Mom Jokes / Recent Jokes

If you are psychic - think "HONK"

If you can read this, I can slam on my brakes and sue you!

You`re just jealous because the voices are talking to me and not you!

Don`t get me mad! I`m running out of places to hide the bodies!

You are depriving some poor village of its idiot!

Forget world peace. Visualize using your turn signal.

My Hockey Mom Can Beat Up Your Soccer Mom

Grow your own dope, plant a man.

All Men Are Animals, Some Just Make Better Pets

Some people are only alive because it is illegal to shoot them

Sarah and her thirteen-year-old sister had been fighting a
lot this year. (This happens when you combine a headstrong
two-year-old, who is sure she is always right, with a young
adolescent.) Sarah’s parents, trying to take advantage of
her newfound interest in Santa Claus, reminded the
two-year-old that Santa was watching and doesn’t like it
when children fight. This had little impact.
“I’ll just have to tell Santa about your misbehavior, ” the
mother said as she picked up the phone and dialed. Sarah’s
eyes grew big as her mother asked “Mrs. Claus” (really
Sarah’s aunt; Santa’s real line was busy) if she could put
Santa on the line. Sarah’s mouth dropped open as Mom
described to Santa (Sarah’s uncle) how the two-year-old was
acting. But, when Mom said that Santa wanted to talk to her,
she reluctantly took the phone.
Santa, in a deepened voice, explained to her how there would
be no more...

Hi y'all... muh name id's Bubba and dis is muh fameily:

Furst is me... Mom said I got all the good looks and no brains. I love being a babe hound. Girls make spit roll down my chin. I have a stomach problem and fart alot.

My Mom has lots of boyfriends. One of them has a job. She says with a little luck I could be a garbage man one day.

My brother Hank is in jail right now. When he gets out he is not allowed to be around animals and kitchen appliances.

My grandmom lives with us in our trailer. Shes smells real bad. She likes to hang out in bars and drink beer. Grandma has sores all over and they leak yellow stuff on the furniture. The flies are terrible.

My mom says she is almost positive this is who my Dad is. He lives in a Federal Penitentiary in Montana. When he gets out in 55 years we are gonna go fishing. The blood stains inside my Dads truck are almost all gone!

My younger sister Jill lost all her teeth. She was more...

Daddy, how was I born? Ah, very well, one day you need to find out anyway! Mom and Dad got together in a chat room on MSN. Dad set up a date via e-mail with your Mom and we met at a cyber cafe. We snuck into a secluded room, and then your mother downloaded from your dad's memory stick. As soon as dad was ready for an upload, it was discovered that neither one of us had used a firewall. Since it was too late to hit the delete button, nine months later the blessed virus appeared. And that's the story.

Billy's Mom's Letters

The following appeared in a computer magazine in Mr. Dvorak's column:

Dear Mr. Dvorak:

Ann Landers wouldn't print this. I have nowhere else to turn. I have to get the word out. Warn other parents. I must be rambling on. Let me try and explain. It's about my son, Billy. He's always been a good, normal ten year old boy. Well, last spring we sat down after dinner to select a summer camp for Billy. We sorted through the camp brochures. There were the usual camps with swimming, canoeing, games, singing by the campfire -- you know. There were sports camps and specialty camps for weight reduction, music, military camps and camps that specialized in Tibetan knot tying. I tried to talk him into Camp Winnepoopoo. It's where he went last year. (He made an adorable picture out of painted pinto beans and macaroni). Billy would have none of it. Billy pulled a brochure out of his pocket. It was for a COMPUTER CAMP! We should have put our foot more...

Dear Santa:
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my two children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground and figured out how to attach nine patches onto my daughter's girl scout sash with staples and a glue gun.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache after a day of chasing kids (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't flap in the breeze but are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler out of the candy aisle in the grocery store. I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last more...

Yo Mama is so ugly her mom had to be drunk to breast feed her!