Topic: Jokes

[John Bingham]

A woman was in town on a shopping trip. She began her day finding the most perfect shoes in the first shop and a beautiful dress on sale in the second.

In the third everything had just been reduced to a fiver when her mobile phone rang. It was a female doctor notifying her that her husband had just been in a terrible accident and was in critical condition and in the ICU.

The woman told the doctor to inform her husband where she was and that she'd be there as soon as possible.

As she hung up she realized she was leaving what was shaping up to be her best day ever in the shops. She decided to get in a couple of more shops before heading to the hospital.

She ended up shopping the rest of the morning, finishing her trip with a cup of coffee and a beautiful coffee slice which was complimentary from the last shop.

She was jubilant. Then she remembered her husband. Feeling guilty, she dashed to the hospital.
She saw the doctor in the corridor and asked about her husband's condition.
The female doctor glared at her and shouted,

"You went ahead and finished your shopping trip didn't you! I hope you're proud of yourself! While you were out for the past four hours enjoying yourself in town, your husband has been languishing in the Intensive Care Unit! It's just as well you went ahead and finished, because it will be more than likely the last shopping trip you ever take! For the rest of his life he will require round the clock care. And you'll now be his carer!"



The woman was feeling so guilty she broke down and sobbed.

The doctor then chuckled and said,





"I'm just pulling your leg, he's dead. What'd you buy?"

[John Bingham]

A very successful lawyer parked his brand new Porsche Carrera GT in front of the office, ready to show it off to his colleagues. However, as he got out, a truck came along too close to the curb and completely tore off the driver's door.

Fortunately, a cop in a police car was close enough to see the accident and pulled up behind the Porsche, his lights flashing. But, before the cop had a chance to ask any questions, the lawyer started screaming hysterically about how his Porsche, which he had just picked up the day before, was now completely ruined and would never be the same, no matter how hard the body shop tries to make it new again.

After the lawyer finally wound down from his rant, the cop shook his head in disgust and disbelief. "I can't believe how materialistic you lawyers are," he said. "You are so focused on your possessions that you neglect the most important things in life."

"How can you say such a thing?" asked the lawyer.

The cop replied, "Don't you even realize that your left arm is missing? It got ripped off when the truck hit you!!!"




"OH, MY GOD!" screamed the lawyer. "MY ROLEX!"

[John Bingham]

Ladies please post on the fridge door.

Learn to work the toilet seat. You're a big girl. If it's up, put it down.

Sometimes, we are not thinking about you. Live with it.

Shopping is NOT a sport, and no, we are never going to think of it that way.

When we have to go somewhere, absolutely anything you wear is fine... Really.

Crying is blackmail.

Ask for what you want. Let us be clear on this one: Subtle hints do not work, Strong hints do not work. Obvious hints do not work, Just say it!

We don't remember dates. Mark birthdays and anniversaries on a calendar. Remind us frequently beforehand.

Yes and No are perfectly acceptable answers to almost every question.

Come to us with a problem only if you want help solving it. That's what we do. Sympathy is what your girlfriends are for.

A headache that lasts for 17 months is a problem. See a doctor.

Anything we said 6 months ago is inadmissible in an argument. In fact, all comments become null and void after 7 days.

If something we said can be interpreted two ways, and one of the ways makes you sad or angry, we meant the other one.

Let us ogle. We are going to look anyway, it's genetic.

You can either ask us to do something or tell us how you want it done, not both. If you already know best how to do it, just do it yourself.

The relationship is never going to be like it was the first two months we were going out. Get over it.

ALL men see in only 16 colours, like Windows default settings.
Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a colour. Pumpkin is a vegetable. We have no idea what Mauve is.

If it itches, it will be scratched. We do that.

We are not mind readers and we never will be.

Our lack of mind-reading ability is not proof of how little we care about you.

If we ask what is wrong and you say "nothing," we will act like nothings wrong. We know you are lying, but it is just not worth the hassle.

Ask questions during the commercials, NOT during the game.

[John Bingham]

One day a Jew, a Hindu, and a Scouser all arrived at their hotel to find
there had been a mix-up with the bookings, and that there was only one
room left for them to share.

The manager explained that this room only had two beds, but that there
was a barn at a neighbouring farm which the farmer, an old friend of
his, would let one of them sleep in free of charge.

They complained a bit, but since there was nowhere else to go, the Jew
graciously said he'd sleep in the barn.

The Hindu and the scouser were just settling down to sleep in their
room, when there was a knock on the door.

It was the Jew. "I'm sorry," he said, "but there's a pig in that barn
and because I'm Jewish I feel uncomfortable about sharing the barn with
it."

"No problem," said the Hindu. "I'll sleep out there instead."

So off he went to the barn, leaving the Scouser and the Jew to share the
room.

They were just settling down to sleep, when there was a knock on the
door.

It was the Hindu. "I'm sorry," he said, "but there's a cow in that barn
and because I'm a Hindu I feel uncomfortable about sharing the barn with
it."

The Scouser grudgingly agreed to give up his bed and stomped off to the
barn, leaving the Jew and the Hindu to share the room.

The Jew and the Hindu were just settling down to sleep, when there was a
knock on the door.



It was the cow and the pig.

[John Bingham]

Paddy had been drinking at his local Dublin pub all day and most of
the night celebrating St Patrick's Day.

Mick, the bartender says, " You'll not be drinking anymore tonight Paddy.
Paddy replies, "OK Mick, I'll be on my way then."

Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off. He falls flat on his face.
"Shoite" he says and pulls himself up by the stool and dusts himself off.

He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face, "Shoite, Shoite!"

He looks to the doorway and thinks to himself that if he can just
get to the door and some fresh air he'll be fine.

He belly crawls to the door and shimmies up to the door frame.
He sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air,
feels much better and takes a step out onto the sidewalk and falls
flat on his face.
"Bi'Jesus... I'm fockin' focked," he says.

He can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door,
hauls himself up the door frame, opens the door and shimmies inside.

He takes a look up the stairs and says "No fockin' way".
He crawls up the stairs to his bedroom door and says "I can make it to the bed."

He takes a step into the room and falls flat on his face.
He says "Fock it" and falls into bed.

The next morning, his wife, Jess, comes into the room carrying a
cup of coffee and says, "Get up Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?".

Paddy says, "I did Jess. I was fockin' pissed. But how'd you know?"

"Mick phoned, . . . You left your wheelchair at the pub."

[John Bingham]

They were 85 years old, and had been married for sixty years. Though they were far from rich, they managed to get by because they watched their pennies. Though not young, they were both in very good health, largely due to the wife's insistence on healthy foods and exercise for the last 2 decades.

One day, their good health didn't help when they went on a rare vacation and their plane unfortunately crashed, sending them off to Heaven.

They reached the pearly gates, and St. Peter escorted them inside. He took them to a beautiful mansion, furnished in gold and fine silks, with a fully stocked kitchen and a waterfall in the master bath. A maid could be seen hanging their favourite clothes in the closet.

They gasped in astonishment when he said, "Welcome to Heaven. This will be your home now."

The old man asked Peter how much all this was going to cost.

"Why, nothing," Peter replied; "remember, this is your reward in Heaven."

The old man looked out the window and right there he saw a championship golf course, finer and more beautiful than any ever-built on Earth. "What are the greens fees?" grumbled the old man.

"This is heaven," St. Peter replied. "You can play for free, every day, any time of day that you want."

Next they went to the clubhouse and saw the lavish buffet lunch, with every imaginable cuisine laid out before them, from seafood to steaks to exotic desserts, free flowing beverages. "Don't even ask," said St. Peter to the man. "This is Heaven, it is all free for you to enjoy."

The old man looked around and glanced nervously at his wife. "Well, where are the low fat and low cholesterol foods, and the decaffeinated tea?" he asked.

"That's the best part," St. Peter replied. "You can eat and drink as much as you like of whatever you like, and you will never get fat or sick. This is Heaven!"

The old man inquired, "No gym to work out at?"

"Not unless you want to," was the answer.

"No testing my sugar or blood pressure or..."

"Never again. All you do here is enjoy yourself."




The old man glared at his wife and said, "You and your f*cking bran muffins. We could have been here twenty years ago!"

[John Bingham]

Three dead bodies turn up at the mortuary, all with very big smiles on their faces. The coroner calls the police to tell them his results after the examination...

"First body: Frenchman, 60, died of heart failure whilst making love to his girlfriend. Hence the enormous smile, Inspector," says the Coroner.


"Second body: "Scotsman, 25, won a thousand pounds on the lottery, spent it all on whisky. Died of alcohol poisoning, hence the smile."


The Inspector asked, "What of the third body?" "Ah," says the coroner, this is the most unusual one. Paddy from Kerry, 30, struck by lightning."


"Why is he smiling then?" inquires the Inspector.


"Thought he was having his picture taken."

[John Bingham]

A German guy approaches a prostitute and says " I vish to buy sex vit you "


"OK" says the girl, "I'll charge 100 dollars an hour"

"Ist goot, But I must varn you, I am a little kinky"
"No problem" she replies cautiously, "I can do a little kinky" So off they go to the girl's flat, where the German produces four large bedsprings and a duck caller.


"I vant you to tie ze springs to each of your limbs.."

The girl finds this very strange, but complies, fastening the springs to her hands and knees.

"Now you vill get on your hans and knees."

She duly does this, balancing on the springs.

"You vill please blow zis vistle as I make love to you."

> She finds all this very odd, but figures it's harmless, and the guy is paying.

The sex is fantastic. She is bounced all over the room by the energetic German, all the time honking on the duck caller. The climax is the most sensational she has ever experienced, and it is several minutes before she has recovered her breath. Finally she gasps "That was totally amazing....... what do you call that?


"Ah", says the German, "Four-sprung duck technique"

[John Bingham]

Bloke goes to the Doctor and say’s, “every time I play my violin I get a hard-on”.

Doc ask’s him to show him, so he takes his violin out and starts playing. Bloke get’s a stiffy and SO does the Doctor.

Doc is bemused by this so he asks him to attend the next monthly forum of GP’s where he intends to present this case to them. At the forum the bloke get’s his violin out and starts to play, he get’s a stiffy and so do all the doctors. They ask the guy to step outside whilst they consult together.



Half an hour later the call him back in, the Doc say’s, “after much deliberation we decided that you………. play like a c*nt!"

[John Bingham]

Found this clipping.....

[John Bingham]

Enjoy...

[John Bingham]

This is a letter written on behalf of a friend after the government sent him a cheque for not rearing pigs on his farm.

Have a read, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. I thought it was hilarious.


Rt Hon David Miliband MP
Secretary of State,
Department for Environment,Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA),
Nobel House
17 Smith Square
London SW1P 3JR

16th May 2007

Dear Secretary of State,

My friend, who is in farming at the moment, recently received a cheque for £3,000 from the Rural Payments Agency for not rearing pigs. I would now like to join the “not rearing pigs” business.
In your opinion, what is the best kind of farm not to rear pigs on, and which is the best breed of pigs not to rear? I want to be sure I approach this endeavour in keeping with all government policies, as dictated by the EU under the Common Agricultural Policy. I would prefer not to rear bacon pigs, but if this is not the type you want not rearing, I will just as gladly not rear porkers. Are there any advantages in not rearing rare breeds such as Saddlebacks or Gloucester Old Spots, or are there too many people already not rearing these?

As I see it, the hardest part of this programme will be keeping an accurate record of how many pigs I haven’t reared. Are there any Government or Local Authority courses on this?
My friend is very satisfied with this business. He has been rearing pigs for forty years or so, and the best he ever made on them was £1,422 in 1968. That is-until this year, when he received a cheque for not rearing any.

If I get £3,000 for not rearing 50 pigs, will I get £6,000 for not rearing 100?
I plan to operate on a small scale at first, holding myself down to about 4,000 pigs not raised which will mean about £240,000,for the first year. As I become more expert in not rearing pigs, I plan to be more ambitious, perhaps increasing to, say, 40,000 pigs not reared in my second year, for which I should expect about £2.4million from your department. Incidentally, I wonder if I would be eligible to receive tradable carbon credits for all these pigs not producing harmful and polluting methane gasses?
Another point: These pigs that I plan not to rear will not eat 2,000 tonnes of cereals. I understand that you also pay farmers for not growing crops. Will I qualify for payments for not growing cereals to not feed the pigs I don’t rear?

I am also considering the “not milking cows” business, so please send me any information you have on that too. Please could you also include the current DEFRA advice on set aside fields? Can this be done on an E commerce basis with virtual fields (of which I seem to have several thousand Hectares)?
In view of the above you will realise that I will be totally unemployed, and will therefore qualify for Unemployment Benefits.
I shall of course be voting for your party at the next general election.

Yours Faithfully,

[John Bingham]

While on his morning walk, Prime Minister Gordon Brown falls over, has a heart attack and dies because the accident and emergency dept at his nearest hospital is too understaffed to treat him in time.

So his soul arrives in Heaven and he is met by Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates.

"Welcome to Heaven," says Saint Peter, "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a Socialist around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in; I'm a good Christian; I'm a believer,"says the PM.

"I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from God Himself. He says that since the implementation of his new HEAVEN CHOICES policy, you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity."

"But I've already made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven," replies Brown.

"I'm sorry .. But we have our rules," Peter interjects. And, with that, St. Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down...all the way to Hell.

The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course. The sun is shining in a cloudless sky. The temperature is a perfect 22C degrees. In the distance is a beautiful club-house. Standing in front of it is Harold Wilson and thousands of other Socialist luminaries who had helped him out over the years --- John Smith, Michael Foot, Jim Callaghan, etc. The whole of the Labour Party leaders were there ..Everyone laughing, happy, and casually but expensively dressed.

They run to greet him, to hug him and to reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of 'suckers and peasants.'

They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar. The Devil himself comes up to Brown with a frosty drink, "Have a tequila and relax, Gord!"

"Uh, I can't drink anymore, I took a pledge," says Brown, dejectedly.

"This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry and it just gets better from there!"

Brown takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he thinks is a really very friendly bloke who tells funny jokes like himself and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like the ones the Labour Party pulled with the European Constitution and the Education, Immigration, Tough on Crime promises.

They are having such a great time that, before he realises it, it's time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Brown steps on the elevator and heads upward.

When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and Saint Peter is waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says, opening the gate.

So for 24 hours Brown is made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or short-arse joke among them. No fancy country clubs here and, while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor. He doesn't see anybody he knows and he isn't even treated like someone special!

"Whoa," he says uncomfortably to himself. "Harold Wilson never prepared me for this!"

The day done, Saint Peter returns and says, "Well, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for Eternity."

With the 'Deal or No Deal' theme playing softly in the background, Brown reflects for a minute ... Then answers: "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this -- I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all --but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends."

So Saint Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down,down, all the way to Hell.

The doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial wasteland, looking a bit like the eroded, rabbit and fox affected Australian outback, but worse and more desolate.

He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the roadside rubbish and putting it into black plastic bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime.

The Devil comes over to Brown and puts an arm around his shoulder.” I don't understand," stammers a shocked Brown, "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a club-house and we ate lobster and caviar and drank tequila. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!"

The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly and purrs, "Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us!"

[John Bingham]

Apologies for this one in advance......



Shamus and Murphy fancied a pint or two but didn't have a lot of money between them, they could only raise the staggering sum of one Euro.

Murphy said "Hang on, I have an idea."

He went next door to the butcher's shop and came out with one large sausage.

Shamus said "Are you crazy? Now we don't have any money left at all!"

Murphy replied, "Don't worry - just follow me."

He went into the pub where he immediately ordered two pints of Guinness and two glasses of Jameson Whisky.

Shamus said "Now you've lost it. Do you know how much trouble we will be in? We haven't got any money!!"

Murphy replied, with a smile. "Don't worry, I have a plan, Cheers!"

They downed their Drinks. Murphy said, "OK, I'll stick the sausage through my zipper and you go on your knees and put it in your mouth."

The barman noticed them, went berserk, and threw them out.

They continued this, pub after pub, getting more and more drunk, all for free.

At the tenth pub Shamus said "Murphy - I don't think I can do any more of this. I'm drunk and me knees are killin'me!"

Murphy said, "How do you think I feel? I lost the sausage in the third pub!

[John Bingham]

Excerpts from a Dog's Diary

8:00 am - Dog food! My favourite thing!
9:30 am - A car ride! My favourite thing!
9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favourite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favourite thing!
12:00 pm - Lunch! My favourite thing!
1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favourite thing!
3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favourite thing!
5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favourite thing!
7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favourite thing!
8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favourite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favourite thing!


Excerpts from a Cat's Diary

Day 983 of my captivity. My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. *******s!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow -- but at the top of the stairs. I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.

The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.
For now...