A woman walked into an accountant’s office to get help her with filing her taxes.
The accountant said, “Before we begin, I’ll need to ask you a few questions.”
He gets her name, address, et cetera… And then asked, “What’s your occupation?”
She candidly replied, “I’m a prostitute.”
The accountant was somewhat taken aback, “Let’s try to re phrase that.”
“OK, I’m a high-end call girl,” she replied without hesitation.
“No,” said the accountant, “that still won’t work. Try again.”
They both think for a minute; then the woman said, “I’m an elite poultry farmer.”
The accountant asked, “What does poultry farming have to do with being a prostitute?”
“Well, I raised over a thousand cocks last year.”
A woman and a man are lying in bed next to each other when her phone rings.
She picks up, the man looks over at her and listens.
She is speaking in a cheery voice, “Hi, I’m so glad you called. Really? That’s wonderful.
I’m so happy for you. That sounds terrific. Great! Thanks. Okay. Bye bye.”
She hangs up, and the man asks, “Who was that?”
“Oh, she replies, “that was my husband telling me about the great time he’s having on his fishing trip with you.”
Down in the subway, a drunken man who smelled of beer sat down next to a priest.
The man’s tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading.
After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked, “Say Father, what causes arthritis?”
The priest replies, “My son, it’s caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with prostitutes and lack of a bath.”
The drunk muttered in response, “Well, I’ll be damned.” Then returned to his paper.
The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?”
The drunk answered, “I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does.”
A boy comes home from his first day at junior high school. The father asked, “What happened in school today?”
The boy says, “I learned how to multiply, and I had sex with my English teacher.”
The father beams. “What a milestone! You’re really growing up! We should celebrate. I tell you what, let’s get an ice cream sundae, and then we’ll go buy you that bike you’ve wanted and go for a bike ride together.”
The boy says, “That sounds great, dad; but could we hold off on the bike ride? My ass is sore as hell!”
Well, it’s been fun. We told a lot of jokes this year. Some better than others. Here’s a stinker for Christmas:
Three rednecks in Arkansas are out drinking and four wheeling on Christmas. They get drunk as a skunk, hit a tree, and all die and immediately go to heaven.
Saint Peter meets them at the Pearly Gates and tells them that unless they have something on their person that can correspond to the Christmas spirit, they’re doomed.
The first fella easily pulls out a set of keys and jingles them around & says, “These are the bells of Christmas!”
Saint Peter nods and says, “Enter!”
The second redneck looks a little panicked but pulls out a Bic lighter and says, flick “This is the Light of the World!”
Saint Peter says, “I see what you did there. Enter into your rest.”
The last fella is in a full on freak out, red faced and panicked. But the light bulb goes on and he reaches into his back pocket and produces a pair of women’s undies.
He looks pleased with himself and twirls them around on his finger.
Saint Peter says, “What in the world does this have to do with the Christmas spirit?”
The redneck replied, “These are Carol’s.”
While I have been giving Gail plenty of attention over the past year and a half, I have not given much if any attention to Alex in this space. Born somewhere around July 15, 2009, Alex is soon to be 12 years old. I got him off Craigslist after my previous cat passed away. The people who were giving him away said that he had been abandoned on their porch. Alex immediately took to his new forever home and soon after learned to come when I called his name.
For almost a decade, Alex has suffered from a kind of bulimia. Whenever I bring it up, the vet repeatedly defaults to the notion that it is hairballs, but hairball remedies do not improve the condition. No, it is more akin to what they call "scarf and barf". He eats, he barfs, he eats again, he is fine... mostly. I have tried many techniques for dealing with this, but nothing has ever proven to be long term effective.
Recently I have found pureeing his canned cat food in an old mini food processor has halted his bulimic patterns. I fear it might not be enough though. Alex has been very thin and tired looking, with a permanently furrowed brow. There is no nice way to say it. I'm getting that EOL vibe.
Please, God, just let me wrong about this for a change. Alex is a good cat, and honestly I don't think I'll be able to get another cat until after Gail is gone. The thing is, I've always had a cat around, and I don't like the idea of not having one. The house would feel too empty.
So let us hope the pureed food turns things around for Alex. Even if he looks like a grumpy old man, I hope he can live another decade or more. In some ways, I even hope he outlives Gail.
Did I mention our submission page? It's still a thing around here, and I count on people like you to put jokes into it. Thanks ever so much. It really means a lot to me.
Flush Twice is a JOTD (Joke of the Day) website. New jokes are published every Monday through Friday (midnight EST). There is also a comic and a personal blog in the sidebar that updates on the weekends. We’ve been operating since May of 2003.
Jokes are generously provided by friends and visitors such as yourself. If you would like to contribute, please check out our submission page, or e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org. If you know anyone who constantly e-mails you jokes, forward them to us! We’ll take what we can get!
So what makes a joke funny?
It all boils down to a sudden shift in perception. The story starts you thinking one way, then the punchline turns that thinking on its ear. The art of the joke is to craft a short story that isn’t overly contrived, then deliver a punchline that suddenly shifts your perception about the story you were being told.
Many of the jokes on this site are offensive, and we make no apologies for it. Offensive jokes work by making the reader uncomfortable through the use of a taboo subject thus enhancing the underlying humor. Without the offensive element, the joke would simply not be as funny.