Old and New Jokes

Men have been hearing for decades that they are lousy lovers. Its a
given thing in this culture. If we believe what women have been telling
us, it seems that todays males are hasty, inconsiderate, ignorant,
confused, and uncaring.

Men are supposedly limp-dicked premature ejaculators with no sense of
timing or communication. But the truth of the matter is that women
contribute as much to our cultures sexual malaise as men do. Lets
consider the classes of lousy lovers among women:

The Otherwise Engaged: If she were on a frequent
flier plan, it would take her ten years to earn a trip from Heathrow to
Aberdeen. To live with her is to not know her. Not tonight, I have a
headache has become Not this year, I have a career. In this
relationship, the hand you hold will probably be your own, but dont be
embarrassed by that. Rejection and lack of interest are general all over
this workaholic culture. You think youre the Lone Ranger because youre
living with an Infrequent Flier? Then who are all those other masked men
out there?

The Cliff Dweller: She lives on the edge of
everything, especially the extended orgasm. It is always just around the
corner, but the corner is forever disappearing into the distance.
Superman might be able to satisfy her, but its 60/40 hell finally give
up and take a nap. Be assured that when he awakes, hell hear about how
inconsiderate he was.

The Sperm Hater: This woman has a basic fear of our
precious bodily fluids. She treats the male orgasm as if it were an
explosion at a nuclear powerstation. She scrambles away, a distasteful
expression on her face, as you lie there like a beached whale. By her
standards, sperm is radioactive poison and should never be deposited on
skin, sheets, or clothing. She is also the Fastest Douche in the West.

The Statistician: You can spot her by the tape
measure she keeps under thepillow and the pencil marks on her wall.
Shes a combination C.P.A., historian, and Official Scorer. Her brain is
one big computer printout, and if you ask her, shell reel off numbers and
measurements that boggle your mind: how your rate compared with other
lovers in terms of genital heft, number of orgasms (hers, then yours),
errors committed, times you were too base and runs batted in. Her
accounting will be accurate, impersonal, and cold. Only her eyes will
glow as she quantifies love.

The Electrician: Yes, you guessed it; the Electrician
is sister to the Statistician. Indeed, they may be one and the same
person. The Electrician punches data into her computer keyboard while
your lovemaking progresses, but it will be difficult for you to see that
as you struggle to keep your headphones from becoming entangled with hers
and as you sort out the vibrators that she keeps in a batrack by her bed.
On average, she will have two videotape machines running, one to record
your activities, the other to play back an X-rated movie for the
television monitor on her ceiling. Dont feel dehumanized by the
stockmarket ticker she has on her wall. And, yes, it can be
disconcerting when the Electrician carries on telephone conversations
from one of six phones she has on her headboard while you are huffing and
puffing away.

The Aerobic Lover: Isnt she something? Will her
activity ever cease? Why does your back hurt? Why are you dehydrated?
Why are you wondering if youll have a coronary and shell never even
notice? Is it fair that she can go for four hours straight and never
even stop for breath? Why does she wear her aerobic dance shoes to bed?
Lucozade instead of champagne. Only one change of sweatbands allowed.
Mirrors all over, even the floor. Bolero is too slow for her. What
are those yelping sounds she makes at odd moments? Why does she confuse
you with her aerobics instructor? Why does she have a hotline to her own
team of paramedics? Why are they leaning over you and giving you oxygen?
Why is she still bouncing on the bed?

The Screecher: This one is sneaky and mean. There is
no known way to spot her beforehand, either. You just have to place you
bets and then go for broke.Its a sweet moment. Youre making love with
a warm and wonderful woman, and if the truth were known, this is how
youd like to make your living. You wait for her; you hold yourself in;
you administer and placateand excite. Then, as you feel her rhythms
rise, your own pleasure approaches; and as she rides into her sunset, you
take a deep breath and…your ears; what is happening to your ears? You
have never heard a sound like that before. Is it nuclear war? Is there
a jet engine in the room? There is this unearthly screeching going on,
and there is no distance between you and the screeching. She has your
head in a vise, and her mouth has just swallowed your eardrums. They are
somewhere slightly above her voice box, and they are now hers forever,
because you will never hear again, not a sound, not even the whimper of a
child. The Screecher has claimed another victim.

A couple was invited to a swanky masked Costume Party. She got a terrible headache and told her husband to go to the party alone. He protested, ever the devoted husband, but she insisted: she was going to take some aspirin and go to bed, and there was no need of his good time being spoiled. So he took his costume and away he went.

The wife slept soundly for an hour and awakened without pain. As it was still early, she decided to go to the party. Since her husband did not know what her costume was, she thought she would have some fun by watching him to see how he acted when she was not around.

She joined the party and soon spotted her husband cavorting around on the dance floor, dancing with every woman he could, and touching a little bit here and a sneaking a little kiss there. His wife sidled up to him and, since she was a rather seductive woman, he left his partner high and dry and devoted his time to the new stuff that had just arrived.

She let him go as far as he wished, naturally; he was her husband. Finally he whispered a proposition in her ear and she agreed, so off they went to one of the cars and had a little fun. Just before unmasking at midnight, she slipped away. Back at home she hid the costume away and got into bed, wondering what kind of explanation he would make for his behavior.

She was sitting up reading when he came in and asked what kind of a time he had had. He said, Oh, the same old thing. You know I never have a good time when youre not there.

Did you dance much? she asked coyly.

Ill tell you what, he replied, I never even danced one dance. When I got there, I met Pete, Bill Brown and some other guys. You know they hate those kind of things, and you werent around, so we all went into the den and played poker the whole night. But Ill tell you something else: the guy I loaned my costume to had a HELL of a good time!

FEUDALISM: You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.
PURE SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone elses cows. You have to take care of all the cows. The government gives you as much milk they think you need.
BUREAUCRATIC SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone elses cows. They are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs the regulations say you should need.
FASCISM: You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them, and sells you the milk.
PURE COMMUNISM: You have two cows. Your neighbours help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.
RUSSIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk.
CAMBODIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. The government takes both and shoots you.
DICTATORSHIP: You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.
PURE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors decide who gets the milk.
REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.
BUREAUCRACY: You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.
PURE ANARCHY: You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbors try to take the cows and kill you.
ANARCHO-CAPITALISM: You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.

The
CIA had an opening for an assassin. After all of the
background checks, interviews, and testing were done
there were three finalists, two men and a woman. For
the final test, the CIA agents took one of the men to
a large metal door and handed him a gun.
We must know that you will follow your instructions,
no matter what the circumstances. Inside this room,
you will find your wife sitting in a chair. Kill her!
The man said, You cant be serious. I could never
shoot my wife. The agent said, Then youre not the
right man for this job.
The second man was given the same instructions. He
took the gun and went into the room. All was quiet
for about five minutes. Then the man came out with
tears in his eyes. I tried, but I cant kill my wife.
The agent said, You dont have what it takes. Take
your wife and go home.
Finally, it was the womans turn. She was given the
same instructions to kill her husband. She took the
gun and went into the room. Shots were heard, one
shot after another. Then the agents heard screaming,
crashing, and banging on the walls. After a few minutes,
all was quiet. The door opened slowly and there stood
the woman. She wiped the sweat from her brow, and
said, This gun is loaded with blanks. I had to beat
him to death with the chair.

Dilberts Salary Theorem states that Engineers and scientists can never earn as much as business executives and sales people.

This theorem can now be supported by a mathematical equation based on the following two postulates:

Postulate 1: Knowledge is Power. Postulate 2: Time is Money.

As every engineer knows: Power  = Work / Time

And since: Knowledge = Power And: Time  =  Money , It is therefore true that Knowledge = Work / Money Solving this equation for Money, we get: Money  =  Work / Knowledge

Thus, as Knowledge approaches zero, Money approaches infinity, regardless of the amount of Work done.

Conclusion: The less you know, the more you make.

Q: You go to a cockfight. How do you know if a Polak is there?

A: Hes the one with a duck.

Q: How do you know if an Italian is there?

A: He bet on the duck.

Q: How do you know if the Mafia is there?

A: The duck wins.

Sadie lost her husband almost four years ago and still has not gotten out of her depression, mourning as if it were only yesterday. Her daughter constantly calls her and urges her to get back into the world.

Finally, Sadie agrees to go out, but didnt know anyone. Her daughter immediately replies, Mama! I have someone for you to meet. Well, it was an immediate hit. They took to one another and after dating for six weeks he asks her to join him for a weekend in the Catskills. And we know what that means.

One room and the normal follow up to that. Their first night there she undresses. There she stood nude except for a pair of black lacy panties. He in his birthday suit. Looking at her he asks Why the panties?

She replies, My breasts you can fondle, my body is yours to explore, but down there I am still in mourning.

He knows hes not getting lucky that night. The following night the same scenario. Her standing there with the black panties on and he in his birthday suit; except that he has an erection on which he has a black condom.

She looks at him and asks, Whats with this… a black condom?

He replies, Im going to offer my condolences.

How do you castrate a hillbilly? Kick his sister in the mouth!

Q: What Do you call a Brunette standing between 2 Blondes?

A: An interpreter.

Q: What do you call a Blonde standing between 2 Brunettes?

A: Mental Block.

This is a genuine psychological test:

It is a story about a girl. While at the funeral of her own mother, she met this
guy whom she did not know. She thought this guy was amazing, so much her dream
guy she believed him to be just that, she fell in love with him there but never
asked for his number and then… A few days later the girl killed her own
sister.

Question: What is her motive in killing her sister?

Give this some thought for a while before you scroll down.

Answer: She was hoping that the guy would appear at the funeral again.

If you answered this correctly, you think like a psychopath.

This was a test by a famous American psychologist used to test if one has the
same mentality as a killer. Many arrested serial killers took part in this test
and answered it correctly. If you didnt answer correctly – good for you.

If your friends hit the jackpot, may I suggest that you keep your distance.