Recreating the censored Knatz.com: / Personal / Chat / Jokes /
Woman goes to the tattoo parlor. Wants “Beautiful” tattooed on her left cheek, “Buns” on the right one: buttocks, that is. “My husband loves my bottom,” she explains. “‘Beautiful buns’ is what he always calls me.”
The artist says he’ll do “Beautiful” for $75 and “Buns” for $50. Oh, she says, that’s more than I expected. All I have is $50 total.
I offered a good package, the artist says. Normally it’s $25 a letter.
OK, she says. Here’s the fifty. Just put a B on each cheek. He’ll understand.
She goes home. Says she’s got a surprise. Strips and bends over.
“Uh … Who’s Bob?”
I first used that joke at Macroinformation.org: censored at the same time the court scuttled Knatz.com: and all my domains. K.’s Valentine module is also directly relevant. People who act as vampires to their god and who cannibalize their human saviors should not be surprised when they learn that they have no salvation.
Sex & Medicine
A man has a pain in his dick. He goes to the doctor. The doctor examines him.
“I regret to inform you,” the doctor says, “that you have Tarkington’s Black Syndrome, badly advanced. Even if found in its early stages, there’s no known cure. Surgery is imperative. I can operate next Thursday. If you register at the hospital next Wednesday, I’ll remove your penis the following morning.”
“Wait a minute. What are you saying? You want to cut my dick off? Hold on, I need a second opinion here.”
“Certainly. Let me recommend my colleague, Dr. …”
“No, no. I’ll find my own specialist, thank you.”
The man searches his memory. He memorizes the yellow page section. He’s not satisfied. He goes to the library and exhausts the Manhattan Yellow Pages. Finally he makes an appointment to see a specialist on Park Avenue.
“Tarkington Black’s Syndrome, no doubt about it.”
“The first doctor wanted me to go to the hospital and be emasculated.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you came here, Sir. I cannot condone my professions’ precipitate rush to unnecessary hospital operations. Hospitals are unnecessarily expensive. And for all the care, they harbor their own diseases. No: leave your pants off. My nurse will shave you. I can castrate you right here in the office.”
The man grabs his pants and runs. In turmoil, he doesn’t know where he’s going. He walks and walks, barely avoiding other pedestrians, barely missing being hit by taxis. Evening comes on without his noticing. He passes through smells of Italian restrauntry without feeling hunger, despite no lunch. Chinese smells blend with Italian. Barely conscious, he crosses Canal Street. He wanders among the crooked streets of China Town.
Eventually he leans against a movie bill. Some angelic faced teenaged karate god is kicking someone in the throat. It’s the first thing his eyes have focused on in hours. At the top of the poster something is written in Chinese characters. Above that, in character and in English, is a sign: Dr. Wu: Tai Chi, Acupuncture, General Medicine.
He finds a doorway and climbs the stairs, not even thinking of the hour. On the third floor he finds a related sign, hand lettered on cardboard. Without knocking or being surprised that the door is unlocked, he enters. An old Chinaman in western shoes, but otherwise traditionally dressed appears before him. He has a wispy gray beard, more wispy gray hair long around his temples, and darker hair behind, braided in a pig tail. The man carries his arms folded into the capacious sleeves of the companion arms. “I am Dr. Wu. May I help you?”
The man restricts his tale to saying that his dick hurts. Dr. Wu examines him.
“Ah … Ta’kington Brack’s Syndrome.”
“Oh, no. Doctor, what shall I do?”
“Go home. Forget about it.”
“Go home? Forget about it? First Dr. Schmutz tells me he’ll cut it off in the hospital; then Dr. Dreedle tells me he’ll cut it off right in the office; and you tell me to forget about it?”
“Amellican doctor cut, cut, cut. Leave it alone, it fall off by itself.”
A flat-chested young lady goes to Dr. Smith for advice about breast enlargement. He tells her, “Every day when you get out of the shower, rub the top of your nipples and say, “Scooby dooby dooby. I want bigger boobies.”
She did this every day faithfully and after several months … it worked! She grew great boobs!
One morning she woke up, took a shower and left for work. On the bus she realized that she had forgotten to do her morning ritual. At this point she loved her boobs and didn’t want to lose them, so she got up in the middle of the bus and said, “Scooby dooby dooby, I want bigger boobies.”
A guy sitting nearby asked her, “Do you go to Dr. Smith by any chance?”
“Why, yes, I do. How did you know?”
“Hickory dickory dock …”
Dumb blond: Would you rather sleep with a married man or with a felon?
Dumb brunette: Uh, gee … I’m not sure.
Dumb blond: Well, hurry up and decide: they’re waiting for us outside.
2011 11 I told that joke to my beloved Jan. She said, “Gee, I’ve got both a married man and a convicted felon!”
(Don’t forget: I’m still married to Hilary and the fed tortured me into a conviction for the satire I wrote: my anarchist revenge fantasy. (I can’t share that with you except by succeeding in recreating the near whole of the K. complex of domains.)
Sex & Religion
Tommy O’Connor went to confession and said,
“Forgive me father for I have sinned.”
“What have you done, Tommy O’Connor?”
“I had sex with a girl.”
“Who was it, Tommy?”
“I cannot tell you father, please forgive me for my sin.”
“Was it Mary Margaret Sullivan?”
“No father, please forgive me for my sin but I cannot tell you who it was.”
“Was it Catherine Mary McKenzie?”
“No father, please forgive me for my sin.”
“Well then it has to be, Sarah Martha O’Keefe.”
“No father, please forgive me, I cannot tell you who it was.”
“Okay, Tommy go say five Hail Mary’s and four Our Fathers and you will be absolved of your sin.”
So Tommy walked out to the pews where his friend Joseph was waiting.
“What did ya get?” asked Joseph.
“Well I got five Hail Mary’s, four Our Fathers, and three good leads.”
Billie: “Would you sleep with me for a million dollars?”
Janie: “Where would you get a million dollars?”
Billie: “Pretend I had it. Cash. In my hand. Willing to hand it all over to you.”
Janie: “A million dollars? A … sure … I guess so.”
Billie: “Let’s fuck. Right now. I’ll give you a quarter.”
Janie: “What do you think I am”
Billie: “We just established that. Now we’re haggling over the price.”
Woman advises her daughter to save herself for her wedding.
Marriage is arranged, occurs, honeymoon is to take place upstairs
at Mom’s house.
Guy takes off his shirt. Daughter goes running downstairs: “Mom, he
has hair all over his back.”
“That’s all right dear. You go back upstairs and do what you’re
supposed to do. Follow his lead.”
Guy takes off his pants. Daughter goes running downstairs: “Mom, he
has hair all over his legs.”
“That’s all right dear. You go back upstairs and do what you’re
supposed to do.”
Guy takes off his shoes and socks. He’s got all his toes on one
foot, but three are missing from the other side. Daughter goes
running downstairs: “Mom, all he’s got is a foot and a half.”
“You stay here. I’ll go.”
Mountain Holler Honeymoon
Clem leaves the ‘holler for his honeymoon. Shambles up the mountain a week later. Pap is pulling at the jug.
“How wuz yer honeymoon, Son?”
“How’s yer bride?”
“Dead, Paw. I shot ‘er.”
“How come, Son?”
“She were a virgin, Pap.”
“Son: ya done right. If she wasn’t good enough fer her own kin, then she ain’t good enough for our’n.”
Roger & Me: game show host says:
Do you know why Jewish women don’t get AIDS?
They marry ass holes: they don’t fuck them.
Roger & Me: game show host says:
I mowed the lawn the other day with my shirt off. I got a sun burn. Made my back stiff. My wife said, “Next time, mow the lawn with your pants off.”
Seeing a Seinfeld rerun in which Elaine’s favorite birth control method, the sponge, is taken off the market reminds me of changing fashions, changing technology, changing beliefs, morés … reminds me of a joke from the days when diaphrams were popular.
These days a lot of pharmacies are half supermarket. Back a few decades multipurpose drug stores were common, part pharmacy, part store, part lunch counter …
Guy goes into a wig shop. Looks around.
The clerk shows him everything in the store. Is that all you’ve got?
Well, there are always specialty items.
Well, in this drawer, not normally displayed, are our merkins.
You know: personal hair pieces. For women. For showgirls who have to shave but whose boyfriends don’t want them shaved.
And the guy sees these little Chaplin strips.
He sees one auburn in hue and says I’ll take that one.
Shall I gift wrap it for you?
No thanks. I’ll eat it here.
How do you stop a Jewish girl from fucking?
I repeat the joke the way I heard it, though I’ve never understood the Jewish part. At least I doubt that the Jews are alone in the tendency of some women to think the obligation to fuck ends, not begins, with marriage.
Vive La France
The Nazi officer commandeers some woman from the street of Paris. As he pulls his pants back up, buttons and adjusts himself, he says, “In nine months you will give birth to a fine half-Aryan boy. Heil Hitler!”
But apparently the woman had been commandeered before: more than a couple of times. She says, “Long before then you will have syphilis. Vive La France!”
Guy goes to the doctor, explains he’s met a woman, really likes her, has proposed, she’s accepted. The doctor prepares to arrange to examine the couple, give them the full range of tests, but no, that’s not why the guy is there: he explains, he’s naive, inexperienced, ignorant, doesn’t know what to do … The doctor becomes infected by the guy’s bashful circumlocution and becomes understated himself. Lost for words, he gos to the window, adjusts the blinds, stalling for time. But there on the lawn is the answer to his problem.
“Come, quick, look,” the doctor commands. “See those dogs on the lawn? See what they’re doing? Well, that’s the male dog on top. He’s put his penis into her vagina, then nature takes over completely. Get it?
“But we’re human beings. We use more than one position. Typically the woman lies on her back. And mood counts: put on some soft music, give her a couple of martinis …”
“I get it, Doc, Thanks. I’ll do my best.”
Still the doctor isn’t confident. He wishes the guy well but suggests that he stop by after the honeymoon and tell him how it went.
The guy does. The guy is happy, self-confident, a new man.
The doctor wants details.
Finally the guy gets to the nitty gritty: “So,” he says,”I put on some soft music, I told her I loved her, I gave her twenty-two martinis …”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute: wouldn’t she cooperate after one or two?”
“Oh, she wanted to do it the moment we got to the hotel room — but it took twenty-two of the martinis to get her out onto the front lawn.”
Three guys are shipwrecked, they struggle to an island. They scout the island: there’s their beach, there’s a hill, and over the hill some meadow. In the meadow is a herd of sheep. No shepherd. Nothing else.
After a while, no rescue, no passing ships, nothing to signal, one guy exclaims that he can’t stand it any longer. Pounding his meat isn’t enough! And he charges up and over the hill! The second guy screams, “He’s right! Why should I suffer?” And charges up and over the hill. The third guy though, he’s civilized, a Roman Catholic, cowed, an experiential coward. “No, no,” he thinks, “I’m married, have a wife, children, a family …” But finally even he can’t resist. “I can’t stand it,” he wails, and charges over the hill.
He returns, looking sheepish. The other two laugh their asses off at him!
“What’s ‘a matter?! First you laughed at me because I wouldn’t: now I did: and you laugh at me worse!”
“Ha, ha, ha,” in chorus: “You picked the ugliest one!”
I told that one in another module and now copy it here.
I’d have sworn I already told this one @ K.
Old woman goes to the doctor, tells him that she’s worried that her husband and she are loosing their interest in sex. The doctor glances at her, squints at her new patient form, sees 1924 as her birth year.
“Well, Mrs. Wiggins, you seem to be ninety years old: how old is Mr. Wiggins?”
“I must confess, my own interest is somewhat reduced lately. But: Abner is two years older than I. He was born in 1922.”
“Can you give me an example of what seems to be diminished love interest?”
“Well, last night …”
“Or rather, suppose you tell me when you first noticed this waning interest.”
“Last night, and again this morning.”
Guy & gal meet in a bar, seem to hit it off. They quickly decided to go to his place, nearby. “I should alert you though”, he says: “I’m a little bit kinky”.
“Ooo” she says, “so am I. Let’s go”.
They bustle into his entrance hall, see his living room through the French doors. He says “Can you do a head stand?”
“Yes” she says, sounding eager.
He takes her coat and stuff, dumps it on the floor. He says “You go into the living room, take off all your clothes, stand on your head: split your legs, like a scissors”.
She does. She opens herself. She feels the air enter her yearing pussy. “I’m ready”, she calls. (Boy am I ready, she thinks.)
“I’m done!” he replies.
“Done?” she scoffs. “Done?” she challenges. “Done? What did you do?”
“I shit in your purse”.
David told a bunch of them, fresh from England. That was the worse.