Pete McCluskey.
Lifetime Supporter
I bet her Grand children are embarrassed
Jokes anyone? -
- Thread starter p thompson
- Start date
Pete McCluskey.
Lifetime Supporter
I was sitting with my brother on the back Porch last night and his Old English Sheep dog was licking its nuts. " Wouldn't you like to be able to do that" I said. My bro said "you'd better give him a pat first or he might bite you".
Thoughts on Golf
Golf and What It All Means
'Golf can best be defined as an endless series of tragedies obscured by the occasional miracle, followed by a good pint of beer.'
Golf! You hit down to make the ball go up.
You swing left and the ball goes right.
The lowest score wins. And on top of that, the winner buys the drinks!
Golfers who try to make everything perfect before taking the shot rarely make the perfect shot.
The term 'mulligan' is really a contraction of the phrase 'maul it again.'
A 'gimme' can best be defined as an agreement between two golfers, neither of whom can putt very well.
An interesting thing about golf is that no matter how badly you play, it is always possible to get worse!
Golf's a hard game to figure. One day you'll go out and slice it and shank it, hit into all the bunkers, and miss every green. Then the next day you go out and for no reason at all you really play badly.
If your best shots are the practice swing and the 'gimme putt,' you might wish to try playing another sport.
Golf is like marriage: If you take yourself too seriously it won't work, and both are very expensive.
The best wood in the amateurs' bag is his pencil!
The Top Ten Reasons Why Golf Is Better Than Sex.
1. A below par performance is considered damn good.
2. You can stop in the middle and have a bacon sandwich and a beer.
3. It's much easier to find the sweet spot.
4. Foursomes are encouraged.
5. You can still enjoy doing it when you are over 65.
6. Three times a day is possible.
7. Your partner doesn't hire a lawyer if you play with someone else.
8. If you live in Florida , you can do it almost every day.
9. You don't have to cuddle with your partner when you're finished.
10. When your equipment gets old you can replace it!
Golf and What It All Means
'Golf can best be defined as an endless series of tragedies obscured by the occasional miracle, followed by a good pint of beer.'
Golf! You hit down to make the ball go up.
You swing left and the ball goes right.
The lowest score wins. And on top of that, the winner buys the drinks!
Golfers who try to make everything perfect before taking the shot rarely make the perfect shot.
The term 'mulligan' is really a contraction of the phrase 'maul it again.'
A 'gimme' can best be defined as an agreement between two golfers, neither of whom can putt very well.
An interesting thing about golf is that no matter how badly you play, it is always possible to get worse!
Golf's a hard game to figure. One day you'll go out and slice it and shank it, hit into all the bunkers, and miss every green. Then the next day you go out and for no reason at all you really play badly.
If your best shots are the practice swing and the 'gimme putt,' you might wish to try playing another sport.
Golf is like marriage: If you take yourself too seriously it won't work, and both are very expensive.
The best wood in the amateurs' bag is his pencil!
The Top Ten Reasons Why Golf Is Better Than Sex.
1. A below par performance is considered damn good.
2. You can stop in the middle and have a bacon sandwich and a beer.
3. It's much easier to find the sweet spot.
4. Foursomes are encouraged.
5. You can still enjoy doing it when you are over 65.
6. Three times a day is possible.
7. Your partner doesn't hire a lawyer if you play with someone else.
8. If you live in Florida , you can do it almost every day.
9. You don't have to cuddle with your partner when you're finished.
10. When your equipment gets old you can replace it!
I gave up bowling for sex, the balls are lighter and you don't have to change your shoes!
Was in bed with the Japanese girlfreind, and I happened to mention she was getting a little baggy in the fanny department.
She went absolutely mental, throwing punches and ranting. "You always clittysizing me"
Apple Computer announced today that it has developed
a computer chip that can store and play high fidelity
music in women's breast implants.
The iTit will cost between $499.00 and $699.00
depending on speaker size.
This is considered to be a major breakthrough because
women have always complained about men staring
at their tits and not listening to them.
Just thought I would lower the tone a bit.
Bob
She went absolutely mental, throwing punches and ranting. "You always clittysizing me"
Apple Computer announced today that it has developed
a computer chip that can store and play high fidelity
music in women's breast implants.
The iTit will cost between $499.00 and $699.00
depending on speaker size.
This is considered to be a major breakthrough because
women have always complained about men staring
at their tits and not listening to them.
Just thought I would lower the tone a bit.
Bob
Pete McCluskey.
Lifetime Supporter
This is an actual letter sent to the DFAT (Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade) Immigration Minister. The Government tried desperately to censure the author, but got nowhere because every legal person who read it couldn't stop laughing !
Dear Mr Minister,
I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this.
How is it that K-Mart has my address and telephone number, and knows that I bought a television set and golf clubs and condoms from them back in 1997, and yet the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born
and on what date ?
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand ?
My birth date you have in my Medicare information, and it is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 40 years.
It is also on my driver's licence, on the last eight passports I've ever had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off planes
over the past 30 years.
It's also on all those insufferable census forms that I've filled out every 5 years since 1966.
Also... would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Audrey, my father's name is Jack, and I'd be absolutely bloody astounded if that ever
changed between now and when I drop dead !!!
SHIT! What do you people do with all this information we keep having to provide?
I apologize, Mr. Minister. But I'm really pissed off this morning.
Between you and me, I've had enough of all this bullshit!
You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my bloody address!
What the hell is going on with your mob? Have you got a gang of mindless Neanderthal arseholes working there!
And another thing, look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I can't even grow a beard for God's sakes. I just want to go to New Zealand and see my new granddaughter. (Yes, my son interbred with a Kiwi girl). And would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether or not I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? In the unlikely event I ever got the urge to do something weird to a sheep or a horse, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!
Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other side of Sydney , and get another bloody copy of my birth certificate - and to part with another $80 for the privilege of accessing MY OWN INFORMATION!
Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot, to assist in the issuance of a new passport on the same day?
Nooooo…that'd be too bloody easy and makes far too much sense.
You would much prefer to have us running all over the bloody place like chickens with our heads cut off, and then having to find some 'high-society' wanker to confirm that it's really me in the goddamn photo! You know the photo... the one where we're not allowed to smile?...you bloody morons.
Signed - An Irate Australian Citizen.
P.S. Remember what I said above about the picture, and getting someone in 'high-society' to confirm that it's me?
Well, my family has been in this country since before 1820! In 1856, one of my forefathers took up arms with Peter Lalor. (You do remember the Eureka Stockade!)
I have also served in both the CMF and regular Army for something over 30 years (I went to Vietnam in 1967), and still have high security clearances. I'm also a personal friend of the president of the RSL....Lt General Peter Cosgrove sends me a Christmas card each year.
However, your rules require that I have to get someone "important" to verify who I am; you know...someone like my doctor - WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN BLOODY PAKISTAN!...a country where they either assassinate or hang their ex-Prime Ministers - and are suspended from
the Commonwealth and United Nations for not having the "right sort of government".
You are all pen-pushing paper-shuffling wankers.
►
Dear Mr Minister,
I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this.
How is it that K-Mart has my address and telephone number, and knows that I bought a television set and golf clubs and condoms from them back in 1997, and yet the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born
and on what date ?
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand ?
My birth date you have in my Medicare information, and it is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 40 years.
It is also on my driver's licence, on the last eight passports I've ever had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off planes
over the past 30 years.
It's also on all those insufferable census forms that I've filled out every 5 years since 1966.
Also... would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Audrey, my father's name is Jack, and I'd be absolutely bloody astounded if that ever
changed between now and when I drop dead !!!
SHIT! What do you people do with all this information we keep having to provide?
I apologize, Mr. Minister. But I'm really pissed off this morning.
Between you and me, I've had enough of all this bullshit!
You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my bloody address!
What the hell is going on with your mob? Have you got a gang of mindless Neanderthal arseholes working there!
And another thing, look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I can't even grow a beard for God's sakes. I just want to go to New Zealand and see my new granddaughter. (Yes, my son interbred with a Kiwi girl). And would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether or not I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? In the unlikely event I ever got the urge to do something weird to a sheep or a horse, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!
Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other side of Sydney , and get another bloody copy of my birth certificate - and to part with another $80 for the privilege of accessing MY OWN INFORMATION!
Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot, to assist in the issuance of a new passport on the same day?
Nooooo…that'd be too bloody easy and makes far too much sense.
You would much prefer to have us running all over the bloody place like chickens with our heads cut off, and then having to find some 'high-society' wanker to confirm that it's really me in the goddamn photo! You know the photo... the one where we're not allowed to smile?...you bloody morons.
Signed - An Irate Australian Citizen.
P.S. Remember what I said above about the picture, and getting someone in 'high-society' to confirm that it's me?
Well, my family has been in this country since before 1820! In 1856, one of my forefathers took up arms with Peter Lalor. (You do remember the Eureka Stockade!)
I have also served in both the CMF and regular Army for something over 30 years (I went to Vietnam in 1967), and still have high security clearances. I'm also a personal friend of the president of the RSL....Lt General Peter Cosgrove sends me a Christmas card each year.
However, your rules require that I have to get someone "important" to verify who I am; you know...someone like my doctor - WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN BLOODY PAKISTAN!...a country where they either assassinate or hang their ex-Prime Ministers - and are suspended from
the Commonwealth and United Nations for not having the "right sort of government".
You are all pen-pushing paper-shuffling wankers.
►
I don't give a gallopin' clang whether this letter is legit or not, it's 100% dead-bang 'right on' no matter WHICH "democratic" gov't you'd care to mention.
Some higher brow jokes that may need some mature reflection.
(When you work out what they mean - please PM me)
What does a dyslexic, agnostic, insomniac spend most of his time doing? Staying up all night wondering if there really is a dog.
“Is it solipsistic in here, or is it just me?”
A TCP packet walks into a bar, and says to the barman: “Hello, I’d like a beer.” The barman replies: “Hello, you’d like a beer?” “Yes,” replies the TCP packet, “I’d like a beer.”
When I heard that oxygen and magnesium hooked up I was like OMg.
Werner Heisenberg, Kurt Gödel, and Noam Chomsky walk into a bar. Heisenberg turns to the other two and says: “Clearly this is a joke, but how can we figure out if it’s funny or not?” Gödel replies: “We can’t know that because we’re inside the joke.” Chomsky says: “Of course it’s funny. You’re just telling it wrong.”
Jean-Paul Sartre is sitting at a French café, revising his draft of Being and Nothingness. He says to the waitress: “I’d like a cup of coffee, please, with no cream.” The waitress replies: “I’m sorry, Monsieur, but we’re out of cream. How about with no milk?”
A classics professor goes to a tailor to get his trousers mended. The tailor asks: “Euripides?” The professor replies: “Yes. Eumenides?”
And my favourite:
A programmer’s wife tells him: “Run to the store and pick up a loaf of bread. If they have eggs, get a dozen.” The programmer comes home with 12 loaves of bread.
(When you work out what they mean - please PM me)
What does a dyslexic, agnostic, insomniac spend most of his time doing? Staying up all night wondering if there really is a dog.
“Is it solipsistic in here, or is it just me?”
A TCP packet walks into a bar, and says to the barman: “Hello, I’d like a beer.” The barman replies: “Hello, you’d like a beer?” “Yes,” replies the TCP packet, “I’d like a beer.”
When I heard that oxygen and magnesium hooked up I was like OMg.
Werner Heisenberg, Kurt Gödel, and Noam Chomsky walk into a bar. Heisenberg turns to the other two and says: “Clearly this is a joke, but how can we figure out if it’s funny or not?” Gödel replies: “We can’t know that because we’re inside the joke.” Chomsky says: “Of course it’s funny. You’re just telling it wrong.”
Jean-Paul Sartre is sitting at a French café, revising his draft of Being and Nothingness. He says to the waitress: “I’d like a cup of coffee, please, with no cream.” The waitress replies: “I’m sorry, Monsieur, but we’re out of cream. How about with no milk?”
A classics professor goes to a tailor to get his trousers mended. The tailor asks: “Euripides?” The professor replies: “Yes. Eumenides?”
And my favourite:
A programmer’s wife tells him: “Run to the store and pick up a loaf of bread. If they have eggs, get a dozen.” The programmer comes home with 12 loaves of bread.
Jim Rosenthal
Supporter
Keith, bring back the visual of the Colonel. Loved it.
The Colonel, being a lifelong military man that served in many campaigns (including With-The-Rope in the Library) is presently engaged (as are most Brits) in the Remembrance period leading up to Remembrance Day - the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month when the guns of WWI fell silent.
It is customary during this period to wear poppies, to symbolise the killing fields of Flanders where a whole generation was uselessly slaughtered for a few yards of mud. On this day, we also remember Our Fallen from all other military campaigns until the present day. This is how we must remember them....
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
The Colonel will return after a respectful period has passed...
Apologies for the thread drift. This is entirely inappropriate for the Jokes thread, sorry..
Pete McCluskey.
Lifetime Supporter
Not inappropriate at all, lest we forget.
Jim Rosenthal
Supporter
Got it now.
I know you'll know this one Jimbo, but this is for all the others 
Yossele Zelkovitz worked in a Jewish pickle factory. For many years
he had a powerful desire to put his penis in the pickle slicer.
Unable to stand it any longer, he sought professional help from the factory psychologist...
After six months, the therapist gave up. He advised Yossel to go ahead
and do it or he would probably never have any peace of mind.
The next day he came home from work very early. His wife, Sacha, became alarmed and wanted to know what had happened. Yossel tearfully confessed his tormenting desire to put his penis in the pickle slicer. He went on to explain that today he finally went ahead and did it, and he was immediately fired.
Sacha gasped and ran over to her husband. She quickly yanked down his pants and shorts only to find a normal, completely intact penis.
She looked up and said, "I don't understand. What about the pickle slicer?" Yossel replied, "I think she got fired, too."
Yossele Zelkovitz worked in a Jewish pickle factory. For many years
he had a powerful desire to put his penis in the pickle slicer.
Unable to stand it any longer, he sought professional help from the factory psychologist...
After six months, the therapist gave up. He advised Yossel to go ahead
and do it or he would probably never have any peace of mind.
The next day he came home from work very early. His wife, Sacha, became alarmed and wanted to know what had happened. Yossel tearfully confessed his tormenting desire to put his penis in the pickle slicer. He went on to explain that today he finally went ahead and did it, and he was immediately fired.
Sacha gasped and ran over to her husband. She quickly yanked down his pants and shorts only to find a normal, completely intact penis.
She looked up and said, "I don't understand. What about the pickle slicer?" Yossel replied, "I think she got fired, too."
Pete McCluskey.
Lifetime Supporter
I think we all know that one Keith... Try harder.
