An old Soviet communist lies on his death bed, on the verge of death. His friends are gathered around him all somber. The old man turns to one of them and says,
“Dimitri, remember in 1921 you were almost executed? Well, you should know that I ratted you out to the Cheka. I hope you forgive me.”
“Oh comrade, it is In the past and all is forgiven” says Dimitri.
The Communist then turns to another friend.
“Petya, remember being sentenced in 1937 to 25 years in the gulag? Well, it was me who went to the NKVD. Please forgive me.”
“No more hard feelings, my friend. You are forgiven,” says Petya.
“Misha, I must confess to you that I had you sent to the penal battalion in 1942. I am terribly sorry about that day.”
“Please my friend, we all forgive you. You may go in peace,” says Misha.
“Thank you, comrades, for being with me throughout all these years,” says the old communist with a tear streaming down his face. “I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for you. I’m sorry for betraying you all, and I hope you will forgive me.”
His friends are visibly touched by his words. Finally, he gathers his last strength and says.
“And in honor of our deep friendship I want you to fulfill my last wish. See that cactus plant on the windowsill? As soon as I die, I want you to take it and shove it up my ass.”
Just as his friends were about to say something the old communist took his last breath.
So Petya goes to the window, takes the cactus plant off and with the other two holding up the old communist’s legs, shoves it up their dead friend’s butt. Suddenly, they hear a loud banging on the door followed by a gruff voice shouting:
“Open up, it’s the police. We’ve received information that an old Bolshevik has been tortured to death.”
A dying billionaire called in his doctor, lawyer, and priest for a talk, “For all your years of friendship and faithful service I’ve left each of you a generous gift in my will, but I want each of you to do one last thing for me. Here is one million dollars cash for each of you. I want you to slip it into my coffin before I’m buried. I want to see if everyone is wrong and I can take it with me.”
He dies soon after, and as the three are walking away from the grave site the priest mutters, “okay, my conscience is bothering me. I have to confess: I thought of all the good that money could do in our community; it seemed a shame to waste it. I donated half of it to a charity that provides for the poor. I only put half in the coffin.”
The doctor sighed, “I should confess too. I thought of how badly my hospital needs money for cancer research. I donated two thirds of it anonymously to our charity fund. I only put a third in the coffin.”
The lawyer, disgusted, let into the two, “Gentlemen, you made a solemn promise on our friend’s deathbed, and this is how you honor his final wishes? I’m ashamed, appalled, at your behavior! I for one put in a check for the full amount!”
A police officer came upon a terrible wreck where the driver and a passenger had been killed. As he looked upon the wreckage a little monkey came out of the brush and hopped around the crashed car. The officer looked down at the monkey and said, “I wish you could talk.”
The monkey looked up at the officer and nodded his head up and down.”
You can understand what I’m saying?” asked the officer.
Again, the monkey nodded his head up and down.
“Well, did you see this?”
“Yes,” motioned the monkey.
“What happened?”
The monkey pretended to have a can in his hand and turned it up by his mouth.
“They were drinking?” asked the officer.
The monkey nods his head, “Yes.”
“What else?”
The monkey pinched his fingers together and held them to his mouth.
“They were smoking marijuana?”
The monkey nods his head, “Yes.”
“What else?”
The monkey motioned “kissing.”
“They were kissing, too?” asked the astounded officer.
The monkey nods his head, “Yes.”
“Now wait, you’re saying your owners were drinking, smoking and kissing before they wrecked?”
The monkey nods his head, “Yes.”
“What were you doing during all this?”
A homeless guy walked into a bar. The bartender asks what he wants while encouraging him to leave.
The homeless man promises he’ll leave if he can get a cocktail stick.Reluctantly, without question, the bartender agrees and gives the homeless man a cocktail stick, and he’s back on his way.
A few minutes later, another homeless man walks into the bar and asks the same thing.
The bartender is confused. Not wanting to put his paying customers off, he shrugs, and offers the same deal, “I’ll give you one, if you leave immediately”.The homeless man agrees, grabs the cocktail stick and rushes back outside.
A while goes by, a 3rd homeless man walks in, before he could speak, the bartender stops him and says: “Let me guess, you want a cocktail stick?”
The homeless man says, “No, no! can I have a straw please?”
The bartender asks “Why? 2 of your buddies have come in asking for cocktail sticks, why do you want a straw?”
The homeless man replies: “Someone threw up outside, and all the best bits are gone”
One of the reasons I’m sticking with this new job is the money. I’ve described it as a modest pay raise, but I ended up getting more than I bargained for. When I went into the interview, my asking salary was that of my last job including its overtime. That was exactly what I got, and the overtime I get now is just money on top of my previous salary. Modest, right?
It turns out, I am getting double the overtime of the last job, and they also have a rather generous attendance bonus that I was not initially aware of. My pay increase has hardly been modest. The end result has been the ability for me to pay down some old credit card debt that has plagued me since the ’90s. Over the last 4 months I have managed to substantially reduce my debt down to a level that has me outright giddy. If all goes well, I should be debt free (excepting mortgage) in 27 months. And the house payment isn’t that far off either.
Debt free.
Free.
But of course it is not that simple either. Though I should have everything paid off by then, I have already made a commitment that once my Nissan Leaf is paid off, I am going to buy a new EV. At this time the Chevy Bolt EUV is favored for its stylish crossover appeal. On the other hand, the testosterone boosting F150 Lightning is also a major consideration. Part of the American dream is to buy a new car at least once in your lifetime, and while the 2022 model years look like they are going to be fantastic, the 2025’s should be all that and more!
I just hope that for once my shit doesn’t go all pear shaped like it usually does.
Kudos
OK, so I didn’t want to have to do this, but thanks reddit. The submission page is still open for anyone willing to share a joke or two. No worries though.
As mentioned above, I’m still working crazy amounts of OT, so new comics on the weekend are going to be a bit hit or miss.
A guy is walking through the country when he spots a sign that reads, “Talking Horse for Sale.” Intrigued, he walks up to the stable to check it out.
“So what have you done with your life?” he asks the horse.
“I’ve led a full life,” the horse answers miraculously. “I was born in The Andes where I helped farm for an entire village. Years later, I joined the mounted police force in New York and helped keep the city clean and safe. And now, I spend my days volunterring for charities and giving free rides to underprivileged kids here in the country.”
The guy is flabbergasted. He asks the horse’s owner, “Why on earth would you want to get rid of such an incredible animal?”
The owner says, “Because he’s a fucking liar! He never did any of that shit!”
Marie was in the kitchen fiddling around when she hollers out…. “Boudreaux, you need to go out and fix da outhouse!”
Boudreaux replies, “Dere ain’t nuthin wrong wid da outhouse.”
Marie yells back, “Yes dere is; now git out dere and fix it.”
So…….Boudreaux mosies out to the outhouse, looks around and yells back, “Marie dere ain’t nuthin wrong wid dis outhouse cher! ”
Marie replies, “Stick yur head in da hole!”
Boudreaux yells back, “I ain’t stickin my head in dat hole!”
Marie says, “Ya have to stick yur head in da hole to see what to fix.”
So with that, Boudreaux sticks his head in the hole, looks around and yells back,”Marie – Dere ain’t nuthin wrong with dis outhouse!”
Marie hollers back, “Now take your head out of da hole!”
Boudreaux proceeds to pull his head out of the hole, and then starts yelling, “Marie – Help! My beard is stuck in da cracks in da toilet seat!”
To which Marie replies, “Hurts, don’t it?”
A man was getting a haircut prior to a trip to Rome. He mentioned the trip to the barber who responded, “Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded and dirty. You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”
“We’re taking American Airlines,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“American Airlines?” exclaimed the barber. “That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they’re always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?”
“We’ll be at the downtown International Marriott.”
“That dump! That’s the worst hotel in the city. The rooms are small, the service is surly and they’re overpriced. So, whatcha doing when you get there?”
“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.”
“That’s rich,” laughed the barber. “You and a million other people trying to see him. You’ll be at the back of St Peter’s Square and from that distance he’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it.”
A month later, the man again came in for his regular haircut. The barber asked him about his trip to Rome.
“It was wonderful,” explained the man. “Not only were we on time in one of American Airlines’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a beautiful 28 year old stewardess who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel was great! They’d just finished a $25 million remodeling job and now it’s the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us the presidential suite at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the barber, “I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, for as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the pope likes to personally meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later the pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down as he spoke a few words to me.”
“Really?” asked the Barber. “What’d he say?”
He said, “Where’d you get the shitty haircut?”
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.
