The Comedy Club - Post Your Jokes Here

[Stingo]

Oh...my...God...PMSL...

A blonde walks into a pharmacy and asks the assistant for some rectum deodorant. The pharmacist, a little bemused, explains to the woman they don't sell rectum deodorant, and never have.

Unfazed the blonde assures the pharmacist that she has been buying the stuff from this store on a regular basis and would like some more.
"I'm sorry", says the pharmacist, "we don't have any!"
"But I always buy it here," says the blonde
"Do you have the container that it came in?" asks the pharmacist.
"YES" , said the blonde, "I'll go home and get it". She returns with the container and hands it over to thr pharmacist who looks at it and says to her "This is just a normal stick of underarm deodorant".

Annoyed , the blonde snatches the container back and reads out loud from the container...







" TO APPLY - PUSH UP BOTTOM ".

[Stingo]

Just one more before my sides split...

The God of Thunder came down to Earth and went to a party. He pulled a woman and spent the night with her, next morning she asked his name.
He replied: "I'm Thor!" She replied: "Tho am I , but wathn't it worth it!"

Originally Posted by Stingo

Just one more before my sides split...

And before the quality goes down the drain!

now this is a good un


The train from Queen St to Bishopbriggs was very busy.

At the next stop a midget got on - an actual, proper wee dwarf midget, with a Victoria Wines carry-out bag.

It was quite busy on the train, there was no room for his bag on the seat beside him, he was looking up at the overhead rack.

A good Samaritan was kind enough to say "Would you like me to put that up for you mate?"

"Yes please" he said, and it was done.

But it wasn't up right and when the train moved, a half bottle of Vodka fell out the bag and smashed on the floor.

The midget stood up, his face red with rage, the inspector came along to see what was going on.

The inspector asked if it was his bag.

The midget says "Yeah...and I'm not happy!!"

A voice from the back of the carriage shouts out




"Well . . . . . . . which one are you then ?"

The pope goes to visit the Seven Dwarfs who are drinking in a bar. As he is finishing his speech on comparative religions, Dopey raises his hand to ask a question.

"Mr. Pope, are there any dwarf nuns in Rome?"

"No Dopey," responds the Pontiff, "there are not".

"Mr. Pope, are there any dwarf nuns anywhere in Italy?", Dopey questions.

"No Dopey," chuckles the Pope, "there are no dwarf nuns in Italy."

"Mr. Pope," Dopey asks pleadingly, "are there any dwarf nuns anywhere in the world?"

"No Dopey," the Pope says sadly, "there are no dwarf nuns anywhere in the world."

And softly in the background the six remaining dwarves start chanting, "Dopey screwed a penguin, Dopey screwed a penguin."

A woman meets a man in a bar. They talk; they connect; they end up leaving together. They get back to his place, and as he shows her around his apartment, she notices that one wall of his bedroom is completely filled with soft, sweet, cuddly teddy bears.

There are three shelves in the bedroom with hundreds and hundreds of cute, cuddly teddy bears, carefully placed in rows covering the entire wall! It was obvious that he had taken quite some time to lovingly arrange them and she was immediately touched by the amount of thought he had put into organizing the display. There were small bears all along the bottom shelf, medium-sized bears covering the length of the middle shelf, and huge, enormous bears running all the way along the top shelf. She found it strange for an obviously masculine guy to have such a large a collection of Teddy Bears, but doesn't mention this to him, and actually is quite impressed by his sensitive side.


They share a bottle of wine and continue talking and, after a while, she finds herself thinking, "Oh my God! Maybe, this guy could be the one! Maybe he could be the future father my children?" She turns to him and kisses him lightly on the lips. He responds warmly.


They continue to kiss, the passion builds, and he romantically lifts her in his arms and carries her into his bedroom where they rip off each other's clothes and make hot, steamy love.


She is so overwhelmed that she responds with more passion, more creativity, more heat than she has ever known, and even did a few things she had never done with any other man.


After an intense, explosive night of raw passion with this sensitive guy, they are lying there together in the afterglow. The woman rolls over, gently strokes his chest and asks coyly, "Well, how was it?" The guy gently smiles at her, strokes her cheek, looks deeply into her eyes, and says......................


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"Help yourself to any prize from the middle shelf!"

I found this whilst searching for inspiration for my farewell email and leaving do invite........


Dear Co-Workers,

As many of you probably know, today is my last day. But before I leave, I wanted to take this opportunity to let you know what a great and distinct pleasure it has been to type "Today is my last day."

For nearly as long as I've worked here, I've hoped that I might one day leave this company. And now that this dream has become a reality, please know that I could not have reached this goal without your unending lack of support. Words cannot express my gratitude for the words of gratitude you did not express.

I would especially like to thank all of my managers: in an age where miscommunication is all too common, you consistently impressed and inspired me with the sheer magnitude of your misinformation. It takes a strong man to admit his mistake - it takes a stronger man to attribute his mistake to me.

Over the past three years, you have taught me more than I could ever ask for and, in most cases, ever did ask for. I have been fortunate enough to work with some absolutely interchangeable supervisors on a wide variety of seemingly identical projects - an invaluable lesson in overcoming daily tedium in overcoming daily tedium in overcoming daily tedium.

Your demands were high and your patience short, but I take great solace knowing that my work was, as stated on my annual review, "mostly satisfactory." That is the type of praise that sends a man home happy after even a 10 hour day, smiling his way through half a bottle of mostly satisfactory scotch.

And to most of my peers: even though we barely acknowledged each other within these office walls, I hope that in the future, should we pass on the street, you will regard me the same way as I regard you: sans eye contact.

But to those few souls with whom I've actually interacted, here are my personalized notes of farewell:

To Rudy: I will always remember sharing lunch with you, despite having clearly labeled it with my name.

To Steven: I will miss detecting your flatulence as much as you will clearly miss walking past my cubicle to deliver it.

To Eileen: Best wishes on your ongoing campaign to popularize these "email forwards." I sincerely hope you receive that weekend full of good luck, that hug from an old friend, and that baby for your dusty womb.

To Felix: I left a new wris****ch on your desk. It is so that you might be able to still tell time even without your hourly phone call to let me know the copier is jammed. (Call Steven – he'll come by.)

And finally, to Kat: you were right - I tested positive. We'll talk later.

So, in parting, if I could pass on any word of advice to the individual who will soon be filling my position, it would be to cherish this experience like a sponge and soak it up like a good woman, because a job opportunity like this comes along only once in a lifetime.

Meaning: if I had to work here again in this lifetime, I would sooner kill myself.











2........



Dear All,

As many of you may know, farewell emails must start like this or some planetary misalignment triggers the spontaneous combustion of several exotic and furry species. That being said today is my last day at JPMorgan. I would say that it's been a pleasure working with all of you, but then again, losing the ability to walk fully upright, several inches in various key places, and possessing a gait resembling someone just released from a night in a maximum security state penitentiary would suggest otherwise.
Although the tone of this email smacks of someone who just got the equivalent of the petting zoo parting gift behind the wrong door in "Let's Make a Deal" in lieu of a normal banking bonus, I assure you, that even though the bonuses of the departing second years make Planck's constant seem like a Powerball jackpot, I am not bitter. After all, a firm must try especially hard to have a retention rate pegged somewhere between the NYC water main and an incontinent schoolboy, and have a unique talent to put a veil over people's eyes so thick that it makes a burqa seem like a leopard print thong. Thus is the nature of the sweetly scented veil of empty rhetoric, in which all pitch-books are under 25 pages, each telecom dividend is more "special" than the last, each project is on its way to becoming the "SECOND BIGGEST LBO EVER!," and all GBC bindings are dolphin friendly.
To be fair, I have grown fond of many of JPMorgan's finer qualities – the glorious inverted pyramid, in which prides of senior people are supported by a lone analyst, in which Atlas doesn't only shrug, he is in serious need of a chiropractor. It is not necessarily debilitating to process the groundbreaking ideas of those who make "Ice, Ice Baby" seem like an original score, or coexist on the bottom rung of a firm whose idea of resource management is so misguided that its next major strategic initiative is to invade Manchuria, but it does tend to wear on the psyche, if not the cuticles.
My only advice going forward – impair or infirm yourself in some way or another. JPMorgan rewards competence about as well as Pol Pot rewarded wearing eyeglasses, and never has a firm been so afraid of those who work out and bathe regularly. The firm's "star" system is apt in many ways, in that it emphasizes the critical role in the firm played by giant balls of hot flaming gas. The M&A floor smells like Cheetos and feet for a reason, and although this reason could definitely use the aid of some anti-bacterial soap and moist towelettes (and why are M&A off-site activities so desperately masculine (gun ranges, et al.) that in general the overcompensating M&A folk make the cast of Queer Eye look like Gunsmoke), M&A personnel sure are "highly regarded."
So throw off the chains of dynamism, point-of-view, and especially humor! Cast away the shackles of personality, creativity, and passion! JPMorgan will take your tired, your sick, and your hungry – and hire them on the spot.
Switching gears for a minute – good luck to everyone – there were ups and downs, highs and lows, cheers and jeers, kip-ups and tri-pods, but most of all there was soft, gentle, weeping... Most of all – thanks to everyone who put up with me for the last two years. I did learn a lot – some financial, some hygienic...
And next year I'm joining the circus...
Cheers,

Dolly Parton and Queen Elizabeth went to the Pearly Gates on the same day. They both met with an Angel to find out if they would be admitted to Heaven.
The angel said "Unfortunately, there*s only one space in Heaven today so I must decide which of one of you will be admitted."
The Angel asked Dolly if there was some particular reason why she should go to Heaven. Dolly took off her top and said, "Look at these, they*re the
most perfect breasts God ever created and I*m sure it will please God to be able to see them every day, for eternity."

The Angel thanked Dolly, and asked Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the same question.

The Queen walked over to a toilet, pulled the lever and flushes it without saying a word.

The Angel immediately said, "OK, your Majesty, you may go into Heaven."

Dolly was outraged and asked, "What was that all about? I showed you two of God*s own perfect creations and you turned me down. She simply flushed a
commode and she got admitted to Heaven! Would you explain that to me?

"Sorry, Dolly," said the Angel, "but even in Heaven, a royal flush beats a pair - no matter how big they are."

[Richie]

George Bush goes to a primary school to talk to the kids to get a littlePR.After his talk he offers question time.One little boy puts up his hand and George asks him his name."Stanley," responds the little boy."And what is your question, Stanley?""I have 4 questions:First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN?Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes?Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden?"Fourth, why are we so worried about gay-marriage when ½ of all Americansdon't have health insurance?Just then, the bell rings for break.George Bush informs the kiddies that they will continue after break.When they resume George says, "OK, where were we? Oh, that's right, It'squestion time. Who has a question?"A different little boy puts up his hand. George points him out and askshim his name."Little Johnnie" he responds."And what is your question, Little Johnnie?""Actually Sir, I have 6 questions:First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN?Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes?Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden?Fourth, why are we so worried about gay marriage when 1/2 of allAmericans don't have health insurance?Fifth, why did the break bell go off 20 minutes early?And sixth, what the f**k happened to Stanley?"

Two female neighbours went out for a night of fun down at the local pub. After a largely uneventful night of bacardi breezers they left to go home.
Halfway home both ladies were caught short and had to go for a wee. They nipped in to the cemetery and crouched down to relieve themselves behind the headstones.
Upon finishing they both needed to dry themselves and the first lady took off her pants wiped herself with them and then threw them over the hedge. The next lady had put on her special night out knickers and didn’t want to part with them and so looked for an alternative. Turning round she spied a recently dug grave which had a bouquet of flowers still on top of it. She reached over, removed the ribbon a dried herself with that.
The next day their respective husbands were discussing the merits of allowing the ladies out unescorted and the first on commented that he was a bit unsure what the girls had got up to as his wife had returned with no knickers, the next gent said that that was nothing and when his wife got into bed he spied a card nestled in between her buttocks which when removed read ‘ thanks for everything, we’ll never forget you, all the lads at the fire station’.