Two men were boasting to each other about their old army days.

Why, my outfit was so well drilled, declared one, that when they presented arms all you could hear was slap, slap, click.

Very good, conceded the other, but when my company presented arms youd just hear slap, slap, jingle.

What was the jingle? asked the first. Oh, replied the other offhand, just our medals.

A young man joined the Army and signed up with the paratroopers. He went though the standard training, completed the practice jumps from higher and higher structures, and finally went to take his first jump from an airplane. The next day, he called home to his father to tell him the news.

So, did you jump? the father asked.

Well, let me tell you what happened. We got up in the plane, and the sergeant opened up the door and asked for volunteers. About a dozen men got up and just walked out of the plane!

Is that when you jumped? asked the father.

Um, not yet. Then the sergeant started to grab the other men one at a time and throw them out the door.

Did you jump then? asked the father.

Im getting to that. Every one else had jumped, and I was the last man left on the plane. I told the sergeant that I was too scared to jump. He told me to get off the plane or hed kick my ass.

So, did you jump?

Not then. He tried to push me out of the plane, but I grabbed onto the door and refused to go. Finally he called over to the Jump Master. The Jump Master is this great big guy, about six-foot five, and 250 pounds. He said to me, Boy, are you gonna jump or not?

I said, No, sir. Im too scared.

So the Jump Master pulled down his zipper and took his penis out. I swear, it was about ten inches long and as big around as a baseball bat!

He said, Boy, either you jump out that door, or Im sticking this little baby up your ass.

So, did you jump? asked the father.

Well, a little, at first.

At one Army base, the annual trip to the rifle range
had been canceled for the second year in a row, but
the semi-annual physical fitness test was still on
as planned.

One soldier mused, Does it bother anyone else that
the Army doesnt seem to care how well we can shoot,
but they are extremely interested in how fast we can run?

One reason the Services have trouble operating jointly is that they dont speak the same language.



For example, if you told Navy personnel to secure a building, they would turn off the lights and lock the doors.





Army personnel would occupy the building so no one could enter.





Marines would assault the building, capture it, and defend it with suppressive fire and close combat.





The Air Force, on the other hand, would take out a three-year lease with an option to buy.

A farmer brought his pride rooster to sell in the market. What do you feed that bird that he is so big? asked a Pathan soldier of the Pakistan army. I feed it rice, Sir, replied the farmer. How dare you waste rice on the bird while we are short of food?

The Pathan Seized the bird

The next day the farmer brought another rooster to sell. What do y6u feed that bird that he is so big? demanded a Baluch soldier of the Pakistan army Sir, I feed it with ghee; replied the farmer. How dare you waste ghee on a bird while we are short of food! swore the Baluchi as he seized the bird.

The next day the poor farmer brought his last remaining rooster to the market. This time a Punjabi Mussalman soldier asked him, What do you feed that bird that it is so big?

The Bangla farmer joined the palms of his hands and pleaded, Sir, I dont give him any feed. I just give him two paise every day to buy whatever he likes in the market.

Collective copyright 1999 JokeMaster — Clothing-optional Jokelist!

Being an Evil Overlord seems to be a good career choice. It pays well, there are all sorts of perks and you can set your own hours. However, every Evil Overlord Ive read about in books or seen in movies invariably gets overthrown and destroyed in the end. Ive noticed that no matter whether they are barbarian lords, deranged wizards, mad scientists or alien invaders, they always seem to make the same basic mistakes every single time. Therefore, if I ever happen to become an Evil Overlord:

My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear plexiglass visors, not face-concealing ones.
My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.
My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell of my dungeon.
Shooting is not too good for my enemies.
The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragons of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box.
I will not gloat over my enemies predicament before killing them.
When the rebel leader challenges me to fight one-on-one and asks, Or are you afraid without your armies to back you up? my reply will be, No, just sensible.
When Ive captured my adversary and he says, Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about? Ill say, No and shoot him.
After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.
I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labeled Danger: Do Not Push. The big red button marked Do Not Push will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough not to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will not clearly be labeled as such. There will be no Plug.
I will not order my trusted lieutenant to kill the infant who is destined to overthrow me – Ill do it myself.
I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum – a small hotel well outside my borders will work just as well.
I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.
I will not waste time making my enemys death look like an accident – Im not accountable to anyone and my other enemies wouldnt believe it anyway.
I will make it clear that I do know the meaning of the word mercy; I simply choose not show them any.
One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.
All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least have several rounds of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.
My undercover agents will not have tattoos identifying them as members of my organization, nor will they be required to wear military boots or adhere to any other dress codes.
The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.
I will never employ any device with a digital countdown. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable, I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.
I will design all doomsday machines myself. If I must hire a mad scientist to assist me, I will make sure that he is sufficiently twisted to never regret his evil ways and seek to undo the damage hes caused.
I will never utter the sentence But before I kill you, theres just one thing I want to know.
When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.
I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would provide a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.
I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the heros rugged countenance and shed betray her own father.
Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, its too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.
I will hire a talented fashion designer to create original uniforms for my legions of terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi storm troopers, Roman foot soldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.
No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.
I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way – even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless – my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.
I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. Even though this takes some of the fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!! (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)
No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible vulnerable spot.
If I am engaged in a duel to the death with the hero and I am fortunate enough to knock the weapon out of his hand, I will graciously allow him to retrieve it. This is not from a sense of fair play; rather, it gives me the opportunity to kill him while he is distracted.
No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive who is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bed chamber.
I will never build only one of anything important. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.
If my supreme command center comes under attack, I will immediately flee to safety in my prepared escape pod and direct the defenses from there. I will not wait until the troops break into my inner sanctum to attempt this.
My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.
Even though I dont really care because I plan on living forever, I will hire engineers who are able to build me a fortress sturdy enough that, if I am slain, it wont tumble to the ground for no good structural reason.
I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.
All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.
All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcement and/or romantic subplot for the hero or his sidekick.
Any and all magic and/or technology that can miraculously resurrect a secondary character who has given up his/her life through self sacrifice will be outlawed and destroyed.
I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.
I will see to it that plucky young lads/lasses in strange clothes and with the accent of an outlander shall REGULARLY climb some monument in the main square of my capital and denounce me, claim to know the secret of my power, rally the masses to rebellion, etc. That way, the citizens will be jaded in case the real thing ever comes along.
I wont require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.
I will not employ devious schemes that involve the heros party getting into my inner sanctum before the trap is sprung.
I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.
I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.
I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing out copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.
If my trusted lieutenant tells me my Legions of Terror are losing a battle, I will believe him. After all, hes my trusted lieutenant.
If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.
If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.
I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable superweapon, I will use it as early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.
Once my power is secure, I will destroy all those pesky time-travel devices.
I will offer oracles the choice of working exclusively for me or being executed. Those that take more than two seconds to respond will be killed either way.
When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys happens to follow him around. Not that the key will be anywhere near the hero.
I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans. I will then lie to her, and see if she betrays me.
I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.
I will not rely entirely upon totally reliable spells that can be neutralized by relatively inconspicuous talisman.
I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization. For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him, say And here is the price for failure, then suddenly turn and kill some random, totally reliable underling.
If an advisor says to me My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?, I will reply This. and kill the advisor.
If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.
I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness. Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.
If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.
My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh power books. They will also have a virus protection program – just in case.
I will make the main entrance to my fortress standard-sized. While elaborate 60-foot high double-doors definitely impress the masses, they are hard to close quickly in an emergency.
If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions in the beautiful princess cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people-oriented position.
I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.
If the beautiful princess that I capture says Ill never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!, I will say, Oh well, and kill her.
I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.
Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

Wanna play army? Ill lay down and you can blow the hell outta me.

David Greenland is an expert on Land Resource Planning.

Anthony Pinto is Production Manager of Ford Motor Company. (No! the car was not named after him)

Dr Coffin is the head of the CMA. (Canadian Medical Association)

Peter Nix is a toxicologist at Environment Canada.

Rik Scarce is in jail for non-revelation of his sociology study sources

Otto Matt was a pioneer in digital cartography

Sergei Chilibashwilli – Soviet athlete who fatally bashed his willy on the concrete platform at the Edmonton Student Games.

Andrew Payer is an auditor in the pay office of Health and Welfare Canada

John Trout works for Environmental Communications.

Dr. M. Gawk-roger is my opthalmologist.

Bill Hogg is a hobby farmer and physician.

Nancy Savage is a corporate lawyer.

Byrd Airport in Richmond VA.

Sally Ryde was the first woman to have a ride in the Space shuttle Challenger. Lucky she didnt get the second.

Wendy Parkes is a bureaucrat in Parks Canada.

Steve Podborski: The great downhiller who won the 1981 World Championship: rides his boards in a characteristic pod. (the pod he is affectionally known). Eddie Podivinski won the Salbach Downhill Jan 94.

Harry Rosenbloom is a horticulturalist at the Experimental farm.

Dr. G.G. Barber is a vascular surgeon.

Robert P. Wood. Built the XP-77 fighter in 1942 in response to the U.S. Army call for a fighter built of wood to match the Japanese Zero.

Peter Popoff: Television Faith Healer with miracles of Power! Power! Power!

Lorena Bobbit! Oh! my Gawwwwd!!

The Young Whipper-Snapper (TYWS) took MrsYWS to the races one fine Sunday. There they met Maury, an old Army buddy of TYWS.

Hey! Maury! Hows it goin? says TYWS.

Cool enough, says Maury, Ive come to bet.

Great, says TYWS, you can explain it to me, because I dont know anything about the track.

Me neither, confesses Maury, I just play random combinations, and that works like a charm every time. Here ya go, lemme help you pick some numbers. How long you and the missus been married?

15 years.

And how many times a week do yo make love?

7.

And how many kids you got?

2.

And, finally, whats the last number in your house number?

9.

Great! says Maury. Im gonna fix you up with 15-7-2-9.

The race takes place, but the winning combinatin is 15-1-2-9.

Thats when MrsYWS knocks TYWS over the head with her purse: Fool! If you had told him the truth, wed be RICH!

My Uncle Dave was a real World War II hero, but with the passage of time, stories tend to grow. He started one nite after a family dinner to tell his famous Pillbox story.

There I was, on the island of Cebu, pinned down by pillbox fire and saw eighteen Japanese soldiers advancing on me …

At that point my Aunt interrupted and said, David! The last time you told the boys that story, it was a dozen enemy soldiers.

Without pausing he replied, Yes. But they were too young then to know the whole horrible truth.