Joke of the day.

MartytheMartian

Legendary Knight
An American walking through the red light district of Glasgow meets a prostitute. He asks her "How much for a good time?" to which she replies "forty quid". The Yank says "American Express?" to which the prostitute says "For forty quid I'll do it however fast you want it".
 

Big Sandy

Legendary Knight
A terrific explosion occurs in a gunpowder factory
And once all the mess has been cleared up, an inquiry begins. One of the few survivors is pulled up to make a statement.

"Okay Mr. Milly Terry," says the investigator, "you were near the scene, what happened ?"

"Well, it's like this. Old Hugh Cumber was in the mixing room, and I saw him take a cigarette out of his pocket and light up."

"He was smoking in the mixing room ?" the investigator said in stunned horror, "How long had he been with the company?"

"About 20 years, sir."

"20 years in the company, then he goes and strikes a match in the mixing room, I'd have thought it would have been the last thing he'd have done."

"It was, sir."
 

MartytheMartian

Legendary Knight
When old Doc Martens die I wonder where their soles go to.

On the subject of explosives factories, I used to go fishing with an old fella who worked all his life on the ICI Nobel Explosives Fire Brigade and rode a beautiful Norton Commando in black and gold. He used to tell lovely tales of mishaps in the plant like the day a foreman decided to unblock the black powder mill with an iron crow bar he got from somewhere and was promptly atomised. They used to have 'catch' nets strung up over the working areas (I'm sure you can imagine why) and, in the event of an accident staff were instructed to leave quickly and not, on any account, to look up. The fire brigade and cleanup crew would then go in with wooden boxes, like large school pencil boxes with sliding lids, to collect whatever they could find of the poor unfortunate.
 
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MartytheMartian

Legendary Knight
Not a joke but something I did find funny. Some years ago a fellow I know who lives down near RAF Bentwaters inspired me to take an interest in the subject of UFO and alien tales. One account I came across in a book was, if I recall correctly, about an old fellow who went fishing one night on a canal somewhere in the region of Birmingham. The account he gave was that, while he was quietly sitting fishing a spaceship landed further up the canal and, being mildly curious he went up to it and, finding the door open he entered. He met with the aliens but, after examination they asked him to leave as they were looking for good specimens of humanity and he was too old and stringy. In disgust at the insult he went and reported the nasty aliens to the local police and explained how he felt disappointed that they didn't want him. 😁
 

Judd Dredd

Merlin, Giver Of Drugs & Magic Potions.
Staff member
Dear @Judd Dredd please can you add a face palm & WTF emojis to the list.

Will that be all, Master Bater?

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Sarky B’stard

Legendary Knight
When old Doc Martens die I wonder where their soles go to.

On the subject of explosives factories, I used to go fishing with an old fella who worked all his life on the ICI Nobel Explosives Fire Brigade and rode a beautiful Norton Commando in black and gold. He used to tell lovely tales of mishaps in the plant like the day a foreman decided to unblock the black powder mill with an iron crow bar he got from somewhere and was promptly atomised. They used to have 'catch' nets strung up over the working areas (I'm sure you can imagine why) and, in the event of an accident staff were instructed to leave quickly and not, on any account, to look up. The fire brigade and cleanup crew would then go in with wooden boxes, like large school pencil boxes with sliding lids, to collect whatever they could find of the poor unfortunate.
You can get thoroughly gruesome about blast victims. Close enough to the seat of the explosion some victims are pretty much vaporised by hot gas with progressively less injury with distance or quirks of hard cover. I remember one of the 2 IRA bombers of St Albans in 1991 who blew themselves up was identified by his jawbone recovered from a telephone line.
I walked through this in 1991 in the immediate aftermath and if I shut my eyes I can still smell it. Not nice.
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T

The Departed

Guest
The Police have found a large number of dead crows on the A1081 just outside Harpenden early this morning, and there was concern that they may have died from Avian Flu.
A Pathologist examined the remains of all the crows, and, to everyone's relief, confirmed the problem was NOT Avian Flu.
The cause of death appeared to be from vehicular impacts. However, during analysis it was noted that varying colours of paints appeared on the bird's beaks and claws.
By analysing these paint residues it was found that 98% of the crows had been killed by impact with motorbikes, while only 2% were killed by cars.
The investigators then hired an Ornithological Behaviourist to determine if there was a cause for the disproportionate percentages of motorbike kills versus car kills.
The Ornithological Behaviourist quickly concluded that when crows eat road kill, they always have a look-out crow to warn of danger.
They discovered that while all the lookout crows could shout "Cah", not a single one could shout "bike"
 
T

The Departed

Guest
Hi, Max. This is Richard, next door. I've been riddled with guilt for a few months and have been trying to get up the courage to tell you face-to-face When you're not around, I've been sharing your wife, day and night, probably much more than you. I haven't been getting it at home recently. I know that's no excuse. The temptation was just too great. I can't live with the guilt & hope you'll accept my sincere apology and forgive me. Please suggest a fee for usage and I'll pay you. Richard

Max, feeling enraged and betrayed, grabbed his gun, went next door, and shot Richard dead. He returned home, shot his wife, poured himself a stiff drink and sat down on the sofa. Max then looked at his phone and discovered a second text message from Richard.

SECOND TEXT MESSAGE:

Hi, Max. Richard here again. Sorry about the typo on my last text. I assume you figured it out and noticed that the darned Spell-Check had changed "wi-fi" to "wife." Technology, huh? It'll be the death of us all.
 
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