The Dying Irishman

The doctor, after a lengthy examination, sighed and looked Murphy in the eye and said, “I’ve some bad news for you. You have cancer and it can’t be cured. I’d give you two weeks to a month.”
Murphy shocked and saddened by the news, managed to compose himself and walk from the doctor’s office into the waiting room. There he saw his son who had been waiting. Murphy said, “Son, we Irish celebrate when things are good and celebrate when things don’t go so well. In this case, things aren’t so well. I have cancer, and I’ve been given a short time to live. Let’s head for the pub and have a few pints.”
After three or four pints the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and more beers. They were eventually approached by some of Murphy’s old friends who asked what the two were celebrating. Murphy told them that the Irish celebrate the good and the bad. He went on to tell them that they were drinking to his impending end. He told his friends “I’ve only got a few weeks to live as I have been diagnosed with AIDS.”
The friends gave Murphy their condolences and bought a couple rounds of beers. After his friends left, Murphy’s son leaned over and whispered, “Dad I thought you said that you were dying from cancer, but you just told your friends that you were dying from AIDS.”
Murphy said, “I am dying from cancer son, I just don’t want any of them sleeping with your mother after I’m gone.”

The Dying Irishman
So how would you rate this?

The Death Notice

When the husband finally died his wife put the usual death notice in the paper, but added that he died of gonorrhea.
No sooner were the papers delivered when a good friend of the family phoned and complained bitterly, “You know very well that he died of diarrhea, not gonorrhea.”
“I nursed him night and day, so of course I know he died of diarrhea,” replied the widow, “but I thought it would be better for posterity to remember him as a great lover rather than the big poop he always was.”

The Death Notice
So how would you rate this?

Time to Start Cussing

A 6-year-old and a 4-year-old are upstairs in their bedroom. “You know what?” says the 6-year-old. “I think it’s about time we start cussing.”
The 4-year-old nods his head in approval.
The 6-year-old continues. “When we go downstairs for breakfast I’m going to say “hell” and you say “ass.”
“OK!” The 4 year old agrees with enthusiasm.
Their mother walks into the kitchen and asks the 6-year-old what he wants for breakfast.
“Aw hell, Mom, I guess I’ll have some Cheerios.”
WHACK! He flies out of his chair, tumbles across the kitchen floor, gets up, and runs upstairs crying his eyes out, with his mother in hot pursuit, slapping his rear every step. The Mom locks him in his room and shouts “You can just stay there till I let you out!” She then comes back downstairs, looks at the 4-year-old, and asks with a stern voice, “And what do YOU want for breakfast young man?”
“I don’t know,” he blubbers, “But you can bet your fat ass it won’t be Cheerios.”

Time to Start Cussing
So how would you rate this?

The Blonde’s Thermos

A blond was shopping at Wal*Mart and came across a shiny silver thermos. She was quite fascinated by it, so she picked it up and brought it over to the clerk to ask what it was.
The clerk said, “Why, that’s a thermos. It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold.”
“Wow,” said the blond, “that’s amazing. I’m going to buy it!”
So she bought the thermos and took it to work the next day. Her boss, also a blond, saw it on her desk. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Why, that’s a thermos. It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold,” she replied.
“Wow, that’s amazing,” said the boss, “what do you have in it?”
“Two Popsicles and some coffee.”

The Blonde’s Thermos
So how would you rate this?

New Math

A little boy was doing his homework. He said to himself, “Two plus five, that son of a bitch is seven. Three plus six, that son of a bitch is nine.”
His mother heard what he was saying and gasped, “What are you doing?”
The little boy answered, “I’m doing my math homework, Mom.”
“And this is how your teacher taught you to do it?” the mother asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
Infuriated, the mother asked the teacher the next day, “What are you teaching my son in math?”
The teacher replied, “Right now, we are learning addition.”
The mother asked, “And are you teaching them to say two plus two, that son of a bitch is four?”
After the teacher stopped laughing, she answered, “What I taught them was, two plus two, the sum of which, is four.”

New Math
So how would you rate this?