It was the first day of school, and the new first grade teacher was taking down the children’s names.
One boy spoke up and said, “My name is Johnny Fuchauer.” (F*ck-hour)
Miffed by the obvious fake name, the teacher retorted, “There’ll be none of that nonsense this year, Johnny! Now tell me your REAL name!”
The kid said, “No, really teacher, it IS Johnny Fuchauer. You can go across the hall to second grade and ask my brother if you don’t believe me!”
So the teacher went across the hall and knocked on the second grade classroom door. The second grade teacher had stepped out for a moment, so the first grade teacher entered the room and asked the class, “Do you have a Fuchauer in here?”
A kid in the front row replied, A fuck hour? Heck, we don’t even get a cookie break!”
A very tall man walks into a bar…and a lady recognizes him as a pro Rugby player. They start to talk and eventually go back to his place. They start to kiss, and the man takes off his shirt. On his arm, he has a tattoo that says REEBOK. “What’s that for?” the lady questions. “Oh, I have this so that when I’m on TV, people will see my tattoo, and Reebok pays me.” Then the man takes off his trousers, and on his leg, he has a tattoo that says NIKE. ‘What’s that ?’ the lady questions again. “Just like the Reebok tattoo, I get paid when this tattoo is seen on TV.” Then the man drops his underwear and on his pe☆is he has a tattoo that says AIDS. The lady screams: “Don’t tell me you have AIDS!” The man replies: “No, no…!!! Calm down…!!! It will say ADIDAS in a minute. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
A blonde female bought herself a new Mercedes. She could drive the car during the day, but at night the car wouldn’t move at all. She tried driving the car at night for a week with no luck.
Furious, she called the dealership, told them the problem and they sent a
mechanic to the house. The mechanic gave the car a thorough inspection
and could not find anything wrong.
Eventually, he asked the blonde, ” Are you sure you’re using the right gears?”
“Of course I am. I’m not stupid. I use “D” during the day and “N” at night!”🤣🤣🤣
Two priests are off to the showers late one night. They undress and step into the showers before they realize there is no soap.
Father John says he has soap in his room and goes to get it, not bothering to dress.
He grabs two bars of soap, one in each hand , and heads back to the showers.
He is halfway down the hall when he sees three nuns heading his way Having no place to hide, he stands against the wall and freezes like he’s a statue.
The nuns stop and comment on how life-like he looks.
The first nun suddenly reaches out and pulls on his manhood.
Startled, he drops a bar of soap.
“Oh look” says the first nun, “it’s a soap dispenser”.
To test her theory the second nun also pulls on his manhood.
Sure enough, he drops the second bar of soap.
Now the third nun decides to have a go.
She pulls once, then twice and three times but nothing happens.
So she gives several more tugs, then yells…
“Holy Mary, Mother of God, HAND LOTION TOO!”
If houses were cars, my house would be a very used base model compact sedan that had serious cosmetic defects but otherwise ran well. Obviously the trade in value would garner far less than a comparable house would sell due to the considerable amount of cosmetic disrepair, but as it is, I find it quite livable. There’s a roof over my head, central HVAC, the appliances, electrical, and plumbing all work, and the structure is quite sound. Alas, I yearn for more… and always have.
A house nestled into the side of a wooded hill, a field down below, a nearby creek that flows into a river, and a long way off from the nearest neighbor. Add to that my own solar farm, water treatment, and sustainable off grid capability, and that is a place I would want to call home.
But who am I kidding. I barely make enough to pay my bills as it is. This is where the idea of bootstrapping a homestead comes in. All I have to do is find the land, right? Weird thing is, a lot of the land is already snatched up, and the ones that are available are kind of… well… shitty and overpriced. Lots without any houses on 0.3 acres are going for $35,000 and up, and it is pretty obvious they are subdivision lots slated for HOA housing. Not what I had in mind.
Recently I spied a steal. $25,000 for a 4 bedroom farmhouse on 2 acres with a barn and some other outbuilding. Just think about it: With a $5000 down payment the monthly payments would be just over a hundred bucks. Sign me up, right?! Turns out it was false advertising. The home was up for auction with a starting bid of $25,000. They want cash on the barrel and it’s guaranteed it ain’t going for no paltry $25,000.
Honestly, when I bought my home 27 days before 9/11, housing prices were at an all time high, and looked like they were only going to go up. I had no intention of living here for very long. My plan was to fix it up and flip it, but the market cratered and my house got devalued to less than half what I paid. It has been 20 years, and only in the last two years did my house suddenly emerge from being under water as home prices have recently soared.I will probably die in this house… Either that, or as a homeless bum on the street. Moving anywhere else would be too expensive, and the rent is seriously too damn high.
But maybe… just maybe… if I keep my eyes peeled… I might find that plot of land out in the countryside for a song. Then I can build my tiny home on it with solar panels, rain barrels, and a composting toilet. I will finally be able to spend my golden years glamping with my dog.
Kudos
Sorry the rant was late. Thanks for the jokes TOR. The submission page is at the ready for more jokes, otherwise, there’s always reddit.
Oh, and sorry about the glitch last week. I forgot to hit the schedule button on Wednesday thru Friday’s jokes. Oops.
The pioneers had came to settle in Oklahoma back during the covered wagon days. The journey was filled with peril and frequently there were bloody misunderstandings with the local natives.
One day the leader of the convoy heard the sound of a drum off in the distance.
BRRUM bum bum bum BRRUM bum bum bum
They stopped to circle up the convoy and took a defensive position. They were unable to hear where the drum was coming from but it was definitely getting louder.
BRRUM bum bum bum BRRUM bum bum bum
The head of the convoy looked over at the guy who sat shotgun on the lead wagon with him and said, “I don’t like the sound of that drum.”
A voice called out from somewhere in the distance: “He’s not our usual drummer!”
An old Texas cowhand came riding into town on a hot, dry, dusty day. The local sheriff watched from his chair in front of the saloon as the cowboy wearily dismounted and tied his horse to the rail a few feet in front of the sheriff.
“Howdy, stranger,” said the sheriff.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” said the cowboy. The cowboy moved slowly to the back of the horse, lifted its tail and placed a big kiss where the sun doesn’t shine. He dropped the horse’s tail, stepped up on the walk, and aimed towards the swing doors of the saloon.
“Hold on there, mister,” said the sheriff. “Did I just see what I think I saw?”
“I reckon you did, Sheriff. I got me some powerful chapped lips.”
So, a priest, a rabbi, and a nun walk into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says, “sorry, we don’t serve jokes here.” They all nod and walk out and the bartender keeps cleaning glasses.
A man carrying a frog and a tiny piano walks into the bar and the bartender looks up, sees them, and says, “hey, sorry, we don’t serve jokes here. You’re going to have to find someplace else.” And the frog starts doing a little bit but the man stops him. “We’re gonna have to busk somewhere else Fred,” he says to the frog. And they leave.
Then a talking dog walks into the bar and says, “hey give me a drink pal. It’s been a rough day.” And the bartender gets mad because it’s like the third joke to walk into his bar so he says, “look bud, we don’t serve jokes here. Get walking before I call the cops.” And the dog starts barking but he eventually leaves.
So now the bartender is having a rough day himself, right? First the whole convent, the frog and the piano, then the talking dog? Couldn’t be worse right?
Then a chicken walks in. And the bartender sighs. And this chicken struts right up to the bar.
“Can I get a drink?”
And the bartender loses it. “Look asshole, I’ve told a thousand people today, we don’t serve jokes here.”
And the chicken says, “take it easy, man, take it easy. If I can’t get a drink here where can I get one?”
Jane and Arlene are outside their nursing home, having a drink and a smoke, when it starts to rain. Jane pulls out a condom, cuts off the end, puts it over her cigarette, and continues smoking.
Arlene: What in the hell is that?
Jane: A condom. This way my cigarette doesn’t get wet.
Arlene: Where did you get it?
Jane: You can get them at any pharmacy.
The next day, Arlene hobbles herself into the local pharmacy and
announces to the pharmacist that she wants a box of condoms.
The pharmacist, obviously embarrassed, looks at her kind of strangely (she is, after all, over 80 years of age), but very delicately asks what size, texture, brand of condom she prefers.
‘Doesn’t matter Sonny, as long as it fits on a Camel.’
The pharmacist fainted!
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.
