Continuing Jokes Thread

[TheWiggman]

Q
How many forum posters does it take to change a light bulb?

A
...

Left out the "14 forum posters to support rehydrating the lightbulb, 1 to challenge it"

 

[TheWiggman]

There was a little boy by the name of Billy. Billy was an ordinary little boy who did ordinary little boy things, like playing, eating, bathing, destroying things, and going to school. One day, when Billy went down to the bus stop to meet the bus to go to school, he found all of his friends huddled around in a little group, talking about the Purple Wombat.
Being a little boy, Billy was curious. So he asked them, "What's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the children exclaimed disgustedly. For the rest of the morning, they would not go near Billy, always standing far away and staring at him. Then the bus came. Billy, confused, got on the bus along with the rest of the children.
"Hey, Mister Bus Driver!" one of the chldren shouted. "Billy doesn't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
The bus driver turned around abruptly. "You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" he said in disbelief. He ordered Billy to sit in the very back of the bus, all by himself.
Eventually, they got to school, and Billy got off the bus and went to class. Class proceeded normally; the students did the pledge of allegiance and worked on their multiplication tables for a while. Then the teacher led them into a unit on geography. Billy was not really paying attention, but he heard the teacher mention something about the Purple Wombat.
Billy's hand shot up, and, when the teacher called on him, Billy asked, "Teacher, what's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the teacher cried in alarm, "Get yourself to the principal's office right now, young man. No, no buts -- march!"
So Billy headed down the long, dark, frightening hallway to the principal's office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and timidly entered the room behind it. There, at a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a hulking man, balding, with a thin mustache. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. He was enough to frighten little boys like Billy who had been sent to his office almost to tears.
"Well, Billy," he began slowly. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Mr. Principal, I just don't know what's going on today. Everyone's been acting weird, and they're all treating me really badly. Like teacher just sent me to you and stuff."
"Now, Billy, I'm here to help you. I'm the princi-Pal, after all. Heh heh. Can you tell me why everyone's acting so strangely?"
"It's because I don't know what some stupid Purple Wombat is."
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is? That's it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended."
The principal threw Billy out of his office and told him to go home. Billy, crying, began the long walk home. When he got there, his mother was standing in the doorway waiting for him.
"Billy!" she called, sobbing, "I was so worried about you! What happened?"
"Mom," Billy cried, "Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal's office and the principal suspended me, all because I don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" Billy's mother shrieked. "Go to your room this minute. Go! Just wait until your father gets home!"
So Billy marched up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on the bed, crying. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and some doors shutting. His father was home. He could hear his parents talking downstairs but didn't know what they were saying. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and his door opened.
"Billy," his father began in that lecturing-father tone, "Your mother says you've been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you've done?"
"Dad, I haven't done anything! I just don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"You...don't know what the Purple Wombat is. Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. And forget about dinner!"
Billy's father slammed the door and stormed off. Billy collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way -- lying there, crying, wishing he would wake up.
Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said: "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat, Billy."
Billy sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but he could not.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Find me, Billy."
It was coming from out the window. So Billy got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out on to the roof.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat."
Billy jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road. He got to the edge of a wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Follow me, Billy."
The voice was coming from inside the wood. It was very dark and very frightening, but Billy didn't care. He had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. So, bravely, he entered the wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Keep going, Billy."
Billy kept going into the wood. He could hardly see anything, and he kept falling down and walking into things and hurting himself. But he kept going, driven by a need to find this enigma that kept calling his name.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. This way, Billy."
Eventually, Billy emerged from the wood. He was on the shore of the town lake.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. I'm out here, Billy."
It was coming from out across the lake. Billy got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. Since he was only a small boy, it was very difficult. But he had to find out what the Purple Wombat was.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Row, Billy."
The voice was coming from across the lake. Billy doubled his effort, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: "Billy, I am the Purple Wombat. I'm up here, Billy."
It was coming from directly above him. Billy stopped rowing and stood up to look for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Billy didn't know how to swim, so he drowned.
Moral: Don't stand up in a boat.

 

[wide eyed and legless]

A woman believes her dog is hard of hearing on account of all the hair in its ears, so she goes to the chemist for some hair removal cream, before she has chance to explain to the chemist what it was for the chemist explained to her if you are going to use it on your legs leave it on for 3 minutes then wash it off as it is caustic, if you are going to use it under your arms same thing but less time, if you are going to use it on your face, no more than 30 seconds before washing it off. The woman said to him actually its for my Schnauzer, to which the chemist replied, in that case refrain from riding a bicycle for a fortnight.

 

[Blind Dog]

It's late at night. The law firm's office are empty apart from Jonny the new intern. The lights go out. How many lawyers does it take to change the lightbulb?

Six (it is a reputable firm after all)

 

[Blind Dog]

Duck walks into a bar.

'Got any bread' asks the duck
'No' comes the response. 'We have beer on tap, beer in bottles, wine, a selection of spirits and pickled onions, but no bread'
'Oh' said the duck. 'Got any bread?'
'No' came the slightly bemused response
'Oh' said the duck. 'Got any bread?'
'No' came the terse response
'Oh' said the duck, lost in thought. 'Got any bread?'
'No. We don't have any bread!!' Shouted the irate batman
'Oh' said the duck taken aback. 'Got any bread?'
'No, we don't gave any ******* bread! We have beer on rap, beer in bottles, wine, a selection of spirits and pickled onions, but no ******* bread and if you ask me for bread one more time I'll bail your ******* beak to the bar!!!'
'Oh' said the duck thoughtfully. 'Got any nails'
'Of course I don't have any nails. This is a ******* bar not ******* bunnings!!!'
'Oh' said the duck. 'Got any bread?'

 

[Mardoo]

Left out the "14 forum posters to support rehydrating the lightbulb, 1 to challenge it"

Not to mention one to start the lightbulb build thread...

 

[warra48]

 

[Mardoo]

HA! A friend of mine used to say, "I'm not a vegetarian because I love animals, I'm a vegetarian because I hate plants."

 

[manticle]

There was a little boy by the name of Billy. Billy was an ordinary little boy who did ordinary little boy things, like playing, eating, bathing, destroying things, and going to school. One day, when Billy went down to the bus stop to meet the bus to go to school, he found all of his friends huddled around in a little group, talking about the Purple Wombat.
Being a little boy, Billy was curious. So he asked them, "What's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the children exclaimed disgustedly. For the rest of the morning, they would not go near Billy, always standing far away and staring at him. Then the bus came. Billy, confused, got on the bus along with the rest of the children.
"Hey, Mister Bus Driver!" one of the chldren shouted. "Billy doesn't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
The bus driver turned around abruptly. "You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" he said in disbelief. He ordered Billy to sit in the very back of the bus, all by himself.
Eventually, they got to school, and Billy got off the bus and went to class. Class proceeded normally; the students did the pledge of allegiance and worked on their multiplication tables for a while. Then the teacher led them into a unit on geography. Billy was not really paying attention, but he heard the teacher mention something about the Purple Wombat.
Billy's hand shot up, and, when the teacher called on him, Billy asked, "Teacher, what's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the teacher cried in alarm, "Get yourself to the principal's office right now, young man. No, no buts -- march!"
So Billy headed down the long, dark, frightening hallway to the principal's office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and timidly entered the room behind it. There, at a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a hulking man, balding, with a thin mustache. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. He was enough to frighten little boys like Billy who had been sent to his office almost to tears.
"Well, Billy," he began slowly. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Mr. Principal, I just don't know what's going on today. Everyone's been acting weird, and they're all treating me really badly. Like teacher just sent me to you and stuff."
"Now, Billy, I'm here to help you. I'm the princi-Pal, after all. Heh heh. Can you tell me why everyone's acting so strangely?"
"It's because I don't know what some stupid Purple Wombat is."
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is? That's it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended."
The principal threw Billy out of his office and told him to go home. Billy, crying, began the long walk home. When he got there, his mother was standing in the doorway waiting for him.
"Billy!" she called, sobbing, "I was so worried about you! What happened?"
"Mom," Billy cried, "Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal's office and the principal suspended me, all because I don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" Billy's mother shrieked. "Go to your room this minute. Go! Just wait until your father gets home!"
So Billy marched up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on the bed, crying. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and some doors shutting. His father was home. He could hear his parents talking downstairs but didn't know what they were saying. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and his door opened.
"Billy," his father began in that lecturing-father tone, "Your mother says you've been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you've done?"
"Dad, I haven't done anything! I just don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"You...don't know what the Purple Wombat is. Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. And forget about dinner!"
Billy's father slammed the door and stormed off. Billy collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way -- lying there, crying, wishing he would wake up.
Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said: "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat, Billy."
Billy sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but he could not.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Find me, Billy."
It was coming from out the window. So Billy got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out on to the roof.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat."
Billy jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road. He got to the edge of a wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Follow me, Billy."
The voice was coming from inside the wood. It was very dark and very frightening, but Billy didn't care. He had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. So, bravely, he entered the wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Keep going, Billy."
Billy kept going into the wood. He could hardly see anything, and he kept falling down and walking into things and hurting himself. But he kept going, driven by a need to find this enigma that kept calling his name.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. This way, Billy."
Eventually, Billy emerged from the wood. He was on the shore of the town lake.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. I'm out here, Billy."
It was coming from out across the lake. Billy got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. Since he was only a small boy, it was very difficult. But he had to find out what the Purple Wombat was.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Row, Billy."
The voice was coming from across the lake. Billy doubled his effort, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: "Billy, I am the Purple Wombat. I'm up here, Billy."
It was coming from directly above him. Billy stopped rowing and stood up to look for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Billy didn't know how to swim, so he drowned.
Moral: Don't stand up in a boat.

I hope you typed all that, preferably using a mobile device.

 

[wereprawn]

The past, present and future walk into a bar . It was tense.

 

[wereprawn]

Have you heard the one about the Irish hypochondriac?

He refused to have *** until the swelling went down.

 

[Droopy Brew]

Dad joke time then I see.


Whats brown and runny?









Usain Bolt

 

[Ducatiboy stu]

I hope you typed all that, preferably using a mobile device.

 

[i-a-n]

Murphy drops a slice buttered toast on the kitchen floor and it lands butter-side-up.
He looks down in astonishment, for he knows that it's a law of nature of the universe
that buttered toast always falls butter-down.
So he rushes round to the church to fetch Father Flanagan.
He tells the priest that a miracle has occurred in his kitchen.
He won't say what it is, so he asks Father Flanagan to come and see it with his own eyes.
He leads Father Flanagan into the kitchen and asks him what he sees on the floor.
"Well," says the priest, "it's pretty obvious. Someone has dropped some buttered toast on
the floor and then they flipped it over so that the butter was on top."
"No, Father, I dropped it and it landed like that!" exclaimed Murphy
"Oh my Lord," says Father Flanagan, "dropped toast never falls with the butter side up.
It must be miracle.
Wait... it's not for me to say it's a miracle.
I'll have to report this matter to the Bishop and he'll have to deal with it.
He'll send some people round; to interview you, take photos, etc."
After 8 long weeks and with great fanfare, the Bishop announces the final ruling.
"It is certain that some kind of an extraordinary event took place in Murphy's kitchen,
Quite outside the natural laws of the universe.
Yet the Holy Ones must be very cautious before ruling a miracle.
All other explanations must be ruled out.
Unfortunately, in this case, it has been declared that it is 'No Miracle'

They think that Murphy may have buttered the toast on the wrong side

 

[Camo6]

Mrs Thompson was teaching the children about animals. She asked the kids if they could run through the alphabet and name an animal that started with the letter.

When she asked who could name an animal starting with A, little Johnny's arm shot straight up. Knowing he'd just use a colourful expletive she chose another child who answered aardvark.
When she got to B up went Johnny's arm again. 'Not a chance' the teacher thought. The same went for C and D and so forth. Every time Johnny's arm was straight up and waving madly. Finally the teacher got to R and couldn't think of a swear word that started with it.
"Ok Johnny, can you name an animal starting with R?" She asked apprehensively.
"Rats." Said Johnny as the teacher breathed a sigh of relief.
"Huge ****** rats with twelve inch cocks!"

 

[Weizguy]

The Pope goes to New York.
He is picked up at the airport by a limousine.
He looks at the beautiful car and says to the driver, "You know, I hardly ever get to drive. Would you please let me?"
The driver is understandably hesistant and says, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm supposed to do that."
But the Pope persists, "Please?" The driver finally lets up. "Oh, all right, I can't really say no to the Pope."
So the Pope takes the wheel, and off he goes! He hits the gas and goes around 100 mph in a 45 zone. A policeman notices and pulls him over.

The police officer walks up and asks the Pope to roll down the window.
Startled and surprised, the young officer asks the Pope to wait a minute.
He goes back to his patrol car and radios the chief.
Cop: Chief, I have a problem.
Chief: What sort of problem?
Cop: Well, you see, I pulled over this guy for driving way over the speed limit but it's someone really important.
Chief: Important like the mayor?
Cop: No, no, much more important than that.
Chief: Important like the governor?
Cop: Wayyyyyy more important than that.

Chief: Like the president?
Cop: More.
Chief: Who's more important than the president?
Cop: I don't know, but he's got the Pope DRIVING for him!

 

[Weizguy]

I've got an old mate, Donny, who lives way out in the hills of New Guinea. Oh, and he makes homebrew.
Anyway, it's been a while since we caught up, and I recently received an old-fashioned letter from him, asking if I could take some time to come visit, along with some directions, starting with grabbing a cab from Port Moresby.

OK, so I get to the airport, and speak to the cabbie, and we go on a wild, rough ride out into the hills, taking about an hour an a half.
Cabbie stops in the middle of what might have once been a road, gets his fare money and in barely understandable Pidgin, tells me that where I'm going is about 2 hours walk in 'that' direction, must of it uphill, through wild jungle, and to follow the track.

I thank the cabbie, and set off down this bush track, with my hat on my head to fend off the hot sun and my backpack on my back.

Eventually, I reach the top of the ridge and I can see a shack at the top of the next crest, about a kilometre away, so I descend into the valley, and up the other side.

OK, so when I get there, and the house (not really a house, but a colossal bush mansion, handbuilt and with expansive verandahs, with hand-carved tables and chairs, set on the ridge overlooking the jungle vista) is in sight, just up the hill, my old mate charges down the hill to greet me with a cave-man hug. He grabs my backpack, and grabs me and throws me over his shoulder and literally carries me up to the house, such is his joy to see another human being.

This guy has been seriously lonely. He starts jabbering at me a mile a minute, and then slows down, apologises, remembers his manners and yells "Beer", and offers a sun-scorched smile.
He scampers into the house, leaving me out on the verandah, seated at the large table wondering what he puts into his beer, what with difficulty hauling in heavy ingredients and such.
Next thing, he's back out, with a silver service tray, a long bottle (apparently of local origin and obviously refilled and recapped by a homebrewer), as well as two large pilsner glasses.
He cracks the lid and pours the beer, and it looks marvellous, bright gold and a large thick white persistent head.
Donny raises his glass and I guzzle a huge mouthful, while he hesitates, glass in hand. Then the reaction: I cough, hack, shake and squirm. My tastebuds recoil in disgust from the vile concoction. It's bitter and disgusting and I don't want any more. I just worked out why he did not raise the glass to his lips. Filthy!

Next thing Donny is holding an old pistol to my head, and tells me to "Scull up". He looks deadly serious and fires a shot out into the jungle to allay any fears that he's only joking. So I hold my nose and quaff the rest of it, repeating the shocking initial experience, and a bonus, minor convulsion along with it.
Donny smiles again. Then he hands me the gun and says; "Your turn. Now you hold the gun on me".

 

[dave81]

What kind of bees make milk













****ees

 

[Weizguy]

A country boy from the Tassie bush moves to Arkansas to start his working life, both to get away from home and because he enjoys the sound of banjos. Let’s call him Donny. He secures a job as a bus conductor.
He is not very successful in his new role and often upsets patrons. On one occasion, Donny has had enough of one old drunk guy who was belittling and humiliating him and his Tassie accent and his choice of career, and Donny unleashes a mighty punch to the old guy’s dome, killing him on impact.
I won’t carry on about the summary trial, where Donny pleads guilty and is sentenced, suffice it to say that this is Arkansas and they have capital punishment and the death penalty is ultimately imposed on him.
Donny spends a little while on Death Row, and is advised that the lethal injection drugs are not available, so he will be given death by electrocution. As is traditional and accepted, Donny is offered his last meal. He knows exactly what he wants, and eschews the traditional Filet Mignon, and asks for a case of Tasmanian apples from a specific orchard, in the Tamar valley. This request takes another week to be fulfilled but the apples are procured and provided to Donny on the evening before his sentence is to be carried out.
Donny thanks the warder, and opens the box of apples as the warder walks away.
Next morning, in each tray in the box, there is but an apple stem where each apple sat previously.
The guard arrives and Donny is escorted down to the execution chamber, where his head is shaved and oiled, and he is strapped into the electric chair, left wrist, right wrist, left ankle, then right ankle and headpiece. Last rites are provided by a nervous-looking clergyman of indeterminate affiliation, with a sincere offer of absolution.
The executioner takes his cue from the end of the ceremony, and allows the charge to build up by pulling the primary lever, with some fizzling and crackling of electrons.
He offers Donny the opportunity of any last words, and he flicks the switch to empower the last lever, for final discharge of the electricity to Donny’s awaiting body.
Donny has no comments and no regrets and tells the executioner to go ahead. Failing any further response from Donny, bar a nod of the head; upon which signal, the anonymous hooded heavy-set man pulls the ultimate lever.
Nothing! No electricity, no discharge, no execution.
Donny is, in time, unstrapped, and summarily escorted back to his cell, where he is left to his thoughts, and where he is later advised that the execution equipment will be checked and tested, before his execution will be completed.
A week later, exhaustive testing cannot find a fault and all subsequent tests have shown the equipment to work.
Donny is offered another last meal. The prison Head Warder is surprised that Donny again shuns the traditional big steak dinner with all the trimmings, and again asks for the same apples from the specific boutique orchard in the Tamar Valley in Tasmania.
The usual expected wait occurs before the apples are provided to Donny. The next morning again each individual tray in the apple box has a single stem placed in it when the warder arrives to take Donny for his last walk.
In the execution chamber, Donny is ushered to his seat and prepared, by having his head shaved and oiled, then being strapped into the chair, left wrist, right wrist, left ankle, then right ankle and headpiece.
Donny has seen all this before and is not fazed in the least. Last rites are provided by another anonymous clergyman who offers him the gift of salvation and eternal life. Donny has no need for these things. Then, a pull of the lever arms the device, the lever to activate the discharge mechanism is next to be engaged, the final offer of “any last words?”, all the while an intense hissing and buzzing of electricity and near-overloaded equipment.
Then, the big hooded ghoul throws the final lever to send the killing charge into Donny’s soon-to-be lifeless body… and NOTHING! No discharge, no frying scalp, no searing pain and… you get the idea.
Donny yawns and is again freed from his bonds and escorted back to his cell by a prison guard who cannot believe this Aussie’s luck.
Another round of intensive equipment testing is carried out, and the same as the previous occasion, there is no fault to be discovered and the equipment passes 3 weeks of testing and the execution is again given the green light to proceed.
On this occasion, there are some drugs available for a lethal injection, making Donny a little nervous, but a final audit shows insufficient quantities available, so the fall-back plan is again the electric chair.
Donny is advised of this eventuality, and is offered a final final meal. Donny, on this occasion chooses apples again, from his specified orchard in the Tamar valley in his old home state of Tasmania. However, this time, the apples are already in stock at the prison’s preferred vendor, as they somehow expected there might be a need, and the apples are supplied to Donny within 24 hours of his request.
The next morning, a number of prison guards arrive to see all the apples have been eaten and they inspect the trays with the individually-allocated apple stems.
Donny is marched down the corridor to the familiar chamber, and the laborious process ensues. Sit down, head shaved and oiled, strapped into the chair, left wrist, right wrist, left ankle, then right ankle and headpiece. Last rites blah, blah, blah. Throw the lever now, please.
In quick succession, the hooded behemoth throws the two initial levers and allows the charge to accumulate in the apparatus.
“Anything to say?”, he grunts, and before Donny can reply, the final lever is thrown, allowing the gargantuan voltage to send a mass flow of electrons…nowhere.
Donny is released from the equipment, and advised that “they” usually set you free if three acts of God deny you a just and fair execution.
In good time, Donny is given his pardon, and released from prison, and allowed to depart the United States to head home to Tassie, where he lives out his many remaining years, and propagates many children and grand-children.


Oh, you’re wondering about the apples?



Early on, I told you that Donny was a bad conductor…

 

[Blind Dog]

I hope you typed that

On a phone