Recreating the censored Knatz.com: / Personal / Chat / Jokes /
|Marriage||Guys on the VA van yesterday, 70s 80s, 90s, talking about their wives and celebrating anniversaries:
One guy says, “For our twenty-fifth anniversary I took my wife to Hawaii. For our fiftieth anniversary, I went back to Hawaii, picked her up, and brought her back home.
Kinda of like the Cops joke below: categories overlap.
A woman is asked by her neighbor to lend her a certain pot. After a time the woman reminds her. Time passes. She reminds her again. And again. Years pass, all with occasional reminders.
Finally she demands the pot back in no uncertain terms.
“First of all,” the neighbor says, “I never borrowed your pot. Second, I returned it to you long ago. And thirdly, it wasn’t a very good pot anyway.”
That joke is so deep, so true. It too is probably a Jewish joke. Or do I just think so because it’s so profound?
2005 05 12 Reading Forster’s Howards End I was reminded of this joke. Meg has accepted Mr. Wilcox’s proposal of marriage, offered as he was attempting to rent one of his houses to her family. She later suggests that they, he and she, might live in that house. He dismisses the idea, pointing out some flaw in the house, not mentioned when he was trying to rent it to her.
|The breezy Wilcox manner, though genuine, lacked the clearness of vision that is imperative for truth. When Henry lived in Ducie Street, he remembered the mews; when he tried to let, he forgot it; and if anyone had remarked that the mews must be either there or not, he would have felt annoyed, and afterwards have found some opportunity of stigmatizing the speaker as academic. So does my grocer stigmatize me when I complain of the quality of his sultanas, and he answers in one breath that they are the best sultanas, and how can I expect the best sultanas at that price? It is a flaw inherent in the business mind …|
2010 12 28 Lucky me, I’m going to watch the Anthony Hopkins movie of Howards End this evening with my beloved Jan. Wow. I’ve read that great novel two or three times at least, seen the movie several times. It’s possible that Jan doesn’t know it yet. Boy oh boy.
Lennie, I said to myself: You’re forty years old. It’s time to grow up and sell out
Cop chases a speeder, speeder speeds up. Finally catches him.
You were trying to elude me, he says, but not crazily. You gave up fast and pulled over. That’s a little weird.
Now, I’m tired of writing. I’ve been ticketing all day. I don’t really want to write another one. Give me one good reason for your speeding and I’ll see how devoted I am to writing again.
Well, the driver says: Three weeks ago my wife ran off with a cop. I thought you were him, trying to bring her back.
The seeker asks the holy man: “If a strong man holds up the world, what holds up the strong man?”
“The strong man stands on a turtle’s back,” answers the holy man.
But the seeker then asks the holy man what supports the turtle.
“It’s turtles all the way down,” snaps the holy man.
Did you hear the one about the guy who gives up drinking and realizes that he really does have twins?
Did you hear the one about the guy who was never known to drink until one day people saw him sober?
Why did the rabbi like to watch pornos backwards?
So he could see the whore give the money back.
The English teacher says, “The presence of a negative renders a statement negative. In some languages, a double negative still yields a negative statement; however, in English, a double negative produces a positive. In no language does the presence of a double positive produce a negative.
The kid slumped in the back says, “Yeah, … right.”
An attorney calls 90 year old retired school teacher Emily Peabody as a witness.
“Miss Peabody, do you know me?” he asks.
“Know you? Yes, I do, Walter Green. You’ve always been a great disappointment to me, ever since I caught you cheating on a test in the sixth grade. It wouldn’t surprise me if you cheated as well in that third rate law school you loafed your way through. No wonder you didn’t pass the bar exam until your fourth try, and then only by the skin of your teeth.”
“Ahem, er … Miss Peabody, do you know my opponent, the attorney for the defense?”
“Yes, I do. Clyde Butterworth too has always been a disappointment to me. He philandered his way through high school where he also learned his trick of drinking too much. It’s thanks to the superabundance of bars in this town that he now cheats on his wife as much as he does. Neither you nor he choose very reputable clients.”
The judge calls both attorneys to the bench. He whispers to them, “If at any point in this trial either of you asks Miss Peabody if she know me, I’ll jail you both for contempt.”
WWI. The French trenches. The poor bastards have orders for the following morning: they are going to have to make another assault on some impregnable German position. 100% have died on the last N attempts.
So. It’s their last night of life. There they are in the filthy trench. Demoralized, diseased, doomed. They dream out loud about the spectacular whore in the town only a kilometer or so behind them. Alas, she charges 200 francs for the night. None of the hundred soldiers has much more than a fiftieth that amount.
Ah, but each of them has a few francs! They put up two a man and draw lots. Pierre wins. Lucky Pierre. He’ll be killed in the morning but only after a good, human night of love.
The officers grant him a pass. He goes to town. The whore is as wonderful as promised. She likes him. They’re talking on the pillow. She asks his story. He tells it.
“Oh, you poor sweetie,” she says. She goes to her purse: a whore with a heart of gold. She gives him back his two francs!
Half a century ago the French made a comedy called The Seven Deadly Sins. A decade later they did it again. Seven short scenes by seven European directors, plus a framing scene. The Greed section of the original was a priceless bit of bawdy humor: a famer’s wife and the traveller story. Go out of your way to find it. The sequel also had a Greed which stays with me: this latter for the significance of its joke.
And isn’t that the way it always is? Pierre gets laid for free; ninety-nine dead men walking get nothing but their doom. A one percent discount!
Guy is walking through the woods. He sees a frog. The frog says to him, “Pick me up.” He does. The frog says, “I’m really a princess. If you kiss me, I’ll turn back into her.” The guy puts the frog in his pocket and walks on.
After a while the frog says, “No really. I’m a princess. I’m beautiful. If you kiss me, you’ll see.” The guy walks on. The frog insists. “Really mister. I’m really beautiful. Kiss me and find out. Er, if you do, I’ll uh stay with you for a while.” The guy keeps walking. “Mister.” The frog is getting desperate. “Please let me out and kiss me. I’ll stay with you for a year. I’ll be your girl friend.”
The guy says, “Look, I’m a computer programmer. I don’t have time for a girl friend. But a talking frog: that’s cool.”
|Semantics||If a man speaks in the forest … and no woman hears him … must he be wrong?|
|Southern||“My cow died last night so I don’t need your bull.”|
Father of the family that had supplemented its earnings by keeping chickens asks his eldest boy to get rid of the pile of chicken shit in the yard that’s accumulated over years of cleaning the now empty coops. Years pass. The father gives the second son the same task, so too does the eldest son try to pass it on. Finally a passer-by asks the father if he has plans for the chicken shit. “Um, er …” says the father. “I’ll give you ten bucks if I can haul it away for my garden.” “Um, er, well, all right.” Guy backs his truck up, out with the shovel, and the chicken shit and the guy are gone.
The kids have been standing there seething. “Dad, how could you? You’ve been after us for years to get rid of it, and now you’ve taken the guy’s money when he would have done our job for free.”
“Sons, you gotta charge them something or next time they’ll want you to deliver it.
That’s not a joke but an actual incident from upstate New York: my old roomate: the Tapley family.
2006 09 25 Proof positive, as though any were necessary: Yesterday I’m trolling the north cove of Lake Jackson. I’ve had two strikes, no hookups. It’s dusk. Light doesn’t linger at the onset of autumn the way it does past sunset in June. I have only a few minutes left to get to the dock without having to worry about whether or not my bow light will work or whether the water cop would accept my waving my hand in the air as a stern light. He’s been after me, I’d better move. But also: the other day I met a young women, boyfriend in tow, and a little girl. She was friendly, went out of her way to be. I showed off: typical, shamelessly: typical. I told her how I cooked fish, told her that if she saw me with a fish and she asked for it, I’d probably give it to her.
Well, I’ve got no fish for her or for anyone, I have no idea if she’s there. But if there’s a bit of light left when I arrive at the boat ramp area I’ll at least be able to scan the park for a blond, a little girl, and a guy with reddish hair. No big deal, but I’d like to see if she’s there. She’s said she was going to try cane poling the shore line with dough balls.
Just then I feel the line drag. I haven’t been paying attention, a second passes before I give the rod a good hook set. Sure enough: that’s a bass on there. Seconds later I realize he’s fighting like hell. I net him. 19″.
Uh oh: do I release him? What if that girl is there? I could give it to my neighbor, but then she’ll bitch unless I’ve cleaned it for her. I had bass last night and there are still filets in the fridge: I’m not keeping it for myself.
Of course by the time I make up my mind, it’s too late, the fish is turning on its side in the water. It’s damn close to dark. I cut right through the swimming area as a short cut to the ramp.
And there’s my blond and her red head and her daughter, almost back to their car already. I decide not to go screaming, whistling, running after them, I’ll give the bass to somebody else.
There’s a woman sitting at the shore, talking on a cell phone. Grr. Then there’s another woman, a black woman with a little boy. Damn it, she’s talking on a cell phone too. Telephones are bad enough in the office, how can people stand to carry them about with them? And PAY for the burden?
I pull the boat up on shore by the boat ramp. Now I’m safe without lights, however long I take to actually load the boat onto the trailer. I walk over to the woman, still on the phone: the black woman. “Would you like a fish?”
Jared Diamond explains hunting. Hunting does NOT produce more calories for the human group: grubbing roots, finding berries and leaves, gulping the occasional bug way outperform hunting when it comes to food value over time. So why do people hunt? and make such a big deal of it?
Because, Diamond explains, the hunter shares his kill with the group. Gathering is for yourself and your children; hunters give their game away. Why, because hunters who give their game away (and that’s all hunters) have more adulterous affairs than strictly monogamous types. Thus: the hunter / giver leaves more of his genes than the gatherer / hoarder.
And here I am wanting to give my fish to one woman, thinking of giving it to another, and actually giving it to a third. Who now wants the Taj Mahal as well?
Guy’s in the shower after handball. Other guy drops the soap.
Excuse me, mister, but I couldn’t help noticing: wasn’t that a cork I just saw sticking out of your bum?
I’m afraid that a cork is exactly what it is.
What in the world do you have that for? How can you sit down?
I can’t get it out. I’ve tried and tried. It’s horrible.
How’d you get it in the first place?
Well, I was taking a short cut through an alley in the dark and rain. I slipped. Some bottle was on the ledge and it broke. Out came this genie. “Hello, I am Genie Salaam Ben Ibn. You have one wish.”
|Hurricanes||2004 August, September: Florida Hurricane Season (from the movie Traffic): Why are hurricanes named after women?Because they come in wet and wild, but when they leave, they take your house and car.|
Why are farts loud?
So the deaf can enjoy them.
Guys are on the golf course when a thunder storm rolls up. The guys quick head for the clubhouse, the rain whipping them as they arrive. At the bar they exchange horror stories about lightning strikes out on the golf course. Only then do they realize that Harry isn’t among them, he’s calmly strolling toward the clubhouse holding a golf club erect as though it were an umbrella! “Harry, what the hell!?” they exclaim. “And that stupid golf club won’t keep a single drop of rain from pelting your schnoze.”
“No, no,” Harry assures them, “it’s not for the rain. It’s for the lightning. This isn’t a golf club; it’s a one iron. And every golfer knows: even God can’t hit a one iron!”
Jail bird in solitary, like a dungeon, has only fleas for company, finally keeps one, even trains it, keeps it in a match box. Ah, my fortune is made, he says as he is finally released.
He goes to a bar. Not only is he going to have a drink for the first time in decades, he’s going to audition his flea, offer to work for tips, maybe get a gig.
“Bartender.” He takes out the matchbox, the flea hops onto the bar. “You see this flea?”
“Yeah,” says the bartender. Squish, goes the flea under the barkeep’s thumb.
My poor mother, broke as we were from the mid-1940s onward, nevertheless managed somehow to get a TV in the early years of the 1950s. By the mid-1950s I’d gotten fairly good at ignoring it: I started to get addicted, then un-addicted myself. We were supposed to value literacy — reading; not passively fill up on consumer mind rot. I’ve bragged elsewhere how years passed without my ever seeing the most popular shows. But, give me enough time and even I will see an episode or two of Stardreck, or Gunsmoke. So in a sense I don’t deserve to appreciate the following joke: but I just got lured into one of those celebrity addict traps that promised to reveal whatever-happend-to the cast of Gunsmoke http://www.answers.com/article/1277292/then-and-now-the-cast-of-apos-gunsmoke-apos?paramt=null¶m4=ysa-us-demo-gut¶m1=null¶m2=null¶m5=940621¶m6=30149701169#slide=1 — and a joke came flooding back: hadn’t thought of it in decades:
Chester, you remember Chester, Dennis Weaver? Chester, the goof, comes riding into Gunsmoke: horse, saddle, and Chester, stark naked. Festus stops him. “Chester, what chu dooin riding into town naked?” And Chester tells his story:
“Wall, Festus, I was a-talking to Miss Kitty — Ah just love that Miss Kitty — and Miss Kitty, she says to me, ‘Chester, why don’t I pack us a picnic lunch, and you and I will ride out into the bad lands, find us a nice private spot, and have a picnic?’ — Ah just love that Miss Kitty — So, I said, Miss Kitty, sure, that would be dandy. So I saddled up the horses, and she hands me the picnic basket, and I strapped in on to my horse good, and we, Miss Kitty and I, — Ah just love that Miss Kitty — rode out into the bad lands.
“Well, we came to a nice private place, and we dismounted, and I helped her lay out the nice checkered table cloth, and spread her nice fixings, and just as I was expected to start knawing on some fried chicken, Miss Kitty, — Ah just love that Miss Kitty — took off all her clothes, lay back on the checkered table cloth, opened her legs, — Ah just love that Miss Kitty — and said, ‘Now, Chester, why don’t you jump in the saddle, and go to town’!”
And, Chester tells Festus,
“Here I am!”
2015 01 03 Watching Flaherty film Samoa in the 1920s opened my memory to a joke from the early 1950s. Samoans are spear-fishing and critter gathering by a reef. The maiden holds up a giant clam, almost as nice as her bare breasts. The movie came with a disclaimer: Flaherty got the locals to dress not as they dressed but as they used to dress: before the missionaries covered them up: thus, maidens went bare breasted; married women covered themselves. Reminds me of how I used to garden the state park’s South Canal so the artifice looked natural: it needed a lot of gardening to look natural. Policy was to leave it alone: nonsense, building the park was interferring, not leaving it alone. I did what made it look natural, not what was natural. Anyway, a stack of memories flooded me:
as I kid, in the 1940s, like everybody, I perused the National Geographics: I studied the abundance of barebreasted women depicted: real “photos” … artist conceptions … paintings of Egyptian women … So I was primed for Roger Price’s great joke: he said, “But even after we’d explained that we were from National Geographic,
the women still refused to take their blouses off!
Irony 2017 05 24 I just added the Marriage joke above. I take the context to have been real stories about real anniversaries: the joke snugged in perfectly, the guy’s timing was great. It relates to so many things, including the comments I added recently on irony: literature where after a moments ingestion the listener realizes that the actual meaning cannot be the same, is not compatible with, the apparent meaning, the face meaning. Balzac’s La Cousine Bette, for example:
You tried to drown me.
That was an accident.
We called you “Little Cabbage”, you didn’t mind.
Take care of my daughter!