Tag Archives: jokes

Mad Cow!

No, I’m not referring to myself in the title of this post, even though I have been known to act like a total cow on occasion and I’m more or less permanently barking mad, especially after the past couple of highly-stressful weeks.

Here’s the reason for the madness:  We’re trying to buy a new home and move to Vancouver Island.  We’re in negotiations now, which is both exciting and scary!

All in all, I’ve had little time for laughter this week (although I accidentally typed ‘buy a new homo’ in the previous paragraph, so that was good for a snicker).

But since my laugh-levels were critically low I turned to my joke file for the favourites that are guaranteed to make me laugh, and here’s what generated the title for today’s post:

Remember when Mad Cow Disease (bovine spongiform encephalopathy) hit the Canadian news around 2003?  I’ve had this video for over 13 years and I still can’t get past the 20-second mark without laughing uncontrollably:

And here’s another giggle:  When I searched for the BSE link above, I had typed as far as ‘bovine s’ when the suggestion pane appeared:

bovine sex club

Say WHAAAAT?!?  I didn’t even know bovine sex clubs were a ‘thing’, let alone a big enough ‘thing’ to come up second on Google’s suggested searches.  I was tempted to follow the link out of sheer prurient curiosity, but I decided against it.  There are some things that just can’t be un-seen, and I suspect that link leads to many of them.

Coincidentally (or perhaps not), I seem to have quite a bit of bovine-sex-related humour in my joke file.  Some of these jokes are so old they’re probably new again, but you know what they say:  “It’s dejà moo – the feeling that you’ve heard this bull before.”

The first one’s just a short pun:

Two cows are standing next to each other in a field. Daisy says to Dolly, “I was artificially inseminated this morning.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Dolly.

And Daisy exclaims, “It’s true, no bull!”

And here’s a longer joke:

Amy, a city girl, marries a Texas rancher. One morning on his way out, the rancher says to Amy, “The artificial insemination man is coming over to impregnate one of our cows today. I drove in a nail above the cow’s stall so you can show him which cow it is.”

The rancher leaves for the fields. When the artificial insemination man arrives, Amy takes him down to the barn. They walk along a long row of cows and when she sees the nail, she tells him, “This is the one.”

Impressed that such an obviously citified girl would know about cattle, the man asks, “How did you know this is the cow to be bred?”

“That’s simple — by the nail over its stall,” Amy explains.

Then the man asks, “What’s the nail for?”

And she says, “I guess it’s to hang your pants on.”

And, in a similar vein, here’s why cows hate winter.

But enough about screwing cows.  Instead, here’s a little video about wooing cows… with jazz.  It always makes me smile!

What’s mooooved you to laughter this week?

* * *

New discussion at the Virtual Backyard Book Club:  Support Or Co-Dependency?  Are Aydan and Hellhound helping or hurting each other?  Click here to have your say!

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…And They Say Romance Is Dead…

Many thanks to my blogging buddy, Tom Merriman, for inviting everyone to participate in his February blogging theme. Since Valentine’s Day is coming up fast, it seemed like a perfect fit for today’s post.

I was thinking of doing a bit of flash fiction, but Tom has already set the bar too high with his first post of the month. Plus I’m completely immersed in the final push to finish the draft of Book 11 this week, so I’ll fall back on my favourite thing instead: tasteless jokes.

(I wish I could say I made these up, but I didn’t. They’ve been around the internet a few times, but they still make me laugh!)

*

Mike was going to be married to Karen so his father sat him down for a little chat. He said, “Mike, let me tell you something. On our wedding night in our honeymoon suite, I took off my pants, handed them to your mother, and said, ‘Here, try these on.’ She did and said, ‘These are too big. I can’t wear them.’

I replied, ‘Exactly. I wear the pants in this family and I always will.’ Ever since that night, we have never had any problems.”

So on his honeymoon, Mike took off his pants and said to Karen, ‘Here, try these on.”

She tried them on and said, “These are too large. They don’t fit me.”

Mike said, “Exactly. I wear the pants in this family and I always will. I don’t want you to ever forget that.”

Then Karen took off her panties and handed them to Mike and said, “Here, you try on mine.”

Mike did and said, “I can’t get into your panties.”

Karen said, “Exactly. And if you don’t change your attitude, you never will.”

…and they say romance is dead…

*

A family is sitting around the supper table when the son asks his father, “Dad, how many kinds of breasts are there?

The father replies, “Well, son, there are three kinds of breasts. In her twenties, a woman’s breasts are like melons, round and firm. In her thirties to forties, they are like pears, still nice but hanging a bit. After fifty, they are like onions.”

“Onions?” asked the boy.

“Yes, the sight of them makes you cry.”

This infuriated the wife and daughter so the daughter asked, “Mum, how many kinds of willies are there?”

The mother smiles and answers, “Well, dear, a man goes through three phases. In a man’s twenties, his willy is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his thirties and forties, it is a like a birch, flexible but reliable. After his fifties, it is like a Christmas tree.”

“A Christmas tree?”

“Yes, dead from the root up and the balls are only for decoration.”

…and they say romance is dead…

*

…He grasped me firmly, but gently, just above my elbow and guided me into a room, his room. Then he quietly shut the door and we were alone. He approached me soundlessly from behind, and spoke in a low, reassuring voice close to my ear, “Just relax.”

Without warning, he reached down and I felt his strong, calloused hands start at my ankles, gently probing and moving upward along my calves, slowly but steadily.

My breath caught in my throat. I knew I should be afraid, but somehow I didn’t care. His touch was so experienced, so sure. When his hands moved up onto my thighs, I gave a slight shudder and partly closed my eyes. My pulse was pounding. I felt his knowing fingers caress my abdomen, my ribcage. And then, as he cupped my firm, full shoulders in his hands, I inhaled sharply.

Probing, searching, knowing what he wanted, he brought his hands to my back, slid them down my tingling spine. Although I knew nothing about this man, I felt oddly trusting and expectant. This is a man, I thought. A man used to taking charge. A man not used to taking ‘No’ for an answer. A man who would tell me what he wanted. A man who would look into my soul and say…

“Okay, Ma’am, you can board your flight now.”

…and they say romance is dead…

*

Cletus is passing by Billy Bob’s hay barn one day when, through a gap in the door, he sees Billy Bob doing a slow and sensual striptease in front of an old John Deere tractor. Buttocks clenched, he performs a slow pirouette, and gently slides off first the right strap of his overalls, followed by the left.

He then hunches his shoulders forward and in a classic striptease move, lets his overalls fall down to his hips, revealing a torn and frayed plaid shirt. Then, grabbing both sides of his shirt, he rips it apart to reveal his stained T-shirt underneath. With a final flourish, he tears the T-shirt from his body and hurls his baseball cap onto a pile of hay.

Having seen enough, Cletus rushes in and says, “What in the world’re ya doing, Billy Bob?”

“Good grief, Cletus, ya scared the bejeebers out of me,” says an obviously embarrassed Billy Bob. “But me ‘n the wife been havin’ trouble lately in the bedroom d’partment, and the therapist suggested I do somethin’ sexy to a tractor.” (Read that last line one more time…)

…and they say romance is dead…

*

One lazy Sunday morning the wife and I were quiet and thoughtful, sitting at the breakfast table when I said to her, “When I die, I want you to sell all my stuff immediately.”

“Now why would you want me to do something like that?” she asked.

“I figure a woman as fine as yourself would eventually remarry and I don’t want some other asshole using my stuff.”

She looked at me intently and said, “What makes you think I’d marry another asshole?”

…and they say romance is dead…

* * *

Go ahead… tell me a romantic story! 😉

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I’m Such A Snotty Princess

Hubby brought home a cold last week. As I mentioned several years ago, we generally don’t share viruses because I’m probably a Neanderthal, but this one seems to have targeted the weaker homo sapiens part of my genetic makeup.

Right now I’m at the stage where my throat and lungs are on fire but I’m not coughing yet. I’m still clinging to the idiot hope that maybe the Rhinovirus Fairy will pass me by instead of scooping out my brain and replacing it with snot.

But I think she (or ‘he’, to be fair) has already begun the process, because in the last few days I’ve developed a disturbing tendency to shuffle to a halt and stand staring into space for several seconds before saying, “Come on, brain, you can do this!” aloud. It seems to work – I usually remember what I was trying to do, but it tends to draw wary looks if I do it outside the privacy of my home.

Meanwhile, I’m sucking on zinc/echinacea/Vitamin C lozenges and drinking hot lime juice with honey. (I prefer lime instead of the traditional lemon because then I can pretend I’m drinking a hot margarita instead of a medicinal beverage.)  I don’t expect this to cure or in any way improve my cold, but at least it gives me something to do while I wait.

When I sat down to write this post I racked my virus-laden brain for something funny to say about the common cold, but you know what? I got nothin’. Colds suck. Or rather, blow. Great soggy snot-balls.

So instead, here are a few things that made me laugh this week:

My blogging buddy Carl D’Agostino’s cartoon: https://carldagostino.wordpress.com/2015/05/18/compulsive-behavior-by-carl-dagostino/

My nephew’s comment about men’s locker rooms: “Yep, no matter which way you turn, you’re gonna see something you really didn’t want to see.” That reminded us both of this comic from The Oatmeal and made us laugh uproariously. (Scroll down to the bottom of The Oatmeal’s page for the one about the locker room.)

Then there’s this picture sent to me by one of my readers, Sue W., because she saw it on Facebook and knew it would make me laugh. (The misspelling of ‘potato’ is neither hers nor mine.)

That’ll make you think twice about digging in the garden…

That’ll make you think twice about digging in the garden…

I’m hoping the person who wrote the caption meant ‘love this’ in the philosophical sense, not the physical. But probably only my mind would ever latch onto that critical distinction.

This Twitter message was laughable because it was such a lame attempt at marketing from somebody who clearly knows me… wait for it… NOT AT ALL:

Totally me. Not.

Totally me. Not.

Let me count the ways this made me laugh:

  • They clearly put so much time and effort into crafting their marketing message. Ten seconds with Google Translate might have helped.
  • It’s pink. Anybody who knows me (even slightly) knows that I’ve never in my life worn or even owned anything pink.
  • It has a princess crown on it. Is there anything about me that could in any way be construed as princess-like?
  • It has a cutesy heart on it. I’m totally gonna wear this with my biking leathers and flaming-skull helmet.
  • And hell yeah, I’m going to click on a random link sent by some spammer just because the T-shirt has my first name on it. Nice try, guys. But thanks for the laughs.

What made you chuckle this week? And/or what’s your favourite cold remedy?

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Slime! You’re Eye Candy!

That was the sign that confronted me as I left the optometrist’s office yesterday: “Slime! You’re eye candy!”

I had just been told my eyesight was perfect, so since I was reading the sign backward through the glass I figured it had to be another instance of my attention-deficit dyslexia. I went around and checked it from the correct side and sure enough, it said, “Smile! You’re on camera!” But at least I got a chuckle.

It’s been that kind of week: Bass ackwards and downside up. I feel as though I’ve been running around in ever-decreasing circles until I’m in imminent danger of disappearing up my own ass.

Since October is breast cancer awareness month, I had planned for today’s post to honour several of my personal friends and all the other brave women who have fought or are fighting breast cancer.

When one of my friends was going through her chemo treatments, she wanted a break from all the scary serious stuff and we usually ended up laughing in the treatment room. Cancer has enough innate solemnity, so I wanted to write a light-hearted post.

But my scattered brain wouldn’t cooperate. I made several attempts but they all felt as cheap and forced as the drilling company that sent pink drill bits out to their sites to promote awareness despite the fact that some of the chemicals they use are believed to cause breast cancer.

I could just see the board meeting for that one:

“Hey, let’s paint our drill bits pink! We’ll get all kinds of good press for supporting breast cancer!”

“Um, our chemicals cause breast cancer. We’re supposed to be supporting awareness of breast cancer, not supporting breast cancer itself.”

“Oh… Well, close enough. Paint ‘em pink and send out a press release.”

Usually I write my blog drafts on Monday, but by yesterday afternoon I had nothing but three boob jokes and an off-colour toast. (That’s three jokes about boobs, not jokes about three boobs… though I did, in fact, give my blogging buddy Linda Grimes a hard time about discovering a middle tit last week, so maybe that qualifies.)

I’m still clinging to the hope that my gray matter will cooperate and I’ll manage to write that post by next week. Meanwhile, all I’ve got is a joke that combines three of my favourite things: engineers, smart women, and raunchy humour (not necessarily in that order). Oh, and a boob reference, to, um, round things out:

An older male engineer and his young female counterpart were going out to inspect a site after the survey crew had finished. Wanting to impress the young engineer with the breadth of his knowledge and experience, the man turned to the woman as they got out of the truck and said, “We’ll get this done faster if we split up, so take whatever you need from the toolbox in the back of the truck. If we need to communicate at a distance we’ll use the secret engineering code.”

She nodded and they went their separate ways with the man chuckling inwardly. That showed how little she knew. The secret engineering code was something he’d just made up on the spur of the moment.

Looking back to enjoy her rear view, he tripped over a survey stake and knocked it over. By the time he got dusted off she was quite a distance away, watching his discomfiture with a grin. Embarrassed, he decided take her down a peg or two. He pointed to his eye, then his knee, then mimed a hammering motion. “Eye… kneed… the hammer.”

Expecting her to be completely bamboozled, he was startled and not a little perturbed when she shrugged, gripped her left boob, and then hoisted her hand into her crotch.

Frowning, he exaggerated his movements, pointing forcefully to his eye and knee and madly hammering the air. “EYE… KNEED… THE HAMMER!”

She scowled back and repeated her insulting gestures with even more emphasis.

Enraged, the male engineer strode toward her and she did the same, meeting him in the middle and looking just as irritated as he.

“What’s wrong with you?” the man demanded. “I need to pound in that stake. I told you very plainly, I NEED THE HAMMER.”

She replied, “I answered, you moron! Don’t you understand the secret engineering code? I LEFT TIT IN THE BOX!”

…And speaking of eye candy, I know I link to this video approximately every second year but just because I’m completely devoid of originality today, click here for my favourite reminder to get those breast self-examinations done!

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