Friday follies (the open mike thread)

[katster]

It's Friday. I'm at work. I'm alone in the office. I need to get into this excel spreadsheet. Not quite there yet. I think a bit more tea will do nicely.

Anyway, let's have an open topic. What's your favorite joke?

Here's one of mine:

Q. Why do Communists drink herbal tea?

A. Because proper tea is theft!


I'm sure yours can't be any worse. Go ahead and share. (Or if you don't want to share a joke, feel free to consider this an open thread.)

Comments

[crossfire.livejournal.com]

Currently I'm enamored of:

"So there are these two muffins, baking in an oven. One muffin says, 'boy, it's sure hot in here,' and the other muffin says, 'Oh my GOD, a talking MUFFIN!'"

[fb.livejournal.com]

Maybe you've heard it before...
There's a student sitting at a workstation in a computer lab who can't get his program to work. He even reboots a couple times and no matter what he does the program crashes every time he tries to run it. Finally, a lab attendant comes over to the student and tells him that you can't fix a problem simply by cycling the power without knowing what's wrong. Then the lab attendant reaches down, cycles the power on the workstation, it boots up, and the program runs fine.


And have I ever told you why elephants are big, grey, and wrinkled?

[malakim.livejournal.com]

There was this apprentice chef. He had studied under the master for many, many years. The day finally arrived for his final exam.

"Today is the day, my boy. Your final test: prepare for me eggs benedict!"
"I know this," thought the apprentice. "I can do this."

So he gathered together all his ingredients. He selected the freshest, most perfect eggs he could find, and set some water to boil. While that was happening, he sliced up some ham and put it in to broil. When the water was just right, he cracked open the eggs and quickly poached them.. Everything was done according to plan, following every direction and tip the master had ever taught him.

Once all the food was prepared, and he was ready to serve the meal, the master brought in many different plates and platters. "Pick the perfect service for your meal, my apprentice. Only then will your training be complete."

The hopeful chef looked over all his choices... Shiny silver platters, delicate china dishes, even some that looked like multi-colored glass. He thought long and hard, then chose a dainty china plate with an intricate blue pattern. He set down the toasted english muffins; he topped each with a perfectly broiled slice of ham. Next came the poached eggs. Finally, he coated each stack with a generous portion of creamy hollandaise sauce. Nervously he brought it out into the dining area for his master's final verdict.

The master looked it over, turned it this way and that, and sighed deeply. "So close..."
"But master, you didn't even taste it! How can you say I failed?"
The master slowly got up and walked over to the array of dishes, and picked up the shiny silver platter, "I knew you had failed from the moment you walked in, my boy."

"You see, there's no plate like chrome for the hollandaise."

I've got two for you...

[wjhansen.livejournal.com]

First...my all-time favorite:
There were two penguins sitting in a bathtub. The one says, "Will you pass me the bar of soap?" The other one says, "What do you think I am? A typewriter???"

Next...my favorite knock-knock joke (remember...I have a 3-1/2 year old in my house!):

Knock-Knock!
Who's There?
Interrupting Cow
Interrup...
MOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!


There ya go! :)

[lirazel.livejournal.com]

A priest, a rabbi, and a Hindu Sikh walk into a bar together. The bartender looks at them and says, "What is this, some kind of a joke?"

metametametametaMETAmetametameta...

[katster.livejournal.com]

mushroom! mushroom!

Now, back to our spreadsheet, currently in progress.

-kat

[kowh.livejournal.com]

Bad jokes eh? Here's one:

There are two guys who have been lost in the desert for weeks, and they're at death's door. As they stumble on, hoping for salvation in the form of an oasis of something similar, they suddenly spy through the heat haze, a small tree off in the distance. As they get closer, they can see that the tree is draped with rasher upon rasher of bacon. There's smoked bacon, crispy bacon, life-giving juicy nearly-raw bacon, all sorts. And the smell.. oh the glorious smell!

"Look Pepe," says the first man. "It's a bacon tree!" "You're right!" says Pepe, "We're saved!" Pepe doesn't wait another second. He runs up to the tree salivating at the prospect of food. But just as he gets to within five feet of the tree, there's the sound of machine gun fire. and he is shot down in a hail of bullets. His friend quickly drops down on the sand, and calls across to the dying Pepe. "Pepe!! Pepe!! What on earth happened?"

And with his dying breath Pepe calls back: "Ugh, run, run!! It's not a Bacon Tree after all..." "... it's a ham bush!"

I'm probably going to get defriended for this.

[eiviiaru.livejournal.com]

Once upon a time, there was a woman who lived in a pink-pink house. Everything in the house was pink-pink, from the pink-pink carpeting and wallpaper right down to pink-pink furniture and daily articles. (The woman was an eccentric heiress, so she could get away with this kind of pink-pink excess.)

One day, the woman was sitting in her pink-pink living room, in her favorite pink-pink chair, reading a pink-pink book, when her pink-pink doorbell rang. She set down the pink-pink book, stood up from the pink-pink chair, and walked down the pink-pink hallway to answer the pink-pink door. Standing there was a traveling salesman. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am," he said, "but all the hotels in town are booked, and I need somewhere to sleep for the night." (Being a large and conspicuous mansion, it was no surprise that the pink-pink house had caught the salesman's eye.)

"Certainly," said the woman, a gregarious sort by nature. "Come on in." She led the salesman down the pink-pink hallway, past the pink-pink doors, and up the pink-pink stairs to another pink-pink hallway. At last, they stopped at a pink-pink door, beyond which was a pink-pink guest room. And all was well.

The woman settled back into her pink-pink living room and pink-pink book when there was another ring of the pink-pink doorbell. She stood up, walked down the pink-pink hallway and answered the pink-pink door again. There stood another salesman: "ma'am, can I trouble you for a room for the night?"

"Of course," she said, and led him down the pink-pink hallway, up the pink-pink stairs, and to a second pink-pink guest room. (The woman did a fair amount of entertaining.) The man settled in comfortably, and all was well.

The evening wore on, and the woman had quite nearly completed her pink-pink book when the pink-pink doorbell rang again. After a quick walk out of the pink-pink living room and down the pink-pink hallway, she opened the pink-pink door on a third salesman, haggard-looking and apologetic. "... there's this convention in town, see..."

"Come in," she said, leading the tired-looking man down the pink-pink hallway, up the pink-pink stairs, and to the pink-pink door of her third pink-pink guest room. Once he was settled in, she decided that it had been quite the exhausting night, and she settled into her own pink-pink bedroom for some badly-needed rest.

The next morning, the woman rose from her pink-pink bed, stepped onto her pink-pink carpet, and (after a brief ablution in her pink-pink shower), dressed in her finest pink-pink dress and prepared for the day. Down the pink-pink stairs she went to the pink-pink kitchen, where she retrieved two pink-pink boxes of cereal: Froot Loops and Apple Jacks. Back up the pink-pink stairs she went, heading this time for the pink-pink hallway and the pink-pink guest rooms. She knocked at the first pink-pink door, calling inside: "Sir? What would you like for breakfast? I've got Froot Loops or Apple Jacks."

"Froot Loops, please!" came the voice of the salesman inside the pink-pink guest room.

She proceeded down the hall, knocking at the second pink-pink door. "Good morning! Would you like Froot Loops or Apple Jacks for breakfast?"

"Apple Jacks, if you wouldn't mind," said the second pink-pink guest room's resident.

Down the pink-pink hallway she went, knocking at the final pink-pink door. "Good morning! I've got breakfast available; would you prefer Froot Loops or Apple Jacks?"

"I'd love some Froot Loops, ma'am," said the final salesman, rousing from his pink-pink bed into the glory of the pink-pink day.

The moral of the story is... two out of three people prefer Froot Loops to Apple Jacks.

(... I'll get my coat.)

Re: I'm probably going to get defriended for this.

[katster.livejournal.com]

Haw!

One out of one owners of this journal approve. ;)

-kat

Re: I'm probably going to get defriended for this.

[eiviiaru.livejournal.com]

You ought to see how this joke goes over in person!

(Like a lead balloon, generally...)

[fadethecat.livejournal.com]

Q: What's purple and goes slam slam slam slam?
A: A four-door grape.

Q: What do you call a clairvoyant midget escaped from prison?
A: A small medium at large.

[aris-tgd.livejournal.com]

Q: How many surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: Two; one to hold the giraffe, and one to fill the bathtub with brightly colored machine-toys.

Q: How many Californians does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: Californians don't screw in lightbulbs, they screw in hot tubs!

And a bit of local color:

A Californian, a Frenchman, and an Oregonian are standing on a bridge in Portland looking out over the river. The Frenchman takes a bottle of wine from his backpack, pulls out the cork, takes a swig, then throws the bottle into the air and shoots it with a pistol, shattering the glass into a million pieces and spilling the rest of the wine into the river. He shrugs and says, "We have plenty of those where I come from."

The Californian shrugs, takes a bottle of primo Napa wine from his backpack, uncorks it, takes a swig, throws the bottle into the air and shoots it, saying, "We have plenty of those where I come from."

The Oregonian takes out a bottle of Oregon microbrew, opens it, takes a swig, then shoots the Californian. "We have plenty of those where I come from," he says to the astonished Frenchman, "but I have to redeem this bottle for a deposit."