Found For Friday

 A police motorcycle police officer stops a driver for shooting through a red light. The driver is a real bar steward, he steps out of his car and comes striding toward the officer, demanding to know why he is being harassed by the Gestapo! So the officer calmly tells him of the red light violation.

The motorist instantly goes on a tirade, questioning the officer's ancestry, sexual orientation, etc., in rather explicit offensive terms. The tirade goes on without the officer saying a dickybird. When the officer finishes writing the ticket he puts an "AH" in the lower right corner of the narrative portion of the ticket. He then hands it to The 'violator' for his signature. The bloke signs the ticket angrily, and when presented with his copy points to the "AH" and demands to know what it stands for.

The officer says, "That's so when we go to court, I'll remember that you're an arsehole!"

Two months later they're in court. The 'violator' has a bad driving record and he has a heap of demerits and is in danger of losing his license, so he hired a lawyer to represent him.

On the stand the officer testifies to seeing the man run through the red light. Under cross examination the defence attorney asks; "Officer is this a
reasonable facsimile of the ticket that you issued to my client?"

Officer responds, "Yes, sir, that is the defendant's copy, his signature and
mine, same number at the top."

Lawyer: "Officer, is there any particular marking or notation on this ticket
you don't normally make?"

"Yes, sir, in the lower right corner of the narrative there is an "AH," underlined."

"What does the "AH" stand for, officer?"

"Aggressive and hostile, Sir."

"Aggressive and hostile?"

"Yes, Sir.”

"Officer, are you sure it doesn't stand for arsehole?"

“Well, sir, you know your client better than I do.”

 A Priest was about to finish his tour of duty, and was Leaving his Mission in darkest Brazil Where he has spent years teaching The natives right from wrong, when he realizes that the one thing he never taught them was How to speak English.

So he takes the chief for a walk in the forest. He points to a tree and says to the chief, 'This is a tree.'

The chief looks at t he tree and grunts, 'Tree.'

The Priest is pleased with the response. They walk a little further and he points to a rock and says, 'This is a rock.'

Hearing this, the chief looks and grunt s, 'Rock.' The Priest was really getting enthusiastic about the results when he hears

A rustling in the bushes. As they peek over the top, He sees a couple of Natives in the midst of heavy sexual activity.

The Priest is really flustered and quickly responds, 'Man riding a bike.'

The chief looks at the couple briefly, pulls out his Blowgun and kills them.

The Priest goes ballistic and yells at the chief that He has spent years teaching the tribe how to be Civilized and be kind to each other, so how could he Kill these people in cold blood that way?

The chief replied, "My bike."

 This "wonderful, lengthy tale" contains more double entendres than an entire "Carry On" film.

The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife goodbye and said, 'Well, I'm off now. The man should be here soon.'

Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer happened to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale. 'Good morning, Ma'am', he said, 'I've come to....'

'Oh, no need to explain,' Mrs. Smith cut in, embarrassed, 'I've been expecting you.'

'Have you really?' said the photographer. 'Well, that's good. Did you know babies are my specialty?'

'Well that's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat.

After a moment she asked, blushing, 'Well, where do we start?'

'Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch, and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes the living room floor is fun. You can really spread out there.'

'Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn't work out for Harry and me!'

'Well, Ma'am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results.'

'My, that's a lot!', gasped Mrs. Smith.

'Ma'am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I'd love to be in and out in five minutes, but I'm sure you'd be disappointed with that.'

'Don't I know it,' said Mrs. Smith quietly.

The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of his baby pictures. 'This was done on the top of a bus,' he said.

'Oh, my God!' Mrs. Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat.

'And these twins turned out exceptionally well - when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with.'

'She was difficult?' asked Mrs. Smith.

'Yes, I'm afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep to get a good look'

'Four and five deep?' said Mrs. Smith, her eyes wide with amazement.

'Yes', the photographer replied. 'And for more than three hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling - I could hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in.'

Mrs. Smith leaned forward. 'Do you mean they actually chewed on your, uh...equipment?'

'It's true, Ma'am, yes.. Well, if you're ready, I'll set-up my tripod and we can get to work right away.'

'Tripod?'

'Oh yes, Ma'am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It's much too big to be held in the hand very long.'

Mrs. Smith fainted.

 The Mother of All Ethnic Jokes


An Englishman, a Scotsman, an Irishman, a Welshman, a Latvian, a Turk, a German, an Indian, several Americans (including a southerner, a NewEnglander and a Californian),  an Argentinean, a Dane, an Australian, aSlovakian, an Egyptian, a Japanese, a Moroccan, a Frenchman, a NewZealander, a Spaniard, a Russian, a Guatemalan, a Colombian, a Pakistani, a Malaysian, a Croatian, an Uzbek, a Cypriot, a Pole, a Lithuanian, a Chinese, a Sri Lankan, a Lebanese, a Cayman Islander, a Ugandan, a Vietnamese, a Korean, a Uruguayan, a Czech, an Icelander, a Mexican, a Finn, a Honduran, a Panamanian, an Andorran, an Israeli, a Venezuelan, a Fijian, a Peruvian, an Estonian, a Brazilian, aPortuguese, a Liechtensteiner, a Mongolian, a Hungarian, a Canadian, a Moldovan, a Haitian, a Norfolk Islander, a Macedonian, a Bolivian, a Cook Islander, a Tajikistani, a Samoan, an Armenian, an Aruban, an Albanian, a Greenlander, a Micronesian, a Virgin Islander, a Georgian, a Bahamian, a Belarusian, a Cuban, a Tongan, a Cambodian, a Qatari, anAzerbaijani, a Romanian, a Chilean, a Kyrgyzstani, a Jamaican, a Filipino, a Ukrainian, a Dutchman, an Ecuadorian, a Costa Rican, a Swede, a Bulgarian, a Serb, a Swiss, a Greek, a Belgian, a Singaporean,an Italian, a Norwegian and 47 Africans walk into a bar.


"I'm sorry," says the bar keep - scrutinizing the group one by one and barring their entrance - "you can't come in here without a Thai."

 And here's a math problem for you . . .

Q: How many Masons does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: Three. One to screw it in, one to read the minutes of the previous light bulb replacement, and one to sit on the sidelines and complain that this wasn't the way they USED to screw in light bulbs.

Late Night Mischief

There's a man, walking down the street at one o'clock in the morning--he's loaded.

A policeman stops him and asks him, "where do you think you're going in that condition?"

"I'm on my way to a lecture on Freemasonry," the man slurred.

"Where can you possibly get a lecture on Freemasonry at this time of night?" the officers asks.

"From my wife, when I get home!"

One of my friends works in the customer service call center of a national pager company. He deals with the usual complaints regarding poor pager operation, as well as the occasional crank caller demanding to be paged less often, more often, or by more interesting people.

The best call came from a man who repeatedly complained that he was being paged by “Lucille”. He was instructed that he would have to call her and tell her to stop paging him.

“She don’t never leave no number, so I can’t call her back,” he said. After three such calls, someone thought to ask how he knew it was Lucille if she didn’t leave a number.

“She leaves her name” was the reply. After establishing that the customer had a numeric-only pager, the light bulb came on. “How does she spell her name?” the service rep asked.

“L-O-W C-E-L-L”

Have a wonderful week-end!