Old and New Jokes

Dont think of it as thousands of dollars of your hard-earned
money. Think of it as a screwdriver for the military.

The Roadrunner was feeling very amorous one day, and since there were no other female roadrunners around, he decided to look around.

He happened to spot a lovely dove. Bzzzzzz… down he goes and feathers are flying, lots of dust in the air and the dazed dove is lying there with a smile and says, Im a dove and Ive been loved!

The Roadrunner is still not satisfied. He spots a Lark flying around and zooms down on her. Again, feathers are flying around and dust is in the air and the dazed Lark is lying there and said, Im a Lark and Ive been sparked

The Roadrunner is still not satisfied and spots a Duck. He zooms down and again feathers are flying and a lot of squawkings and dust flying in the air, and the roadrunner takes off.

The Duck is lying there really pissed off, and says Im a Drake and theres been a mistake!

My uncle was travelling on business, in New Mexico. He needed to cash a check, and went to the bank (strangely enough).

He gave his check to the bank teller, and she looked at it and said O-co-no-co-mo-co-woc (actually Oconomowoc)

Gee, thats a funny name for a city!

My uncles response was And Albuquerque isnt?

Well, *I* thought it was funny.

Boy #1: Hey! Didja know that my grandfather was once face-to-face with a panther? Boy #2: Thats nothing! My granny was once face-to-face with a lion! It was drooling…coming closer…closer…

Boy #1: Gosh! Whatd she do?

Boy #2: She moved away from the cage!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So we were lying on our backs on the grass in the park next to our hamburger wrappers, my 14-year-old son and I, watching the clouds loiter overhead, when he asked me, Dad, why are we here?

And this is what I said.

Ive thought a lot about it, son, and I dont think its all that complicated. I think maybe were here just to teach a kid how to bunt, turn two and eat sunflower seeds without using his hands.

Were here to pound the steering wheel and scream as we listen to the game on the radio, 20 minutes after we pulled into the garage. Were here to look all over, give up and then find the ball in the hole.

Were here to watch, at least once, as the pocket collapses around John Elway, and its fourth-and-never. Or as the count goes to 3 and 1 on Mark McGwire with bases loaded, and the pitcher begins wishing hed gone on to med school. Or as a little hole you couldnt get a skateboard through suddenly opens in front of Jeff Gordon with a lap to go.

Were here to wear our favorite sweat-soaked Boston Red Sox cap, torn Slippery Rock sweatshirt and the Converses we lettered in, on a Saturday morning with nowhere we have to go and no one special we have to be.

Were here to rake on a jack-high nothin hand and have nobody know it but us. Or get in at least one really good brawl, get a nice shiner and end up throwing an arm around the guy who gave it to us.

Were here to shoot a six-point elk and finally get the f-stop right, or to tie the perfect fly, make the perfect cast, catch absolutely nothing and still call it a perfect morning.

Were here to nail a yield sign with an apple core from half a block away. Were here to make our dog bite on the same lame fake throw for the gazillionth time. Were here to win the stuffed bear or go broke trying.

I dont think the meaning of life is gnashing our bicuspids over what comes after death but tasting all the tiny moments that come before it. Were here to be the coach when Wendell, the one whose glasses always fog up, finally makes the only perfect backdoor pass all season. Were here to be there when our kid has three goals and an assist. And especially when he doesnt.

Were here to see the Great One setting up behind the net, tying some poor goaltenders neck into a Windsor knot. Were here to watch the Rocket peer in for the sign, two out, bases loaded, bottom of the career. Were here to witness Tigers lining up the 22-foot double breaker to win and not need his autograph afterward to prove it.

Were here to be able to do a one-and-a-half for our grandkids. Or to stand at the top of our favorite double-black on a double-blue morning and overhear those five wonderful words: Highways closed. Too much snow.

Were here to get the Frisbee to do things that would have caused medieval clergymen to burn us at the stake.

I dont think were here to make SportsCenter. The really good stuff never does. Like leaving Wrigley at 4:15 on a perfect summer afternoon and walking straight into Murphys with half of section 503. Or finding ourselves with a free afternoon, a little red 327 fuel-injected 1962 Corvette convertible and an unopened map of Vermonts backroads.

Were here to get the triple-Dagwood sandwich made and the football kicked off at the very second your sister begins tying up the phone until Tuesday.

None of us are going to find ourselves on our deathbeds saying, Dang, I wish Id spent more time on the Hibbings account. Were going to say, That scar? I got that scar stealing a home run from Consolidated Plumbers!

See, grown-ups spend so much time doggedly slaving toward the better car, the perfect house, the big day that will finally make them happy when happy just walked by wearing a bicycle helmet two sizes too big for him. Were not here to find a way to heaven. The way is heaven. Does that answer your question, son?

And he said, Not really, Dad.

And I said, No?

And he said, No, what I meant is, why are we here when Mom said to pick her up 40 minutes ago?

What do you call a cow with no legs?

Ground beef.

Twas the night before Christmas,
and we, being Jews,
My girlfriend and me-
we had nothing to do.

The Gentiles were home,
hanging stockings with care,
Secure in the knowledge
St. Nick would be there.

But for us, once the Hanukkah candles burned down,
There was nothing but boredom all over town.

The malls and the theaters were all closed up tight;
There werent any concerts to got to that night.
A dance would have saved us, some ballroom or swing,
But we searched through the papers; there wasnt a thing.

Outside the window sat two feet of snow;
With the wind-chill, they said it was fifteen below.
And while all I could do was sit there and brood,
My girl saved the night and called out CHINESE FOOD!

So we ran to the closet, grabbed hats, mitts and boots
To cover out heads, our hands, and our foots.
We pulled on our jackets, all puffy with down.
And boarded The T, bound for old Chinatown.

In search of a restaurant: Which one? Lets decide!
We chose Hunan Chozer, and ventured inside.
Around us sat other Jews, their platters piled high
With the finest of foods their money could buy:

There was roast duck and fried fake squid, (sweet, sour and spiced,)
Dried kosher beef and mixed veggies, lo mein and fried rice,
Whole fish and moo shi and shrimp chow mee foon,
And General Gaus chicken and ma po tofu …

When at last we decided, and the waiter did call,
We said: Skip the menu! and ordered it all.
And when in due time the food was all made,
It came to the table in a sort of parade.

Before us sat dim sum, spare ribs and egg rolls,
And four different soups, in four great, huge bowls.
The courses kept coming, from spicy to mild,
And higher and higher toward the ceiling were piled.

So much piled up, one dish after the other,
My girlfriend and I couldnt see one another!
Now we sat there, we two, without proper utensils,
While they handed us something that looked like two pencils.

We ate till we couldnt and drank down our teas
And barely had room for our fortune cookies.
But my fortune was perfect; it summed up the mood
When it said: Even if it was kosher, it was still Chinese food!.

And my girlfriend-well … she got a real winner;
Hers said: Your companion will pay for the dinner.

Our bellies were full and at last it was time
To travel back home and write some bad rhyme
Of our Chinatown trek (and to privately speak
About trying to refine our chopstick technique).

The MSG spun round and round in our heads,
As we tripped and we laughed and gaily we said,
As we carried our leftovers home through the night;
Good Yom Tov to all-and to all a Good Night!

And Joseph went up from Galilee to Bethlehem with Mary, his espoused wife, who was great with child. And she brought forth a son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn. And the angel of the Lord spoke to the shepherds and said, I bring you tidings of great joy. Unto you is born a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.

Theres a problem with the angel, said a Pharisee who happened to be strolling by. As he explained to Joseph, angels are widely regarded as religious symbols, and the stable was on public property where such symbols were not allowed to land or even hover.

And I have to tell you, this whole thing looks to me very much like a Nativity scene, he said sadly.

Thats a no-no, too. Joseph had a bright idea.

What if I put a couple of reindeer over there near the ox and ass? he said, eager to avoid sectarian strife.

That would definitely help, said the Pharisee, who knew as well as anyone that whenever a savior appeared, judges usually liked to be on the safe side and surround it with deer or woodland creatures of some sort.

Just to clinch it, throw in a candy cane and a couple of elves and snowmen, too, he said. No court can resist that.

Mary asked, What does my sons birth have to do with snowmen?

Snowpersons, cried a young woman, changing the subject before it veered dangerously toward religion. Off to the side of the crowd, a Philistine was painting the Nativity scene. Mary complained that she and Joseph looked too tattered and worn in the picture.

Artistic license, he said. Ive got to show the plight of the haggard homeless in a greedy, uncaring society in winter, he quipped.

Were not haggard or homeless. The inn was just full, said Mary.

Whatever, said the painter.

Two women began to argue fiercely. One said she objected to Jesus birth because it privileged motherhood.

The other scoffed at virgin births, but said that if they encouraged more attention to diversity in family forms and the rights of single mothers, well, then, she was all for them.

Im not a single mother, Mary started to say, but she was cut off by a third woman who insisted that swaddling clothes are a form of child abuse, since they restrict the natural movement of babies.

With the arrival of 10 child advocates, all trained to spot infant abuse and manger rash, Mary and Joseph were pushed to the edge of the crowd, where arguments were breaking out over how many reindeer (or what mix of reindeer and seasonal sprites) had to be installed to compensate for the infants unfortunate religious character.

An older man bustled up, bowling over two merchants, who had been busy debating whether an elf is the same as a fairy and whether the elf/fairy should be shaking hands with Jesus in the crib or merely standing to the side, jumping around like a sports mascot.

Id hold off on the reindeer, the man said, explaining that the use of asses and oxen as picturesque backdrops for Nativity scenes carries the subliminal message of human dominance. He passed out two leaflets, one denouncing manger births as invasions of animal space, the other arguing that stables are penned environments where animals are incarcerated against their will. He had no opinion about elves or candy canes.

Signs declaring Free the Bethlehem 2 began to appear, referring to the obviously exploited ass and ox. Someone said the halo on Jesus head was elitist. Mary was exasperated.

And what about you, old mother? she said sharply to an elderly woman.

Are you here to attack the shepherds as prison guards for excluded species, maybe to complain that singing in Latin identifies us with our Roman oppressors, or just to say that I should have skipped patriarchal religiosity and joined some dumb new-age goddess religion?

None of the above, said the woman, I just wanted to tell you that the Magi are here.

Sure enough, the three wise men rode up. The crowd gasped, Theyre all male! And Not very multicultural!

Balthasar here is black, said one of the Magi.

Yes, but how many of you are gay or disabled? someone shouted. A committee was quickly formed to find an impoverished lesbian wise-person among the halt and lame of Bethlehem.

A calm voice said, Be of good cheer, Mary, you have done well and your son will change the world.

At last, a sane person, Mary thought. She turned to see a radiant and confident female face. The woman spoke again: There is one thing, though. Religious holidays are important, but cant we learn to celebrate them in ways that unite, not divide? For instance, instead of all this business about Gloria in excelsis Deo, why not just Seasons Greetings?

Mary said, You mean my son has entered human history to deliver the message, Hello, its winter?

Thats harsh, Mary, said the woman. Remember, your son could make it big in midwinter festivals, if he doesnt push the religion thing too far. Centuries from now, in nations yet unborn, people will give each other pricey gifts and have big office parties on his birthday. Thats not chopped liver.

Let me get back to you, Mary said.

by John Leo, US News & World Report columnist & author of a new book, Two Steps Ahead of the Thought Police.

A man, whose level of drunkenness was bordering on the absurd, stood up to leave a bar and fell flat on his face. "Maybe all I need is some fresh air," thought the man as he crawled outside. He tried to stand up again, but fell face first into the mud. "Screw it," he thought. "Ill just crawl home." The next morning, his wife found him on the doorstep asleep."You went out drinking last night, didnt you?" she said."Uh, yes," he said sheepishly. "How did you know?""You left your wheelchair at the bar again."

A large woman, wearing a sleeveless sun dress, walked into a bar in London. She raised her right arm, revealing a huge, hairy armpit as she pointed to all the people sitting at the bar and asked, “What man here will buy a lady a drink?”
The bar went silent as the patrons tried to ignore her. But down at the end of the bar, an owly-eyed drunk slammed his hand down on the counter and bellowed, “Give the ballerina a drink!”The bartender poured the drink and the woman chugged it down. She turned to the patrons and again pointed around at all of them, revealing the same hairy armpit, and asked, “What man here will buy a lady a drink?” Once again, the same little drunk slapped his money down on the bar and said, “Give the ballerina another drink!”The bartender approached the little drunk and said, “I say, old chap, it’s your business if you want to buy the lady a drink, but why do you keep calling her the ballerina?’”“As far as I’m concerned”, the drunk replied, “any woman who can lift her leg that high has got to be a ballerina!”