Misc Jokes - Page 64

A group of senior citizens were talking at the breakfast table in a Florida nursing home.

"Yes, I know. My cataracts are so bad I can barely even see my cup of coffee," replied another.

"I can't turn my head because of arthritis in my neck," said a third, to which many nodded weakly.

"I guess that's the price we pay for getting old," commented yet another lady, and again they all nodded in agreement.

Letter From Grandma

Dear Grandson,
The other day I went up to our local Christian book store and saw a "Honk if you love Jesus" bumper sticker. I was feeling particularly sassy that day because I had just come from a thrilling choir performance, followed by a thunderous prayer meeting. So I bought the sticker and put it on my bumper. Boy, I'm glad I did, what an uplifting experience that followed.

I was stopped at a red light at a busy intersection, just lost in thought about the Lord and how good he is, and I didn't notice that the light had changed. It is a good thing someone else loves Jesus because if he hadn't honked, I'd never have noticed. I found that lots of people love Jesus! Why, while I was sitting there, the guy behind started honking like crazy, and then he leaned out of his window and screamed, "For the love of God! Go! Go! Go! Jesus Christ Go!" What an exuberant cheerleader he was for Jesus! Everyone started honking! I just leaned out my window and started waving and smiling at all those loving people. I even honked my horn a few times to share in the love! There must have been a man from Florida back there because I heard him yelling something about a "sunny beach." I saw another guy waving in a funny way, with only his middle finger stuck up in the air. I asked my teenage grandson in the back seat what that meant. He said it was probably a Hawaiian good luck sign or something. Well, I've never met anyone from Hawaii, so I leaned out the window and gave him the good luck sign back. My grandson burst out laughing ... why, even he was enjoying this religious experience!

A couple of the people were so caught up in the joy of the moment that they got out of their cars and started walking towards me. I bet they wanted to pray or ask what church I attended, but this is when I noticed the light had changed. So, I waved at all my brothers and sisters grinning, and drove on through the intersection. I noticed I was the only car that got through the intersection before the light changed again and felt kind of sad that I had to leave them after all the love we had shared. So I slowed the car down, leaned out the window and gave them all the Hawaiian good luck sign one last time as I drove away.

Praise the Lord for such wonderful folks!!! Will write again soon.
Love, Grandma

Jerry Springer and Philosophy

Jerry: Today's guests are here because they can't agree on fundamental philosophical principles. I'd like to welcome Todd to the show.

Jerry: (reading from card) So, Todd, you're here to tell your girlfriend something. What is it?

Todd: Well, Jerry, my girlfriend Ursula and I have been going out for three years now. We did everything together. We were really inseparable. But then she discovered post-Marxist political and literary theory, and it's been nothing but fighting ever since.

Todd: You see, Jerry, I'm a traditional Cartesian rationalist. I believe that the individual self, the "I" or ego is the foundation of all metaphysics. She, on the other hand, believes that the contemporary self is a socially constructed, multi-faceted subjectivity reflecting the political and economic realities of late capitalist consumerist discourse.

Todd: I want to tell her that unless she ditches the post-modernism, we're through. I just can't go on having a relationship with a woman who doesn't believe I exist.

She slaps him viciously. Todd leaps up, but the security guys pull them apart before things can go any further.

Ursula: Don't listen to him! Logic is a male hysteria! Rationality equals oppression and the silencing of marginalized voices!

Todd: The classical methodology of rational dialectic is our only road to truth! Don't try to deny it!

Ursula: You and your dialectic! That's how it's been through our whole relationship, Jerry. Mindless repetition of the post-Enlightenment meta-narrative. "You have to start with radical doubt, Ursula." "Post-structuralism is just classical sceptical thought re-cast in the language of semiotics, Ursula."

Jerry: Well, Ursula, come on. Don't you agree that the roots of contemporary neo-Leftism simply have to be sought in Enlightenment political philosophy?

Ursula: History is the discourse of powerful centrally located voices marginalizing and de-scribing the sub-altern!

Todd: See what I have to put up with? Do you know what it's like living with someone who sees sex as a metaphoric demonstration of the anti-feminist violence implicit in the discourse of the dominant power structure? It's terrible. She just lies there and thinks of Andrea Dworkin. That's why we never do it any more.

Ursula: You liar! Why don't you tell them how you haven't been able to get it up for the past three months because you couldn't decide if your penis truly had essential Being, or was simply a manifestation of Mind?

Jerry: Well, I don't think we're going to solve this one right away. Our next guests are Louis and Tina. And Tina has a little confession to make!

Louis and Tina come onstage. Todd and Ursula continue bickering in the background.

Tina: Louis, you know I agree with you that existence precedes essence, but...well, I just want to tell you I've been reading Nietzsche lately, and I don't think I can agree with your egalitarian politics

Louis: (shocked and disbelieving) Tina, this is crazy. You know that Sartre clarified all this way back in the 40's.

Tina: But he didn't take into account Nietzsche's radical critique of democratic morality, Louis. I'm sorry. I can't ignore the contradiction any longer!

Tina: Don't you bring up Victor! I only turned to him when I saw you were seeing that dominatrix! I needed a real man! An Uber-man!

Louis: (sobbing) I couldn't help it. It was my burden of freedom. It was too much!

Jerry: We've got someone here who might have something to add. Bring out...Victor!

Louis throws a chair at Victor; they lock horns and wrestle. The crowd goes wild. After a long struggle, the security guys pry them apart.

Tina: No! No! It doesn't. We can be equal in potential, without being equal in eventual personal quality. It's a question of Becoming, not Being.

Ursula: What does it [bleep] matter? Existentialism is just a cover for late capitalist anti-feminism! Look at how Sartre treated Simone de Beauvoir!

Commercial break for debt-consolidation loans, ITT Technical Institute, and Psychic Alliance Hotline.

Jerry: Hi! Welcome back. I just want to thank all our guests for being here,and say that I hope you're able to work through your differences and find happiness, if indeed happiness can be extracted from the dismal miasma of warring primal hormonal impulses we call human relationship.

Well, we all think philosophy is just fun and games. Semiotics, deconstruction, Lacanian post-Freudian psychoanalysis, it all seems like good, clean fun. But when the heart gets involved, all our painfully acquired metaphysical insights go right out the window, and we're reduced to battling it out like rutting chimpanzees. It's not pretty. If you're in a relationship, and differences over the fundamental principles of your respective subjectivities are making things difficult, maybe it's time to move on. Find someone new, someone who will accept you and the way your laughably limited human intelligence chooses to codify and rationalize the chaos of existence. After all, in the absence of a clear, unquestionable revelation from God, that's all we're all doing anyway. So remember: take care of yourselves -- and each other.

Announcer: Be sure to tune in next time, when KKK strippers battle it out with transvestite omnisexual porn stars! Tomorrow on Springer.

History of the Full English Breakfast

The Full English Breakfast has made me what I am today...
pasty-faced, wheezing, and nearly spherical...

In reality, the FEB's roots can be traced back quite a long way. In the mid-1500s, rumours started spreading about a certain "morninge-after diet" that was available in one of London's more notorious eateries. As a broadsheet of the time reported:

"When a younge Gentle Man wakes in the Morninge, with his Hed poffeffed by Demons and his Entrailes aflayme after a night of Caroufal, let him repair Poft-Hafte to Mrs. Miggins' Tea-Shoppe, where he may partake of the New Morninge Diet. Fineft Quality Meats, Breads and Egges, cooked in a New and Secret Style which involves Lots of Oile. Guaranteed Moft Efficacious againft All Forms of Fluxions, Agues, and Noxious Ale-Related Foulneffes."

And in those early days, the FEB was a wondrous thing: glistening sausages that contained real, identifiable meat: huge slabs of bacon: and so forth. However, this made it expensive, and therefore beyond the reach of the average English peasant, whose average yearly wage was two wooden coins and half a cup of brackish pondwater.

So, very quickly, inferior mass-produced copies of the original One True Breakfast began to appear. The brainchild of two shifty-eyed Scouse sheep thieves, and secretly produced in a run-down factory just outside Wolverhampton which used to make mud suppositories, these breakfasts were a pale imitation of the original. Thin, listless "bacon" was made by beating cardboard with a large iron mallet until tender, colouring it in with coloured pencils and then boiling it. "Sausages" were produced by packing lengths of old bicycle innertubes with a mixture of sawdust, mud and ground glass, to which was added a tiny piece of paper cut from a picture of some meat. And so it went on.

These new breakfasts quickly gained popularity, however, since in order to afford one the common peasant-about-town only had to sell one large child and one small one. Within a fairly short period, as English history goes - a couple of centuries - the English Breakfast had become embedded in the national consciousness. (It is only allowed the honoured prefix "Full" if the person who prepared it can prove, beyond all doubt, that they have never seen, eaten, or been within 200 yards of porridge.) As with all things that the English take to their hearts, any number of skirmishes, punch-ups, sundry random beatings and one small war that no-one talks about much can be attributed to what the Englishman regards as his God-given right to consume something huge and fried before 9am.

Nowadays, of course, people are far more health-conscious than before. Any number of Englishmen have been told by their doctors to cut down on their intake of FEBs, to which they conscientiously responded (after careful consideration) by removing one grilled tomato and up to ten baked beans from their plates. (And then changing their doctor until they get one that they like: preferably huge, baleful, and slightly mad, who can snap pound coins between his fingers. There is an increasing shift towards so-called "organic" breakfasts, which contain meat products from happy, smiling animals without a care in the world who have grazed their entire life in fields that have never seen a pesticide (but which happen to be situated two miles downwind from a nuclear power station, on the site of an old paint factory.)

Finally of course there are those who insist that the FEB is an unhealthy anachronism: of course, England shall rise up against them with pitchforks and brands of fire, and sweep them into the sea.

History of Quantum Mechanics

The topic for today is quantum physics. Quantum physics was developed in the 1930's, as a result of a bet between Albert Einstein and Niels Bohr, to see who could come up with the most ridiculous theory and still have it published. Most people agree that Bohr won hands down, although Einstein did very well in the swimsuit competition.

One of the most important researchers in quantum physics is Werner Heisenberg, a man with a wonderful sense of humor, who was always cracking one-liners, like "delta-p times delta-x is less than h!" Ha! ha! What a card! This is known as Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, which is closely related to Goedel's Incompleteness Theorem, which says that some things are true, but you can't prove them, like when my wife and I argue over whether it's her turn to take out the garbage or not.

What Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle says is that if something is small enough, you can't say anything about it. Anyone with the I.Q. of baking powder immediately understood that this means that if you look at something so small that you can't even see it, like my dog, Oscar Wilde's brain, then you obviously can't tell, say, what color it is.

But some people didn't get the joke, and decided to investigate this principle further. They would gather and sit around all day, drinking beer and performing "Gedankesexperimenten," or "Thank God we're theoretical physicists so we don't have to get our hands dirty with particle accelerators and other heavy machinery." The most famous of these is Schroedinger's Cat, where several physicists kidnap Erwin Schroedinger's cat Fluffy and lock it up in a box, along with a radioactive source such as Cheez Doodles. Then they walk around with concerned expressions on their faces, commenting about how they don't know what's going on inside the box. This goes on until the cleaning lady discovers the box, opens it and tells the physicists whether the cat is dead, or whether it has mutated into a man-eating flea the size of Norway.

The point of this experiment is to show that uncertainty at the quantum level can be detected in the macroscopic world and produce widespread anxiety and paranoia. It also explains why paper clips just lie there while you look at them, but as soon as you turn your back, they run away, giggling wildly, and transform themselves into coat hangers.

Another famous researcher is Richard Feynman, who invented Feynman diagrams, which are bunches of squiggly lines with greek letters next to them. The way they were discovered was, one day, Hans Bethe came in to Feynman's office to say that some of the guys down in particle research were having a jam session down by the cyclotron, and would Richard like to come over and bring his bongos? Feynman was out, at the time, cracking a safe or something, so Bethe tried to leave him a note. On the desk, he found one of Feynman's daughter's kindergarten drawings. Bethe couldn't make head or tail of it, and figured that if even he couldn't understand it, then it must be something Terribly Clever, and promptly called it a Feynman diagram.

This was a major scientific breakthrough, and ever since, proud parents have been hanging their children's Feynman diagrams on refrigerators with little muon-shaped magnets, confident that their Little Darlings are developing important scientific theories every day, because they are, after all, Gifted Children.

Space Shuttle Crew

The Space Shuttle is in orbit around the moon with two monkeys and a woman on board. The control centre calls.

The monkey dangles into view, sits down and listens as he is told to release pressure in compartment 2, increase temperature in engine 4, and add oxygen to the reactors.

The monkey swings towards the monitor, sits down and waits as he is told to add carbon dioxide to room 4, stop the fuel injection to engine 1, add nitrogen to the fuel compartment, and then analyse solar radiation.

So the monkey does the carbon dioxide, the fuel injection, the nitrogen and analysis of solar radiation.

The woman sits down, and just as she is about to be told what to do she says, "I know, I know... feed the monkeys and don't touch anything."

Replying to Chinese SPAM

The government just ordered all ISPs in China to start monitoring email for subversive phrases and the like, so I started replying to Chinese spam with little replies of the form at the end of this spam. Might be a useful tactic on companies who think that unsolicited email is "just regular advertising".

I am XUBIN (Jack) , XUBIN is my chinese name , you can just call me Jack !! , I am export manager of [deleted] , China, our group have four factory [snipped]

Thank you for your coded order. The weapons and ammunition will ship by way of the usual route in ten days, and you already know our secret Swiss bank account number to wire the payment to.

It is a pleasure doing business with you for so long, and I hope your cause will prevail. I am new to this particular computer, so I hope the encryption is working and the monitoring authorities cannot read what I am sending you.

The Winter Olympics

Having been inadvertently hooked by the completely ludicrous sport of curling, I have taken to watching a little of the Winter Olympics in the evening and they are a Misanthrope's Paradise.

Introduced by shouty lesbians who spend much of their time playing computer games with each other, which in itself doesn't speak to me of TV Licence value-for-money, we have so far witnessed:

Mad people - and in the case of the female South American entrant a whale encased in rubber - leap onto a passing tea tray and hurtle round a Scalextric course composed of sheet ice. The winner appears to be the person who arrives at the end of the run with their head in roughly the same position as it was at the beginning.

Very drunk people who have no idea they are wearing skates falling down and taking others with them. This is one of our favourites. Sadly, the noise from the onlookers precludes our being able to tell whether those taking part are singing The Happy Little Goblin Song, although this appears to be the case.

More shouty lesbians, whacking merry hell out of each other with shorter, thicker sticks. When we caught up with them they were playing that part of the match defined as The Second Period. Any game that requires Dykes on Ice to keep walloping each other for a full two months has definitely got my vote.

Don't miss the four man bobsleigh, where four Kwik-Fit fitters leap into a Formula 1 car simultaneously and drive it down a chute, having forgotten to put the wheels on.

The engines are crap too. However hard they push they never seem to be able to jump start them before it's too late and they all have to get in and freewheel before the thing sets off on its own.

Resignation Letters

An offer of 1 million pounds plus free sex with a page three girl could not convince me to stay with your company. A position of junior goat herder in Mongolia would be a more positive career step, than staying here. What a shame. Our group have worked well, but, yet have been criminally overlooked.

Dear Unpersonable B*tch
As per the piece of crap I signed on my first day of this dreaded job, I hereby give 2 minutes notice of my intention to leave this awful company. I want to thank you for all you have not done for me in my employment here. It has been sheer torture working for you and representing this crappy company. It is now time for me to move on and I have accepted a position as a garbage person. This decision was quite easy and took little consideration. However, I am confident that this new role represents a step up from this piece of crap job.

I wish the company would go to pieces and hope one day you too will realise that you cannot manage your way out of a paper bag.

Dear Editor,
I would like to confirm my status as the latest rodent to vacate your increasingly leaky vessel.

Dear John:
Please take note of the fact that I am hereby tendering my resignation from, effective, September 1, 2000. While I have a high degree of personal respect for you and the opportunities you have offered me, I am no longer comfortable working for a technology organization largely populated by politocrats, vengeful rivalries, and fiefdoms reminiscent of imperial Chinese literature. In fact, I dare say that I would rather be tied in a leather bag with ravenous, rabid ocelots than remain at this company any longer than the next two weeks.

It was my sincere hope that the reptilian extraterrestrial tyrants who clandestinely own and operate the Technology Group would reveal themselves during my tenure here, but it appears they are far cannier then I ever gave them credit for. Hopefully, their insidious plot to befoul the American financial industry with foolish and ill-advised technology policies will eventually be revealed, but until then it seems their plans may march on uncontested. I give you due credit, for choosing to remain here to fight this hideous alien menace from within.

Mr. X,
As an employee of an institution of higher education, I have a few very basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel. After your consistent and annoying harassment of myself and my co-workers during the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are one of the few true genetic wastes of our time. Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was hired because I know about Unix, and you were apparently hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees, who watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and paste" for the hundredth time. You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple as binary still gives you too many options.

You will also never understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective as telling you what an IP is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality than you ever will. You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may have worked for your interview, but now that you actually have responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of managerial evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone else eats and laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the Dilbert principle.

Seeing as this situation is unlikely to change without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to tender my resignation, however I have a few parting thoughts.

When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be unable to do it on your own.
I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I know every password you have used for the last five years. If you decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favourites list", which I conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless files. I do believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed favourably by the administration.
When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your mothers b-day", you neglected to mention that you were going to take pictures of yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I have never seen such odd acts with a ketchup bottle, but I assure you that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please, I hate having to correct your mistakes.)

Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my desk by 8:00 am tomorrow. One word of this to anybody, and all of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public. Never f**k with your sys admin, because they know what you do with all your free time.