Charlie came home dead tired from working another twelve-hour day and collapsed in bed.
As he was just about to fall asleep, his wife rolled over and said, “What would you do if I told you that you had a beautiful, sexy, horny woman lying next to you?”
He replied, “Don’t worry honey. I’d stay faithful!”
Seriously, this past week just flew by. Also, if you have any good jokes, please send them my way. The next few weeks just don’t look that hilarious to me, but the jokes are in place. Even though only one person ever seems to rate the jokes anymore, feel free to click those stars. Trust me, it makes your visit feel so much more satisfyingly interactive.
In other news, I’m still getting moved around a lot at work. I’m being used to triage a massive shortage of qualified help. In some ways it’s kind of fun, but it’s also very nerve-wracking. I have to be on top of my game every day, and it’s taking a lot out of me. I pretty much spent most of yesterday in bed trying to recover, yet I’m still experiencing symptoms of exhaustion. It’s not pleasant. Hopefully I’ll start to get the hang of my enhanced responsibilities. Too bad it doesn’t come with an enhanced paycheck.
Other than that, Grace is still doing fine. She seems to be eating quite well, and has more energy than I can possibly deal with.
Several years ago, Great Britain funded a study to determine why the head on a man’s penis is larger than the shaft. The study took two years and cost over 1.2 million pounds.
The study concluded that the reason the head of a man’s penis is larger than the shaft is to provide the man with more pleasure during sex.
After the results were published, France decided to conduct their own study on the same subject. They were convinced that the results of the British study were incorrect.
After three years of research at a costs in excess of 2 million Euros, the French researchers concluded that the head of a man’s penis is larger than the shaft to provide the woman with more pleasure during sex.
When the results of the French study were released, the Australians (not really trusting British or French studies) decided to conduct their own study.
After nearly three hours of intensive research and a cost of $75 (three cases of beer), the Aussie study was complete. They concluded that the reason the head on a man’s penis is larger than the shaft is to prevent your hand from flying off and hitting you in the forehead.
Hubert ran into his friend Jeremy after work. Jeremy seemed to be excited about this new brothel in town that he thought was absolutely brilliant!
“Why is it brilliant?” asked Hubert.
Jeremy explained, “Well, you go in there at 9:00 am, have all the sex you can handle until 12:30, stop for a 3 course lunch, and then have all the sex you can cope with until 4:30 pm. Then they serve chocolate cake and coffee, and just as you leave, they give you $500 in your hand!”
“Sweet Jesus!” Hubert exclaimed. “Where is this place?”
“I don’t know,” said Jeremy, “but I’ll ask my wife tonight when she comes home.”
Chris was an ambitious young man who was finally being considered for membership at an exclusive country club. As part of his trial membership, he spent a day at the plush club playing golf and enjoying the luxury of a complimentary caddie.
Sadly, Chris was a bit of a hack golfer. He played poorly all day. Along the 18th hole, he spotted a lake off to the left of the fairway. He looked at the caddie and said, “I’ve played so poorly all day, I think I’m going to go drown myself in that lake.”
The caddie looked back at him and said, “Actually, I’ve been watching you play, and I don’t think you could keep your head down that long.”
A man traveled to Spain and went to a restaurant in Madrid for a late supper. He ordered the house special and he was brought a plate with potatoes, corn, and two large meaty objects.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Cojones, senor,” replied the waiter.
“What are cojones?” the man retorted.
“Cojones,” the waiter explained, “are the testicles of the bull who lost at the arena this afternoon.”
At first the man was disgusted, but being the adventurous type, he decided to try this local delicacy.
To his amazement, it was quite delicious. In fact, it was so good that he decided to come back again the next night and ordered it again. This time, the waiter brought out the plate, but the meaty objects were much smaller.
What’s this?” he asked the waiter.
“Cojones, senor,” the waiter replied.
“No, no,” the man objected, “I had cojones yesterday and they were much bigger than these.””
Senor,” the waiter explained, “the bull does not always lose.”
I suppose I should start by telling you how it happened. It was an otherwise nondescript day back in February. I went to get out of my rocker-recliner and when I scooched forward to get up, the front armrests bottomed out on the floor as they always do. Unbeknownst to me, Alex just happened to be laying down there that fateful day, and his left arm managed to get pinched.
Of course he yowled the loudest I'd ever heard him yell in his entire life and shot off into the basement. I felt terrible about it, but then I had no way of knowing he was down there when I went to get up. After a short while, Alex came back upstairs, and I was able to check for injury.
Shockingly, there were no broken bones, no blood, and Alex was able to walk just fine. It almost seemed cartoonish at the time, but down the left side of his left arm was a ribbon of flattened fur. He seemed somewhat indifferent to this, and acted like he just wanted to put the whole thing behind him. Seeing as Alex didn't appear to be in immediate danger, I took a "wait and see" position.
Over the next month, the "ribbon" began to shrink inward towards his elbow. I took this as a good sign that his injury was healing naturally and everything would be fine... But things were not fine. After a month and a half, his elbow began to swell. By mid-April I had to take him in to the vet for an exam.
The vet did a fair bit of Hmmm'ing and scrunched her face a lot. She didn't want to poke it with anything for fear it might introduce something. She took some measurements and expressed a "wait and see" attitude. I then scheduled a follow up appointment two months out.
Only a month later in mid-May, the swelling on his elbow had increased to the point that it started to ulcer. I called the vet and got him in immediately. This time they tried to drain it, but it went horribly. After the first stick, Alex started squirting blood all over the place, and the vet and technician freaked out and were running around looking for towels while I had to hold my cat down in a growing pool of his own blood.
After they got things back under control, she tried again with a larger needle, and went in from a different direction. After plunging to the center of the mass, she remarked that it was solid and that the fluid had probably dispersed into the surrounding tissue. She then went on to suggest that it might even be "malignant" and recommended a biopsy. They gave me an estimate for the procedure that ran from $500 to $800. I immediately left and made an appointment with another vet that I had gone to in the past.
The next day, my alternate vet didn't have any good news. By now, Alex's arm was very infected. At first he suggested that the arm would have to come off, but after noting Alex's age, he pulled back and recommended palliative care. I pushed for a quote on the cost of an amputation, and he informed me it would be around $3500 at the lowest, and that at his age, Alex would only live another 6 months after the surgery, and to just stick with palliative care.
They gave Alex a shot of antibiotics, a shot for long term pain management, prednisolone tablets and a liquid antibiotic, along with an appointment to come back about a month later.
Over the memorial day weekend, I cleaned Alex's wound and administered his meds. Alex was still Alex though. He obviously wanted to live, so I began making phone calls. Eventually I got in touch with the Humane Society. It took week and a half to finally get in, but after looking at Alex's arm, their surgeon said that the arm was "not compatible with long term survival" and agreed to amputate it... in two weeks.
That was the longest two weeks of my life.
Every day that thing on his elbow grew bigger and bigger. In the final week, it started to split open. It looked like something out of a horror movie. The outer layer of skin died off and eventually I had to cut the hard chunk of dried flesh off with scissors. Fortunately the antibiotics prescribed by the second vet kept the wound site free from infection.
And through all of this, Alex was still Alex. He just kept on living his life like nothing was wrong. Even with that thing on his arm, he still walked normal, climbed up and down the stairs, jumped on the bed, table, dresser, et cetera. Part of me knew this cat was gonna make it, but part of me was scared that his arm was going to go septic and Alex would die.
I felt relieved on the day of the surgery. We made it through to this day! Alex would be a tripod, but he was going to live! I dropped Alex off at the Human Society and went to work expecting to pick him up between 4:00 pm and 5:00 pm.
My phone rang a little before noon. The voice on the other end informed me that the surgery had gone fine, and they didn't notice anything wrong during the procedure, but in the recovery room, Alex's heart rate began to drop, he went non-responsive, and his pupils dilated. The surgeon explained that sometimes a blood clot will break free during the surgery and make its way into the brain. Alex had had a stroke. There was nothing more they could do.
Moments later, Alex died.
Usually I show off pictures of Gail here, (she's doing find by the way). Gail is a fun dog who loves to constantly run and play, but Alex was the one that I could really count on for affection. He would hop up on my chest when I was resting in my recliner and purr. He would be there at the door to greet me when I came home. He would keep me company when I pooped. He would wake me in the morning, and insist I gave him a thorough petting before I went to sleep at night. He talked to me with his incessant meows, and made sure I never left the house without filling the food and water bowls. Alex loved to get his "full kitty massage" complete with belly rubs, and he was the kind of cat that would walk up and headbutt me to let me know I was his as much as he was mine.
Flush Twice has been around since May of 2003. It started out as a JOTD (Joke of the Day) website. New jokes were published every weekday. Over the years, good jokes were increasingly hard to come by, and eventually they got so rare that I just stopped trying to publish them.
Since 2004 there has also been an eponymous comic. I still occasionally publish a new one on Saturdays. It’s also rare anymore, but sometimes it happens.
Here lately I’ve been posting a “Link of the Day”. For the time being, I will be featuring a new website from my enormous collection of bookmarked websites every weekday. None of it is solicited promotions, and no one is paying me to feature their site. These are just websites that at one time I thought were interesting enough to add to my bookmarks folder.
I highly encourage using some kind of ad blocking extension before clicking on any of these links. You’ll also hear me say this phrase a lot about these posts: “They can’t all be winners.” But it’s better than just leaving the site abandoned.
The jokes were generously provided by friends and visitors such as yourself. I want to express my eternal thanks to everyone over the years who helped contribute to the collection.
So what is it that 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 I 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.