Front Jokes / Recent Jokes

A quick narrative. I always wanted a hopped up muscle car when I was younger. I couldn't afford one. Now I can, and I have one. It is a '70 Mustang, and her name is Bessie. Bessie is the prototypical juvenile, male-caveman, scratch your crotch and drink cheap beer car. Chromed engine, dual exhaust, 250 horsepower, big tires, tra la la la.
I'm driving Bessie on Beach Boulevard behind an ancient guy in a beat up truck. He decides to turn in front of me without a blinker. I accelerate to swerve and avoid him, and this assh*le, overaerobicized woman jumps in front of my car with her hand up.
Meet Ethel, the neighborhood busybody/nuisance. She proceeds to yell in my window, "Hey, slow down you %$&#@ idiot." I'm a well-bred, mellow guy by nature, so I ignore this. As I drive away, she yells, "assh*le" at me again. Twice? *&%$# that. I turn around and drive up next to her.
"Do you have a problem?" I ask.
"Yeah, why are you driving like an more...

How did the blonde try to kill the bird... she threw it off of a cliff. How did the blonde break her leg raking leaves... she fell out of the tree. How did the blonde die, drinking milk... the cow stepped on her. How did the blonde burn her nose... bobbing for french fries. Why does a blonde only change her baby's diapers every month... the instructions stated, "good for up to 20 pounds". Why do blondes have see-through lunch box tops... so they can tell if they are going to work or going home, while on the bus. Why do men like blonde jokes... it is one thing they can understand. Why do blondes like lightning... they think someone is taking their picture. Why do blondes have little holes all over their faces... from eating with forks. Why do blondes have more fun... they are easier to keep amused. What do you call a brunette with a blonde on both sides... an interpreter. What do you call 20 blondes in a freezer... frosted flakes. What do you call a fly buzzing inside a more...

Bill Clinton steps out onto the White House lawn in the dead of winter. Right in front of him, on the White House lawn, he sees "The President Must Die" written in urine across the snow. Well, old Bill is pretty ticked off. He storms into his security staff's HQ, and yells "Somebody wrote a death threat in the snow on the front lawn! And they wrote it in urine! The guy had to be standing right on the porch when he did it! Where were you guys?!"The security guys stay silent and stare ashamedly at the floor. Bill hollers "Well, don't just sit there! Get out and FIND OUT WHO DID IT! I want an answer, and I want it TONIGHT!"The entire staff immediately jump up and race for the exits. Later that evening, his chief security officer approaches him and says "Well Mr. President, we have some bad news and we have some REALLY bad news. Which do you want first?" Clinton says "Give me the bad news first." The officer says "Well, we took a more...

Little David was in his 5th grade class when the teacher asked the children what their fathers did for a living. All the typical answers came up - fireman, policeman, salesman, doctor, lawyer, etc.
David was being uncharacteristically quiet and so he teacher asked him about his father. "My father's an exotic dancer in a gay cabaret and takes off all his clothes in front of other men. Sometimes, if the offer's really good, he'll go out to the alley with some guy and do nasty things with him for money."
The teacher, obviously shaken by this statement, hurriedly set the other children to work on some exercises and took little David aside to ask him, "Is that really true about your father?" "No," said David, "He works for the Bush administration, but I was too embarrassed to say that in front of the other kids."

When you call the front desk and say, "I gotta leak in my sink," and the front desk replies, "Go ahead."

A quick narrative. I always wanted a hopped up muscle car when I was younger. I couldn't afford one. Now I can, and I have one. It's a '70 Mustang, and her name is Bessie. Bessie is the proto-typical juvenile, male-caveman, scratch yourself and drink cheap beer car. Chromed engine, dual exhaust, 250 horsepower, big tires.
I'm driving Bessie on Beach Boulevard behind an ancient guy in a beat up truck. He decides to turn in front of me without a blinker. I accelerate to swerve and avoid him, and this crazy, over aerobicized woman jumps in front of my car with her hand up. Meet Ethel, the neighborhood busybody/nuisance.
She proceeds to yell in my window, "Hey, slow down you idiot." I'm a well-bred, mellow guy by nature, so I ignore this. As I drive away, she yells, "Jerk" at me again. Twice? I turn around and drive up next to her.
"Do you have a problem?" I ask.
"Yeah, why are you driving like an idiot?"
"I was driving like more...

A fellow finds himself in front of the Pearly Gates. St. Peter explains that its not so easy to get in heaven. There are some criteria before entry is allowed. For example, was the man religious in life? Attend church? No? St. Peter told him thats bad. Was he generous? give money to the poor? Charities? No? St. Peter told him that that too was bad. Did he do any good deeds? Help his neighbor? Anything? No? St. Peter was becoming concerned. Exasperated, Peter says, "Look, everybody does something nice sometime. Work with me, Im trying to help. Now think!" The man says, "There was this old lady. I came out of a store and found her surrounded by a dozen Hells Angels. They had taken her purse and were shoving her around, taunting and abusing her. I got so mad I threw my bags down, fought through the crowd, and got her purse back. I then helped her to her feet. I t hen went up to the biggest, baddest biker and told him how despicable, cowardly and mean he was and then spat more...