Arranged Jokes / Recent Jokes

The Washington Post
february 4, 1988
I Believe

This is more commentary than humor, but what the heck...

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I believe the president. I have always believed him. I believed him when he said he had never been drafted in the Vietnam War and I believed him when he said he had forgotten to mention that he had been drafted in the Vietnam War. I believed him when he said he hadn't had sex with Gennifer Flowers and I believe him now, when he reportedly says he did.

I believe the president did not rent out the Lincoln Bedroom, did not sell access to himself and the vice president to hundreds of well-heeled special pleaders and did not supervise the largest, most systematic money-laundering operation in campaign finance history, collecting more than $ 3 million in illegal and improper donations. I believe that Charlie Trie and James Riady were motivated by nothing but patriotism for their adopted more...

Its funny when people discuss over "love marriage" and "arranged marriage".

It is like asking a person if he would like to "hang himself" or "shoot himself".

A True Ice Cream Story
This is a weird but true story (with a moral). ..
A complaint was received by the Pontiac Division of General Motors:
"This is the second time I have written you, and I don't blame you for not answering me, because I kind of sounded crazy, but it is a fact that we have a tradition in our family of ice cream for dessert after dinner each night. But the kind of ice cream varies so, every night, after we've eaten, the whole family votes on which kind of ice cream we should have and I drive down to the store to get it.

It's also a fact that I recently purchased a new Pontiac and since then my trips to the store have created a problem. You see, every time I buy vanilla ice cream, when I start back from the store my car won't start. If I get any other kind of ice cream, the car starts just fine.

I want you to know I'm serious about this question, no matter how silly it sounds:' What is there about a Pontiac that makes it not more...

Ever since I turned 30, my mom's vocabulary seems to have gradually shrunk. It now consists of only about five words, usually arranged to form this question: "When are you getting married?"
If I had a nickel for every time I've heard the question, I'd be able to afford a mail-order bride. Maybe even one who can speak English.
My mom and others ask the marriage question so often, I'm tempted to tattoo the answer on my forehead: "I'm a journalist, not a psychic."
But if I did that, my mom and I would never talk. She'd just look at my forehead and shake her head. And her expression would say: "Where did I go wrong with this child?"
Sometimes, just for fun, I feel like scaring my mom by saying I won't get married until one of these things happen:
Ken Starr completes his investigation.
Ross Perot produces a chart-topping rap song, "My name is Ross, just call me boss. When I become your president, the interns will be more more...