Victor Jokes / Recent Jokes
Knock Knock
Who's there!
Victor!
Victor who?
Victor his jeans getting here!
After WWII, two Poles returned to their destroyed village to locate the first one's wife. Going through the rubble, Victor came across a dismembered arm and called over, "Hey, Stanley, wasn't this Anya's arm? I think this is the wristwatch you gave her."
"I dunno, Victor," said Stanley, and they continued the search.
A little while later, Victor came across a severed leg.
"Stanley, couldn't this be part of Anya? She had great legs." Stanley shrugged and they walked on.
Finally the energetic Victor came across a woman's head, which he held out at arm's length for his friend's inspection.
"Nope," said Stanley at last. "Anya was a lot taller."
After WWII, two Poles returned to their destroyed village to locate the first one's wife. Going through the rubble, Victor came across a dismembered arm and called over, "Hey, Stanley, wasn't this Anya's arm? I think this is the wristwatch you gave her.""I dunno, Victor," said Stanley, and they continued the search.A little while later, Victor came across a severed leg."Stanley, couldn't this be part of Anya? She had great legs." Stanley shrugged and they walked on.Finally the energetic Victor came across a woman's head, which he held out at arm's length for his friend's inspection."Nope," said Stanley at last. "Anya was a lot taller."
Mother: Come on, Victor, you have to get out of bed or you'll be late for school.
Victor: Aw, Mom do I have to? All the teachers hate me, and all the students hate me too.
Mother: Yes you do.
Victor: Give me a good reason
Mother: You're 34 and you're the Principal!
I was living in the mountains above Denver when my college buddy, Gary, arrived in his ancient Maserati sports car. He had just driven it from Ohio, and as he pulled into my driveway, the car broke down.
Calls to auto-supply houses and garages in search of replacement parts proved futile. The 1962 model was simply too rare. Responses ranged from "Mas-a-what?" to "You've got to be kidding." One guy just laughed.
I was at the end of the listings in the Yellow Pages when I dialed Victor's Garage. "Vic," I said, "you're my last hope. Do you carry any parts for a 1962 Maserati?"
There was a long pause. Finally, Victor cleared his throat. "Yes," he replied. "Oil."