ‘Every glass and plate that you take, wash when you are done and put back in its place.'”
The first woman asked, “Did it help?”
Her friend said, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since.”
One evening I was driving my six-year-old daughter to her grandparents’ home for an overnight stay. It was late, there was little traffic and we were enjoying a peaceful ride. It was a far cry from the usual chaos surrounding us when I drive her to various activities during rush hour.
My daughter seemed deep in thought when she said, “I have a question.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Mom, when you’re driving,” she asked, “are you ever the idiot?”
For the first few months of her co-op job for the state of Georgia, my sister had nothing to do, so she surfed the Web or did crossword puzzles. One day she expressed her boredom to a co-worker.
“I know,” she complained. “Everyone thinks state workers have it easy. But there’s only so much you can pretend you’re doing.”