The return of shit joke thread (incorporating the humour toilet) and mainly reposts of reposts of reposts
My old schoolteacher told me that with dyslexia, I’d never be any good at poetry.
I now have a steady income from selling handmade jugs and vases.
So fuck you, schoolteacher.
85-year-old Biker Bob was requested by his doctor for a sperm count as part of his physical exam. The doctor gave the man a jar and said, ‘Take this jar home and bring back a semen sample tomorrow. ’
The next day Bob reappeared at the doctor’s office and gave him the jar, which was as clean and empty as on the previous day.
The doctor asked what happened and the old biker explained, 'Well you see, doc, it’s like this. “First I tried with my right hand, but nothing. Then I tried with my left hand, but still nothing. Then I asked my old lady for help. She tried with her right hand, then with her left, still nothing. She tried with her mouth, first with the teeth in, then with her teeth out, still nothing. 'We even called up Sally, the Gal next door and she tried too, first with both hands, then an armpit, and she even tried squeezin’ it between her knees, but still nothing.’ The doctor was shocked! ‘You asked your neighbor?’
Bob replied, 'Yep, none of us could get that damn jar open.’
More like the decline and fall than evolution.
Here is one for the Antiquarians amongst us:
A man wakes up in the hospital, bandaged from head to foot. The doctor comes in and says,
“Ah, I see you’ve regained consciousness. Now, you probably won’t remember, but you were in a pile-up on the motorway. You’re going to be okay, you’ll walk again and everything, but… Something happened. I’m trying to break this gently, but the fact is, your knob was chopped off in the crah and we were unable to find it.”
The man groans in pain and distress, but the doctor goes on,
“You’ve got £9,000 in insurance compensation coming and we have the technology now to build you a new todger that will work as well as your old one did - better in fact! But the thing is, it doesn’t come cheap. It’s £1,000 an inch.”
The man perks up at this.
“So,” the doctor says, “It’s for you to decide how many inches you want. But it’s something you’d better discuss with your wife. I mean, if you had a five inch one before, and you decide to go for a nine incher, she might be a bit put out. But if you had a nine inch one before, and you decide only to invest in a five incher this time, she might be disappointed. So it’s important that she plays a role in helping you make the decision.”
The man agrees to talk with his wife.
The doctor comes back the next day. “So,” says the doctor, “have you spoken with your wife?”
“I have,” says the man.
“And what is the decision?” asks the doctor.
“We’re having granite worktops”