Blogs Jokes / Recent Jokes

Whether pro-choice or pro-life, most people agree that an unexpected pregnancy presents a very serious decision. Here is a short quiz to help you make the right choice:

1. Does the potential father have "Growing Up Gotti" hair?

2. How about a pencil beard?

3. Have you ever taken a cold, hard look at the most despicable aspects of your character, and instead of changing them tried to pretend they were some sort of asset, proudly wearing a shirt that says "Bitch," "Diva," "Stop Snitchin'" or "Blue-Collar Comedy Tour"?

4. If you are white, are you planning to name your baby "Caitlyn," "Connor," "Dillon," "Kayla" or something else that calls to mind the rolling hills of Scotland or Ireland... or some other middle-class cracker bullshit?

5. If you are black, would you name your son something like "Anferny," and then actually have the balls to walk more...

My mother lives outside of Hartford, Connecticut, and one Saturday morning she asked me to drive her to a dental appointment in White Plains, New York. Not because there is a lack of dentists in Connecticut, but because my family is originally from New York and we kept our regular dentist after moving from the state.

However, time was not our ally that morning and we were running late. As with any person who is behind the time, the natural reaction is to step on the gas. So we were zooming down the Merritt Parkway and from the right corner of my eye I noticed a blur on a hill overlooking the road. The blur looked like a grey car with flashing lights on its roof. You get the idea.

About three minutes later, I saw that blur in my rear view mirror. Its lights were flashing and my super-duper hearing could pick up the faint trace of a distant siren. “Ma, we’re going to be pulled over,” I said to my mother.

“Why?” she asked, not aware that I parted more...

Back in the 1970s on the classic TV game show “Match Game,” host Gene Rayburn would read a question that began “Dumb Dora is so dumb...” – and the studio audience would immediately chime in: “How dumb is she?”

Well, I work for a woman named D. And D is so dumb...okay, it’s your cue to chime in: “How dumb is she?”

This is how dumb. For the newsletter where I toil, I had to write about a none-too-special PR campaign involving a well-known apparel distributor that worked with a constellation of sweatshops spread across the so-called developing world. (Side note: just when is the developing world actually going to develop?) Anyway, I needed a headline to justify the story of how this company mended its way (sorry for the pun) and made its sweatshops a lot nicer.

So I came up with the headline “As Ye Sew...” – an obvious spin on the expression “As ye sow, so shall ye reap.” Now I thought that was nice, but D was totally confused and more...

One of the least appealing aspects of adulthood is having to acknowledge the world for what it is and not turn it into something it should be. Kids don’t see the world for what it is – kids see the world as a huge playground.

Case in point: when I was 10 years old, my friend John and I accompanied John’s mother to the local supermarket. To John’s mother, the supermarket was a place to purchase groceries. For John and little me, it was an amusement park – complete with bumper cars (which the adults would only see as grocery carts) and racing speedways (which the adults call “aisles”).

With John’s mother wandering the aisle in search of whatever, John and I devised a new game. John would pilot a grocery cart and I would ride shotgun on the side of the cart. John would power this vehicle to zoom up and down the speedways (or aisles, if you will) with the idea of trying to dislodge me from my roost on the side of the cart. For a pair of 10 year olds, this more...

Ok, I know that you can really buy a detachable vagina from an adult store, but here is the problem and my story.

First of all, its very strange to go into a store and ask somebody behind the counter, "Excuse me, where do you keep the vaginas?" Only to have them respond, "Isle 12," like it's nothing, like they do this all the time. Ooops, they do.

Anyway, I am on isle 12 and there are tons of vaginas, just like they said. There are vaginas that vibrate, and I am thinking to myself, "A vibrating vagina? That could be interesting." They even have vaginas with pubic hair. Pubic hair? I'm not gonna be looking at it for its anatomical correctness. And wait, there was even a clitoris! Who is that for? I mean I don't ever remember telling a woman, "Ohhh baby, I want you to rub your clitoris all over my body." I mean, isn't that for the woman? I don't think I am going to try to go down on my detachable vagina, that would be more...

Chapter 2: Are You Funny? No!
I know I can teach you comedy. Why? Because I have won several comedy competitions sponsored by many notable brands of beer and malt liquor. Oh sure, you could buy someone else's comedy book, thereby verifying that you are gay and an arsonist as I have long suspected, but wouldn't you rather learn from the voice of experience? I'm talking about the experience that comes from winning a Bacardi T-shirt by telling a joke about your dick that is so funny, Bacardi is considering putting a picture of it on the labels of its many fine beverages! Enough of that, though! We'll learn more about my dick in Chapter 8: The Pride of New Jersey!
First, let's find out if you're funny. Actually, we both know you aren't funny. Otherwise, why would you buy a book on how to be funny? It's because you're a dumb shit, that's why. Thanks for the upwards of 15 bucks, dumb shit-for-brains! Hopefully, though, you're funnier than my mom, who doesn't understand my jokes more...

My son just turned 10 last month and is aware I’d been writing a lot of jokes lately. I read him a couple last night. (Don’t call the Feds; I stuck to G-rated material. The kid still occasionally believes that Dreamworks characters talk when humans aren’t around.) Anyway, tonight I had a feeling he was turning the tables on me and was winding up to try a joke out. I expected knock-knock or something of the caliber of “No soap.... Radio!” Instead he said, “What shape is the hole of a donut?” I took the bait and slowly replied, “I don’t know. What shape is the hole of a donut.” He answered, “O hole.”

He went straight from diapers to R-rated punchlines? Only one person in this family is allowed to write original material. Your mom! Got that?