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MC, CA, UNdead Jester and Love Slave of the UNdead Grave Mother

I have heard and told this joke myself. it is just SO tasteless

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haha that was funny

a couple are sitting down having argued for a while when suddenly the man screams " FAT PENGUIN " . His wife asks him why he said it and he replies " I thought i should say something that would break the ice "

cause he wasn't peeling very well

cause the see weed!

He wanted to juggle but didn't have the balls!

• Proud Member of GirlCo, Evil Incarnate, Member of the Gutter Sistren, and Pastry Princess

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A: Incorrectly

...Helen Keller and Stevie Wonder playing Tennis?

A: Endless Love

- It's all fun and games until you lose an eye. Then it's fun and games you can't see.

What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs hanging on a wall?

Art

What do you call a guy with no arms and no legs being pulled by a ski-boat?

Skip

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- It's all fun and games until you lose an eye. Then it's fun and games you can't see.

The next day, he wakes up with an insane itch in his crotch.
"Dammit! That woman gave me crabs!"
He goes back to the woman and yells "Hey! You gave me crabs!"
She shrugs her shoulders and says "What did you expect for $5? LOBSTER?"

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~Official Honey Trap for the CBBC Aussie Posse; Proud Member of the Gutter Sistren~
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...and says to the lady on the desk "I hope the porn channel in my room is disabled".
"No" she says "It's just regular porn, you sick bastard".
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~Official Honey Trap for the CBBC Aussie Posse; Proud Member of the Gutter Sistren~
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What do you call a sheep with no head and no legs?
A cloud.
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~Official Honey Trap for the CBBC Aussie Posse; Proud Member of the Gutter Sistren~
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The Horse Joke

Two young foals were born on the same day, on the same farm.  They were called Eustace and Thurgood.  Now Eustace was born just 6 minutes after Thurgood, and for most of his subsequent life, felt that he never was able to make up that lag.  They played together, and were very good friends, but Thurgood was always just that bit better at the games.  Whatever they played - stick-a-roo, nip 'n tuck, hoofs at dawn, or a good, old-fashioned race-to-the-fence - Thurgood seemed to win.  He was always very gracious, and a very good sport, and never treated Eustace badly.  He tried his best to make Eustace feel good, and that it was all about having fun together.  and it usually worked.  But at the back of his horsey mind, Eustace knew that he had never actually beaten Thurgood at anything. 

As they grew up, all the games they played faded into the background, except for the racing.  The racing became their passion.  Now, never let it be said that Eustace couldn't race.  He was, in fact, very good.  Those who saw him race other horses in the field thought to themselves, "Wow!  That horse is amazing!  His muscles ripple under his coat like boulders in a raging river!  His hooves thunder on the ground like lightning!  He moves so fast, it hurts my eyes!"  Eustace won nearly every race he ever ran.  But Thurgood was always just that bit faster.  He would get a crazy, untamed look spiraling in his eye, and he would pull ahead just in time to win.  And that look would vanish, and he would gallop up to Eustace afterward and say, "That was amazing!  Eustace, you are the best racer I know.  You nearly had me there!  What fun!"  And Eustace would laugh, and nudge Thurgood like a good friend, and they would trot off chatting about friendly things and that small part of Eustace's mind would pickle in its own inadequacy just a bit more. 

Soon, it became apparent that racing was what Eustace and Thurgood were destined for.  Buyers started to come from all over, and soon they were both purchased by independent owners.  Thurgood came to Eustace with a heavy heart.  "You are my best friend in the whole world.  I will always remember you, Eustace."  Eustace found that his love for his friend was true, and he was also going to miss Thurgood.  He told him so. They exchanged goodbyes, saddened by the loss of a good friend but excited by their new lives on the horizon.

Eustace was taken to his new home, a stable in a new city.  He was trained by a curmudgeon named Fiske, who yelled all day, but lovingly stroked him, brushed his coat, and gave him lovely carrots when the sun went down.  He trained harder than he ever had, and got better and better on the track.  He found that his early competitions with Thurgood had done much to prepare him for his career, and he built on that with a determination that made Fiske beam with pride.

His first race day came swifter than he could have expected.  He nervously stood at the gate, wondering, "will I choke?  What happens if I fall?"  And lurking in the back of his mind, not quite taking shape, was the thought of his friend, who always won.  The bell rang, the gate sprang open, and Eustace's mind snapped into focus.  All there was in the universe was mud, hooves, and the wind whistling over him.  He lost himself in the race, and when he crossed the line, he was 17 lengths ahead of the pack.  The crowd cheered, his rider hugged him, and a feeling of satisfaction and pride enveloped him like a warm blanket.  And underneath, still unformed, was the thought of Thurgood, and Eustace wondered unconsciously if he would have beaten him that day.

His days began to fill with races, followed by turns in the Winner's Circle.  He got trophy after trophy, and accolade after accolade.  He was, in every way, a success.  Soon, however, the years began to take their toll. He started to lose his races.  Not many, and not by much, but younger horses with something to prove were starting to be more common, and there wasn't much Eustace could do about it. 

The day came when Fiske entered the stable with a heavy heart.  "Eustace, old boy, we have had a great run.  But my bills are getting bigger, and you aren't winning like you used to.  I am afraid that I got an offer from a meat company that I just can't afford to ignore.  If you lose tomorrow's race, I am flat broke.  Then you will have to go away.  For good."  Fiske sniffed back tears.  "I am so, so sorry old boy.  They tell me they won't feel a thing..."  He turned and left the stable, his head hung low.

Dawn came more swiftly than Eustace could fathom.  the last few hours were a blur.  All he could think was, "This is it.  My last race.  My last anything."  His mind was numb.  As approached the gate, some of his old determination started to gleam in his eye.  "Whatever happens, I [b]did[/b] have a good run.  And today, I [b]will[/b] win this race.  For myself.  For Fiske."  He surveyed the competition to his right, and he started to feel real confidence.  "That's Gordon!" he thought.  "I could always beat him!  And Sapphire's legs are shaking!  I can win this!"  Then he turned to his left, and saw a face he thought he had forgotten. 

Thurgood.

Eustace began to panic.  He needed this win.  He whispered, "Thurgood!  It's me, Eustace!"  Thurgood turned and his eyes widened, and he grinned.  "Eustace!  My god, it has been so long!  How are you?" 

"Not good," replied Eustace.  "If I lose this race, my owner is going to sell me for meat.  I know I can beat these other jokers, but you could always beat me, though it pains me to admit it.  I need to ask you a favour, old friend to old friend."  Eustace swallowed every ounce of pride he had, and asked, "Will you let me win this race?" 

Thurgood nodded solemnly.  "Of course I will.  Another win or loss means nothing to me, and I can't let you be led to slaughter.  Of course I will let you win.  But..."  Thurgood trailed off, a far-away look in his eye. then he came back suddenly.  "Yes, I will let you win, or what kind of friend would I be?"

"Thank you, old friend! You are the finest of the finest!"  Eustace relaxed, the pressure easing.  he could see himself, pulling over the line, Fiske seeing his old potential there, waiting to be re-shaped, a new comeback career...

The bell.  The gates.  the mud.  The hooves.  The wind.  It all came back, and Eustace put in his all.  He pulled ahead of everyone, and only Thurgood kept up, lagging a length behind.  He tipped Eustace a wink on the second leg. 

Near the last leg, however, Eustace saw something that made his mane curl.  He saw Thurgood's eyes, and that wild, untamed look was back.  Before he knew it, Thurgood, foaming at the mouth and steam squirting from his nostrils, had pulled ahead and won the race by a nose.  Eustace felt hollowed out inside, like he was nothing more than a paper shell.

the horses were all put into a paddock to roam about after the race.  Eustace came up to Thurgood and asked in a hollow, broken voice, "Why?  How?  How could you? I'm dead now!  Because of you!"  Thurgood shed tears of shame. 

"I know!  In a race, something comes over me!  I can't stop it, it is like a force of nature!  A hurricane that forces me on!  I am so, so sorry!  Can I do anything to show you how sorry I am?" 

Eustace saw the true remorse in his friend's eyes, and saw it was all true.  he could hold no anger for this horse who he once loved as a brother.  He said, "How about one last race?  To the fence, like when we were foals?" 

Thurgood said, "That sounds like fun.  Maybe you will finally beat me, eh?"  He secretly vowed to let Eustace win this last race, for the sake of his dignity. 

Eustace said quickly, "onetwothreeGO!" and went off at a gallop.  Thurgood quickly closed the gap, and before he knew it, the untamed look crept into his eye, the mist descended, and he beat Eustace to the fence.  Eustace stared, then ran off, howling in incoherent rage and shame.

A small dog sitting by a nearby tree looked at Thurgood with unveiled contempt.  "I heard the whole thing, and I have to say, that was the most hurtful, selfish, unfeeling thing I have ever seen in my years on this Earth.  Al that horse had left was a shred if dignity, and you swept it up and spat on it.  You all but killed him.  I hope you are proud of yourself you disgusting, heartless monster.  I hope you rot in Hell!"

Thurgood looked at the dog, blinked, and looked at the other horses in the paddock.

"Hey! Guys! Look! A talking dog!"

THE END

[-Seth Hanisek, Fullback, Woo Wallcrawlers (#152, p171 bitches!)]

The Clown Joke

Once there was a young boy, just 8 years of age.  He lived in a small rural community, and there wasn't much to do when he wasn't at school.  His nearest neighbours lived several miles away, so early on he learned to make his own fun, and be his own best friend.  He may not have had a very exciting life as defined by an outsider, but he liked it, and was happy.

Because of the dearth of activities, when something came up it was an awfully big deal.  Now every so often, a travelling circus would make its way to the local fairground and set up for a few weeks in the summer.  This was the most hotly anticipated social event in the township's memory, and all the little boy ever heard about since he was old enough to remember. 

One hot July day, a few weeks after his 8th birthday, the boy saw the first poster for the famous circus in the window of Greely's Soda Shoppe.  It was coming!  In just 7 days!  He could hardly contain his excitement.  He ran all the way home and told his mother, hwo started calling all her friends.  Anyone who has lived in a small town will understand - it is physically impossible to exceed the speed of gossip.  Soon, the whole town was abuzz with excitement and anticipation.

The little boy had been saving up all his allowance, birthday and Christmas money for two years, and had a nice wad of cash to spend at the circus.  After long negotiations, he got his parents to agree that he could go about on his own, and spend his money how ever he liked.  The night before the circus was due to open he was unable to sleep at all, just waiting for what wonders lay around the corner.

In the morning, he jumped out of bed, got cleaned and dressed, wolfed down his scrambled eggs and bacon, and hurried off to visit the circus.

Nothing he had heard or read prepared him for the sensory experience of a real, live circus.  The pungent smell of sawdust, animals, sugar and sweat; the flashing lights of the midway; the voices of the barkers extolling the virtues of their wares.  He bathed in it.  He took a culinary tour of the carnival, sampling the cotton candy, the toffee apples, the hot dogs and the funnel cakes.  He played a few games, tossing rings at bottles and dipping for ducks.  He rode on the Tilt-A-Whirl seven times in a row and was nearly sick, loving every minute.  And he toured the freak shows, seeing the dog-faced boy, the human tadpole, and the amazing headless woman.  As the evening drew in everyone started heading for the big top, where preparations for the main show of the evening were starting.  The boy joined the crowds and found a seat right near the front so he could see all the action.

The ringmaster came out to the main ring in his brilliant red coat, shiny black boots and crushed velvet top hat, and said "Ladies and gentlemen, and children of all ages!  I now present to you the most amazing sights you will ever see!"  And he was not idly boasting.  The boy watched acrobats and fire-eaters, jugglers and animal trainers, dancers and strongmen, and he drank it in like fine wine. 

Finally, near the end of the show, the lights went down low and a small dumpy clown in a tiny green hat waddled out to the centre ring.  He proclaimed loudly, "Ladies and gentlemen, I need a volunteer!"  The audience went mad, screaming, hollering, and trying to make themselves seen.  The boy joined in the brouhaha, hoping against hope that he would be picked to come into the centre ring. 

A spotlight came on with a loud "thud" and began to swing over the crowd.  Back and forth, back and forth, in a slowly decreasing circles, until it stopped - right on the shining face of the little boy.  With the boundless energy of youth he hurtled over the barrier, and raced to join the clown's side.

The clown looked down at the boy and with a broad grin asked him, "Young man, tell me - are you a donkey?"

The boy furrowed his brow.  "No," he replied.

"Are you a mule?"

"No."

"Well then you must be an ass!  Aaaaahahahahahaaa!"  The clown roared vicious laughter at the young boy, and the whole audience joined him.  The boy stood in shock as wave after wave of derisive laughter enveloped him.  The room started to spin, and the depth of his humiliation grew and grew.  Finally he broke down sobbing, and ran out of the tent into the night.

He ran and ran, until he got home and threw himself on his bed.  Wracked with sobs, he seemed to go on crying forever.  The scorn!  The mortification!  Finally, the sobs dried up, and the boy sat upright in his bed.  If anyone had seen him, they might have wondered at the glint of hardness in his eye that had not been there before.  He straightened his shoulders, looked at himself in his mirror, and spoke in a steely voice that was quite out of character for one so young.

"I'm going to get that clown if it is the last thing I do."

The next day the boy went to town and visited the library.  He started reading the joke books in the library, and systematically memorising them.  He did this every day, until he had exhausted every book the library had.  He practiced these jokes every chance he could, with his parents, with his friends, and immediately dropped anything that did not work.  His aim was laughs, and he started to get them.  Soon, he was ordering books through the inter-library loan program, and building up an immense storehouse of riddles, puns and knock-knock jokes.  His parents were dumbfounded by his uncharacteristic drive, but stood back and let him pursue his passion in the hopes it would make him happy.  They never asked what happened to him at the circus, but both knew something had, and it had changed their boy in some fundamental way.

The joke books soon got repetitive, which inevitably led to more abstract lines of research.  He began reading biographies of famous comedians, and watching them on TV.  He started taping stand-up comedy on TV every time it was on, and watching the shows over and over, studying the poise, the timing, and the stage presence of each performer.  When he could find them, he voraciously devored books on comedy theory, history, and craft.  He became the local "expert" on comedy, though many wondered why someone so funny seemed so sad.

Eventually, he went off to clown college to study face painting, juggling, mime, and close-up magic.  his instructors often commented on his excellent performances and his dedication to the craft, and the boy (who was quickly becoming a man) just smiled and thanked them.  If anyone noticed the hard gleam in his eye as he smiled, no one commented on it.

After graduating top in his class, he started showing up at open-mic nights and talent shows.  He introduced new material, and refined it, honed it.  He never made much money, just enough to live on, and he worked like a demon.  He was driven, you see.  In a few years he had made a name for himself as a stand-up comedian (and all-around performer) and crowds loved him.  His signature piece, though, was the heckler put-down.  Those who saw him on a regular basis (and he had a few hard-core fans) swore up and down, it was the best part of any show.  He always put the stooge in their place, and he never used the same line twice.  And the few who had seen every show would sometimes mention the fact that there was an air of gritty purpose in everything he did on stage, like his life depended on it.  Cynics said that the hecklers were plants, that they had rehearsed the whole thing ahead of time, but the simple truth was that the boy who was now a man had no time for other people, and would never consider bringing in a partner on what he considered his very personal mission.

Finally, on the morning of his 30th birthday, he took a small bag with a change of clothes and a toothbrush, and got in his car.  He drove to his parents' old place and stopped in town for a soda at Greely's.  He saw the poster, but it was no surprise - he had been tracking it for months.

Opening night at the circus.  A good night for vengeance.

He dropped off his things, and walked to the fairground.  It was smaller than he remembered, but just as vivid.  The smell of sawdust, animals, sugar and sweat; the flashing lights of the midway, the voices of the barkers.  He had some cotton candy, and a hot dog.  He played a few games, tossing rings at bottles and dipping for ducks.  He even took a ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl.  He saw the amazing headless woman smoking a cigarette with the dog-faced boy behind the freak show tents.  Through it all, a chilly calm settled over him like a blanket. 

As the evening drew in, everyone started heading for the big top for the main show of the evening.  The man walked calmly to the tent, and found a seat near the front.  He barely registered the fact that it was the same seat he had occupied years ago.

The ringmaster came out to the main ring, in the same brilliant red coat, shiny black boots and crushed velvet top hat, and said "Ladies and gentlemen, and children of all ages!  I now present to you the most amazing sights you will ever see!"  Everything was as he remembered it - the acrobats, and fire-eaters, jugglers and animal trainers, dancers and strongmen.  For a brief moment, he was lost in the nostalgia, and forgot the real reason he had travelled so long and worked so hard - until it walked into the ring.

The lights went down low, and the same small dumpy clown in the same tiny green hat waddled out to the centre ring.  He proclaimed loudly, "Ladies and gentlemen, I need a volunteer!"  The audience screamed and cheered, begged and cajoled, but the man simply sat, a small smile on his lips.  A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

A spotlight came on with a loud "thud" and began to swing over the crown.  Back and forth, back and forth, in a slowly decreasing circles, until it stopped - inevitably - on the face of the man.  He registered no surprise.  Fate was with him.  All his preparation was for this moment.  It was time.  He calmly joined the clown in the centre ring.

The clown asked him, "Sir, please tell me - are you a donkey?"

"No," he replied.

"Are you a mule?"

"No."

"Well then you must be an ass!  Aaaaahahahahahaaa!"  The clown once again roared his vicious laughter, and the whole audience joined him.  The man stood, the expression on his face never changing.  The clown sensed the moment slipping away from him as he stared intot hose cold, cold eyes, and the spell over the crowd began to dissipate.  The laughter drained away awkwardly, until the entire crowd was deathly silent.

The man looked the clown deep in the eyes, a look of triumph blooming on his face, and exclaimed...



"Fuck you, clown."

THE END

[-Seth Hanisek, Fullback, Woo Wallcrawlers (#152, p171 bitches!)]

whats the difrence between a hooker and a t-bone stake........ a t-bone is a piece of meat that is socialy exectible

~~There are many types of heros, I am one who just happens to eat brains~~

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(I am so going to get slammed for this one....)

She's a woman. 

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The Pure Essence of Randomness, Captain of the Touchback, Pusher and Proud member of the Gutter Sistren

pregnant!

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Head Biker Babe of the Chang Bangers Bike Club, Dead Sexy Dealer, The Juicer & Co-Founder of the Gutter Sistren
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I love telling that joke just to see what answers people come up with.  She was deaf, she was blind, she's dead...  Makes the answer that much better!

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The Pure Essence of Randomness, Captain of the Touchback, Pusher and Proud member of the Gutter Sistren