Good Laughs

DRUM - - Good Laughs -


Knock, knock! Who’s there? Con­trol freak. Con . . . Okay, now you say, “Con­trol freak who?”

Knock, knock! Who’s there? Snow. Snow who? Snow use, I for­got my name again.


I like long walks, es­pe­cially when they’re taken by peo­ple who an­noy me.

My grand­mother was a tough woman. She buried three hus­bands, and two of them were just nap­ping.

Be­hind ev­ery great man . . . is a woman rolling her eyes.


I have a ques­tion: I have about 18 ques­tions.

I’ll look into it: I’ve al­ready for­got­ten about it.

I tried my best: I did the bare min­i­mum.

Happy to dis­cuss fur­ther: Don’t ask me about this again.

No wor­ries: You re­ally messed up this time.

Take care: This is the last you’ll ever hear from me.

Sorry if I some­how missed your email: We both know you never emailed me.

Thank you for your help: I would’ve done it much faster my­self.


Record­ing on an Aus­tralian tax helpline: “If you un­der­stand English, press one. If you don’t un­der­stand English, press two.”


A 14-year-old weasel walks into a bar in New York and asks the bar­man for a beer. The bar­man im­me­di­ately sees the weasel’s too young to be served al­co­hol.

“Look, you’re not old enough,” he says. “I can’t serve you a beer.”

“Oh, come on,” the weasel says, “can’t you just slide me one?” “I’m not al­lowed to serve any­one un­der 21 in this bar, and you look way younger than that.” “Fine. Well, what else can I have?” “Well, we have non-al­co­holic drinks. I can serve you tap or bot­tled wa­ter, cof­fee, iced tea or soda pop.” “Pop,” goes the weasel.


A cou­ple goes to a Chi­nese restau­rant and or­ders the chicken sur­prise spe­cial.

The waiter brings the meal, served in a cast-iron pot. Just as the woman is about to help her­self, the lid of the pot rises slightly and she briefly sees two beady lit­tle eyes look­ing around be­fore the lid slams back down.

“Good grief, did you see that?” she asks her hus­band.

He hadn’t, so she asks him to look in the pot. He reaches for it and again the lid rises. He sees two eyes look­ing around be­fore the lid slams down.

Rather per­turbed, he calls the waiter over and ex­plains what’s hap­pen­ing and de­mands an ex­pla­na­tion.

“Please, sir,” the waiter says, “what did you or­der?”

“We or­dered the chicken sur­prise,” the hus­band says.

“Ah! So sorry,” the waiter says. “I brought you the peek­ing duck.”


A group of en­gi­neer­ing pro­fes­sors are in­vited to fly in a new plane. Af­ter they’re com­fort­ably seated they’re told the plane was built by their stu­dents.

All but one of the pro­fes­sors im­me­di­ately get up and fran­ti­cally head for the exit.

“Why are you stay­ing put?” one pro­fes­sor asks the one who’s still in his seat.

“Well,” he replies, “I know my stu­dents very well. I’m con­fi­dent the en­gines won’t even start!”


A de­fen­dant is giv­ing a judge a hard time. Judge: Where do you work, Mr Smith?

De­fen­dant: Here and there. Judge: What do you do for a liv­ing?

De­fen­dant: This and that. Judge: Take him away.

De­fen­dant: Wait, when will I get out? Judge: Sooner or later.


A fam­ily of Ir­ish pota­toes – a mother and her three daugh­ters – is sit­ting at the din­ner table one night when the el­dest daugh­ter speaks up. “Mother, I have big news,” she says. “What is it?” her mother asks. “I’m go­ing to get mar­ried!” “Oh, are you now? And who are you go­ing to marry?” “I’m go­ing to marry Ir­ish Red.” “Oh, that’s a fine tater, a very fine tater in­deed.”

Then the mid­dle daugh­ter speaks up.

“I have big news too, mother,” she says. “What is it?” her mother asks. “I’m go­ing to get mar­ried too!” “Oh, are you now? And who are you go­ing to marry?” “I’m go­ing to marry Idaho Gold.” “Oh, Idaho Gold – that’s a fine tater, a very fine tater in­deed.”

Then the youngest daugh­ter, no more than a child, speaks up.

“Mother, I have big news too,” she says. “Oh, do you now?” her mother asks. “Oh, yes. I’m go­ing to get mar­ried too!”

“Oh, are you now? And who are you go­ing to marry?”

“I’m go­ing to marry that man whose voice you hear when we watch soc­cer.” The mother is per­turbed. “But, sweetie,” she says, “that man is just a com­mon tater!”


A preacher be­comes so ex­cited dur­ing his ser­mon that he breaks into an im­promptu spot of singing.

Af­ter­wards he asks the church or­gan­ist, “What key did I sing that in?”

“Most of them,” the or­gan­ist replies.


An­nounce­ment heard at a su­per­mar­ket: “If any shop­pers have a con­vert­ible parked out­side with the top down, it has just started rain­ing. Tow­els are lo­cated in aisle five.”

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