Jokes of Old

"Where does poo come from?" she asks.

The father feeling a little perturbed that his 5 year old daughter is already asking difficult questions thinks for a moment and says:  "Well you know we just ate breakfast?"

"Yes," answers the girl.

"Well the food goes into our tummies and our bodies take out all the good stuff, and then whatever is left over comes out of our bottoms when we go to the toilet, and that is poo."

The little girl looks shocked, and stares, at him with a watery eyes in stunned silence for a few seconds and asks, "And Tigger?"

Alex replied, "Because George still had the axe in his hand."

WIFE: "What would you do if I died? Would you get married again?"

HUSBAND: "Definitely not!"

WIFE: "Why not - don't you like being married?"

HUSBAND: "Of course I do."

WIFE: "Then why wouldn't you remarry?"

HUSBAND: "Okay, I'd get married again."

WIFE: "You would?" (with a hurtful look on her face).

HUSBAND: (makes audible groan).

WIFE: "Would you live in our house?"

HUSBAND: "Sure, it's a great house."

WIFE: "Would you sleep with her in our bed?"

HUSBAND: "Where else would we sleep?"

WIFE: "Would you let her drive my car?"

HUSBAND: "Probably, it is almost new."

WIFE: "Would you replace my pictures with hers?"

HUSBAND: "That would seem like the proper thing to do."

WIFE: "Would she use my golf clubs?"

HUSBAND: "No, she's left-handed."

WIFE: -- silence --

HUSBAND: "Shit."

I'm not the type to start a conversation in the restroom, but I don't know what got into me, so I answered, somewhat embarrassed, "Doin' just fine!"

And the other person says, "So what are you up to?"

What kind of question is that? At that point, I'm thinking this is too bizarre, so I say, "Uh, I'm like you, just traveling!"

At this point, I am just trying to get out as fast as I can when I hear another question. "Can I come over?"

Okay, this question is just too weird for me, but I figured I could just be polite and end the conversation. I tell them, "No, I'm a little busy right now!"

Then I hear the person say nervously, "Listen, I'll have to call you back. The person in the other stall keeps answering all my questions."

Preparing to write a check, she pulls a rectal thermometer out of her purse and tries to write with it.

She looks at the flabbergasted teller and says, "Well, that's great. That's really great. Someone's got my pen."

The other guy responds proudly, "Yes, that I am!"

The first guy says, "So am I! And where about from Ireland might you be?"

The other guy answers, "I’m from Dublin, I am."

The first guy responds, "So am I!"

"Sure and begora. And what street did you live on in Dublin?"

The other guy says, "A lovely little area it was. I lived on McCleary Street in the old central part of town."

The first guy says, "Faith and it's a small world. So did I! So did I! And to what school would you have been going?"

The other guy answers, "Well now, I went to St. Mary's, of course."

The first guy gets really excited and says, "And so did I. Tell me, what year did you graduate?"

The other guy answers, "Well, now, let's see. I graduated in 1964."

The first guy exclaims, "The Good Lord must be smiling down upon us! I can hardly believe our good luck at winding up in the same bar tonight. Can you believe it, I graduated from St. Mary's in 1964 my own self!"

About this time, Vicky walks into the bar, sits down and orders a beer.

Brian, the bartender, walks over to Vicky, shaking his head and mutters, "It's going to be a long night tonight."

Vicky asks, "Why do you say that, Brian?"

"The Murphy twins are drunk again."

The game warden asked the man, "Do you have a license to catch those fish?"

"Naw, my friend, I ain't got no license. These here are my pet fish."

"Pet fish?"

"Yep. Every night, I take these fish down to the river and let 'em swim around for awhile. Then I whistle and they jump right back into this ice chest and I take 'em home."

"That's a bunch of baloney! Fish can't do that!"

The redneck looked at the game warden for a moment and then said, "It's the truth. I'll show you. It really works."

"Okay, I've got to see this!"

The redneck poured the fish into the river and stood and waited. After several minutes, the game warden turned to him and said, "Well?"

"Well, what?" said the redneck.

"When are you going to call them back?"

"Call who back?"

"The fish!"

"What fish?"

She caught the man in the act of robbing her home of its valuables and yelled, "Stop! Acts 2:38!" "Repent and be baptized, in the name of Jesus Christ, so that your sins may be forgiven."

The burglar stopped in his tracks. The woman calmly called the police and explained what she had done. As the officer cuffed the man to take him in, he was curious and asked the burglar, "Why did you just stand there? All the old lady did was yell a scripture to you."

"Scripture"? replied the burglar. "She said she had an ax and two 38's!"

The man looks around, but doesn’t see anyone. A little while later, he hears another little voice, “That’s a really cool tie.”

He looks around to find the source of the voice. But again, he doesn’t see anyone. The bartender notices him looking around and asks if everything is okay. The man explains that he’s hearing small voices.

The bartender says, “Oh, that’s just the peanuts. They’re complimentary.”

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathroom. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience:

0.Occupied

1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.

2.Poo on seat.

3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder in one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

------

Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with the suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"

Next door I could hear fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth.... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

------

Alas, it is evidently difficulty to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by a string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced to the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has manged to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.