Jokes

[midfielder]

A Nathan Tinkler dies and goes to heaven where he is met by. St Peter. St. Peter welcomes him and says "Right, you are all clear to come in, and I'll take you on a tour so you know where things are."

Nathan says thanks and gets led by the saint around the place where he will spend eternity.

He sees all manner of things, from fountains and fields, to huge buildings and tranquil forests. He's shown where God lives and is shown where all the angels and seraphim stay. Then, St Peter tells him he has one last place to show him.

"What's that?" Asks Nathan, and St Peter just points at probably the longest, biggest, most magnificent building in all of heaven that now stands before them. The saint leads Nathan to two huge golden doors, then opens them to guide the recently departed inside.

As they walk in together Nathan looks up at the walls and sees millions of clocks. Some are ticking very slowly, some are almost stopped. Some seem to move more rapidly. He looks at the closest and sees it looks stuck at about 6.30, with the hands in the appropriate position. He turns to St Peter and asks "what do all these clocks signify? Is it like at what time a person dies?"

St. Peter shakes his head and says "no, these clocks are used to measure the amount of masturbating a mortal commits in their lifetime. For every act of self-pleasure it moves forward one hour."

Nathan nods his head in understanding and then says "oh, okay. So ....where's the clock for Joel Griffiths?" St Peter looks back and replies;

"Oh his is in the kitchen...we use it as a fan"

 

[sydmariner]

A Nathan Tinkler dies and goes to heaven where he is met by. St Peter. St. Peter welcomes him and says "Right, you are all clear to come in, and I'll take you on a tour so you know where things are."

Nathan says thanks and gets led by the saint around the place where he will spend eternity.

He sees all manner of things, from fountains and fields, to huge buildings and tranquil forests. He's shown where God lives and is shown where all the angels and seraphim stay. Then, St Peter tells him he has one last place to show him.

"What's that?" Asks Nathan, and St Peter just points at probably the longest, biggest, most magnificent building in all of heaven that now stands before them. The saint leads Nathan to two huge golden doors, then opens them to guide the recently departed inside.

As they walk in together Nathan looks up at the walls and sees millions of clocks. Some are ticking very slowly, some are almost stopped. Some seem to move more rapidly. He looks at the closest and sees it looks stuck at about 6.30, with the hands in the appropriate position. He turns to St Peter and asks "what do all these clocks signify? Is it like at what time a person dies?"

St. Peter shakes his head and says "no, these clocks are used to measure the amount of masturbating a mortal commits in their lifetime. For every act of self-pleasure it moves forward one hour."

Nathan nods his head in understanding and then says "oh, okay. So ....where's the clock for Joel Griffiths?" St Peter looks back and replies;

"Oh his is in the kitchen...we use it as a fan"

ROFLOL LMFAO

 

[midfielder]

BREAKING NEWS : Ruben Zadkovich just went on a shooting spree in Newcastle .......no one was hit.......

 

[kenny bania]

Just read the forum rules as it says it's a "must read". Well after reading it I feel a little let down as it isn't that interesting. I really shouldn't take these recommendations so seriously.

 

[midfielder]

This is long if you have the time to read I hope you enjoy

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know.

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialled it. A man answered, saying "Hello." I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?"

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right f**in number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're an arsehole!" and hung up.

I wrote his number down with the word 'arsehole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an arsehole!" It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic 'arsehole' calling would have to stop.
So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from Telstra. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?"

He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone.

I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an ARSEHOLE!"

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot.

Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first arsehole ( I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the BMW arsehole, too.

I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"

"Yes, it is", he said. "Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.

"Yes, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, in Vaucluse. It's a yellow house, and the car's parked right out in front."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"My name is Don Hansen," he said.

"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"

"I'm home every evening after five."

"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"

"Yes?"

"Don, you're an arsehole!" Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two arseholes to call. Then I came up with an idea. I called Arsehole #1.

"Hello."

"You're an arsehole!" (But I didn't hang up.)

"Are you still there?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Stop calling me," he screamed.

"Make me," I said.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Don Hansen."

"Yeah? Where do you live?"

"Arsehole, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, a yellow house, with my black Beamer parked in front."

He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers."

I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, arsehole," and hung up.

Then I called Arsehole #2. "Hello?" he said.

"Hello, arsehole," I said.

He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."

"You'll what?" I said.

"I'll kick your arse," he exclaimed.

I answered, "Well, arsehole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse.

I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray. I got there just in time to watch two arseholes beating the crap out of eachother in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a news crew.

NOW I feel much better. Anger management really works.

 

[kenny bania]

This is long if you have the time to read I hope you enjoy

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know.

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialled it. A man answered, saying "Hello." I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?"

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right f**in number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're an arsehole!" and hung up.

I wrote his number down with the word 'arsehole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an arsehole!" It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic 'arsehole' calling would have to stop.
So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from Telstra. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?"

He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone.

I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an ARSEHOLE!"

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot.

Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first arsehole ( I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the BMW arsehole, too.

I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"

"Yes, it is", he said. "Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.

"Yes, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, in Vaucluse. It's a yellow house, and the car's parked right out in front."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"My name is Don Hansen," he said.

"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"

"I'm home every evening after five."

"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"

"Yes?"

"Don, you're an arsehole!" Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two arseholes to call. Then I came up with an idea. I called Arsehole #1.

"Hello."

"You're an arsehole!" (But I didn't hang up.)

"Are you still there?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Stop calling me," he screamed.

"Make me," I said.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Don Hansen."

"Yeah? Where do you live?"

"Arsehole, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, a yellow house, with my black Beamer parked in front."

He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers."

I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, arsehole," and hung up.

Then I called Arsehole #2. "Hello?" he said.

"Hello, arsehole," I said.

He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."

"You'll what?" I said.

"I'll kick your arse," he exclaimed.

I answered, "Well, arsehole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse.

I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray. I got there just in time to watch two arseholes beating the crap out of eachother in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a news crew.

NOW I feel much better. Anger management really works.

Great story. I believed every word of it until you said a police helicopter turned up.

 

[sydmariner]

This is long if you have the time to read I hope you enjoy

When you occasionally have a really bad day, and you just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know.

I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd forgotten to make. I found the number and dialled it. A man answered, saying "Hello." I politely said, "This is Chris. Could I please speak with Robyn Carter?"

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right f**in number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.

After hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.

When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled "You're an arsehole!" and hung up.

I wrote his number down with the word 'arsehole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up and yell, "You're an arsehole!" It always cheered me up.

When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic 'arsehole' calling would have to stop.
So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from Telstra. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Program?"

He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone.

I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an ARSEHOLE!"

One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a parking spot.

Some guy in a black BMW cut me off and pulled into the spot I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I'd been waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign in his back window, so I wrote down his number.

A couple of days later, right after calling the first arsehole ( I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the BMW arsehole, too.

I said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?"

"Yes, it is", he said. "Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.

"Yes, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, in Vaucluse. It's a yellow house, and the car's parked right out in front."

"What's your name?" I asked.

"My name is Don Hansen," he said.

"When's a good time to catch you, Don?"

"I'm home every evening after five."

"Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"

"Yes?"

"Don, you're an arsehole!" Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.

Now, when I had a problem, I had two arseholes to call. Then I came up with an idea. I called Arsehole #1.

"Hello."

"You're an arsehole!" (But I didn't hang up.)

"Are you still there?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Stop calling me," he screamed.

"Make me," I said.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Don Hansen."

"Yeah? Where do you live?"

"Arsehole, I live at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, a yellow house, with my black Beamer parked in front."

He said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better start saying your prayers."

I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, arsehole," and hung up.

Then I called Arsehole #2. "Hello?" he said.

"Hello, arsehole," I said.

He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."

"You'll what?" I said.

"I'll kick your arse," he exclaimed.

I answered, "Well, arsehole, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."

Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying that I lived at 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse.

I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray. I got there just in time to watch two arseholes beating the crap out of eachother in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a news crew.

NOW I feel much better. Anger management really works.

 

[dibo]

How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?

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Ten tickles

 

[sydmariner]

How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh?

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Ten tickles

 

[dibo]

I found myself in a pub in Cork.

A group of American tourists came in.

One of the Americans said, in a loud voice, "I hear you Irish think you're great drinkers. I bet 5,000 euros that no-one here can drink 30 pints of Guinness in 30 minutes."

The bar was silent, the American noticed one Irishman leaving, no-one took up the bet.

40 minutes later the Irishman who left returned and said "Hey Yank, is your wee bet still on?"

"Sure" said the American, "30 pints in 30 minutes for a bet of 5,000 euros."

"Grand so" replied the Irishman, "pour the pints and start the clock."

It was very close but the last drop was consumed with 2 seconds to spare.

"Ok yank, pay up." said the Irishman..

"I'm happy to pay, here is your money" said the American.

"But tell me, when I first offered the wager I saw you leave. Where did you go?'

The Irishman replied, "Well sir, 5,000 euros is a lot of money to a man like me, so I went to the pub across the road to see if I could do it."

 

[kenny bania]

A woman is very afraid of the size of her opening.So she goes to her mother, she says what am I going to do I’m so big down there when I marry Harry he’s going to divorce me.Her mother says don’t worry sweetheart it runs in the family, do what I did when I married your father. Go to the market, get some raw liver, put it in there he’ll never know the difference.So she does.They have eight hours of sex after their marriage. She wakes up at 10 o’clock, he’s gone but there’s a note on her pillow. It says -:“My darling Harriet.To think that I waited a year to consummate our loving relationship makes my heart beat so loudly I’m surprised it didn’t wake you up.The only reason I’m not here now darling is that I’m at work to make enough money to buy you a house, a picket fence, we’ll have dogs and children.When the 5 o’clock dinner bell rings I will be home like the winged Gossamer of love in your arms.Your loving husband, Harry.PS. Your c**t is in the sink."

 

[midfielder]

Jack Smith a very wealthy 69 year old widower, walks into the bowling club with a drop dead beautiful 25 year old with an hour glass figure… they walk in arms locked together.

Jack introduces Sharon, to all his mates, and their tongues are hanging out … oozing sex appeal, flirty, figure to die for, her arms locked in his, listening to everything he says and looking at Jack with loving eyes..

Finally Sharon goes to the ladies, so Jack mates all get around him.

They ask how did you get such a trophy girlfriend Jack?

Jack replied she is not my girlfriend she is my new wife.

His mates how the hell did you pull that off, what you lie about your age ?

I must confess I did lie about my age.

His mates said what you teller her you were only 50?

No told her I was 91.

 

[dibo]

Great limerick I just saw on the twitters:

There was a young lady of Ryde
Who ate some green apples and died
The apples fermented
Inside the lamented,
And made cider inside her inside

 

[MagpieMariner]

It must have been Dicken cider.

 

[dibo]

Oh nooooooo...

 

[MagpieMariner]

A woman was searching through the turkeys in the supermarket, looking for one big enough for her family.
One of the store people walked by and she asked "Do these turkeys get any bigger?"
He replied "No Ma'am, they're dead."

 

[VicMariner]

Why did the German chicken cross the road?












To occupy Poland.

 

[nearlyyellow]

Q: Why did the coach give his football team lighters?

A: They kept losing their matches.

 

[nearlyyellow]

Three fans were talking about the sad state of their local club;
The first fan blamed...: "I blame the manager; if we could sign better players, we'd be a great club."

The second fan blamed...: "I blame the players; if they made more effort, I'm sure we would score more goals."

The third fan blamed...: "I blame my parents; if I had been born in a different town, I'd be supporting a decent team."

 

[nearlyyellow]

Hours after the end of the world, a border dispute emerged between heaven and hell. God invited the devil for conversations to find a way to resolve this dispute quickly. Satan, the devil, proposed a soccer game between heaven and hell.
God, always fair, told the devil, "The heat must be affecting your brain, the game would be so one sided, don't you know all the 'good' players go to heaven?"

The devil, smiling, responded "Yeah, but we've got all the refs'..."