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A Chuckle A Day Keeps The Plandemic Away (Clean Jokes Only Please) (1 Viewer)


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Finding Jesus

A man is stumbling through the woods totally drunk when he comes upon a preacherman who is in the middle of baptising people in the river. As the drunk walks into the water, he bumps into the preacher, who when turning round is almost overcome by the smell of booze. Undeterred by this, he asks the drunk: ‘Are you ready to find Jesus?’

‘Yes I am,’ replies the drunk. So the preacher grabs him and dunks him in the river. When he pulls the drunk up, he asks him? ‘Brother have you found Jesus?’

The drunk replies: ‘No, I haven't.’ The preacher is shocked at this answer. So he dunks the drunk once more into the water, but this time holds him down a bit longer. When he pulls the drunk out of the water, he asks again: ‘Have you found Jesus, my brother?’

‘No,’ says the drunk, ‘I have not found him.’

By now the preacher is at his wits end. So he dunks the drunk into the water again, but this time holds him down a bit longer still.

When the man begins kicking his arms and legs, the preacher pulls him up and again asks: ‘For the love of God, have you found Jesus?’

Wiping his eyes and catching his breath, the drunk replies: ‘Are you sure this is where he fell in?’

Created by Anon.
Edited by Aquarius

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Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar and Napoleon are watching the October Parade in Moscow’s Red Square.

Alexander looks at the tanks and says: ‘If I had chariots like these, I’d have conquered the whole of Asia.’

Caesar looks at the giant rockets: ‘If I’d had such catapults, I’d have conquered the whole world.’

Napoleon looks up from a copy of Pravda: ‘And if I had owned a newspaper like this, nobody would ever have heard of Waterloo.’

From English Humour for Beginners - by George Mikes

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Whose Job Is It?

This is a story about four people whose names were:
Everybody, somebody, anybody and nobody.
There was a job to be done and everybody was asked to do it.
Everybody was sure that somebody would do it.

Anybody could have done it, but nobody did.
Somebody got angry about that because it was everybody’s job.
Everybody thought that anybody could do it, but
Nobody realised that everybody wouldn’t do it.

It ended up that everybody blamed somebody
When nobody did what anybody
Could so easily have done.

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BBX reporter Baldy Maxwell caught up with the UK Prime Minister

Boris Johnson reveals secret of his hair and the future

by Jon Rappoport
23rd April 2021

BBX reporter Baldy Maxwell caught up with UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson outside a conference room in the basement of Parliament and managed an interview---

Sir, how do all your lockdowns work together with your Brexit campaign? Is there a connection?

Of course, Baldy. The plan was to leave the European Union and then establish ourselves as a floating Prison Island. I thought I had made that clear from the outset.

Apparently, sir, most people missed it.

Well, then, let me go on the record. Brexit had nothing to do with freedom. It was always about future lockdowns. I suspected that the EU might object to a member country sentencing its entire population to in-house arrest…so the UK had to sever its tie to the EU.

In other words, the plan for imprisonment predated COVID.

Of course. When COVID came along---and by the way, it’s no more troubling than a flu season---I grasped that pretext. People always want a reason for new policy implementation. I gave them one.

However, this leaves the real explanation for the lockdowns hanging. Why? Why put the country in jail?

It’s the logical extension of decades of increasing government regulation. In for a penny, in for a pound. Obviously, the population has wanted greater government control. I made the extra leap. I saw the finish line and I took us there.

So the lockdowns will go on forever?

In one form or another, yes. Immunity passports, cell phone apps, tracking, surveillance, police break-ins, universal guaranteed income tied to behavior. If a person wants enough money to survive, he must obey all rules.

What about people who want to work for a living and earn their money the old-fashioned way?

That’s an extinct system, Baldy. It’s unsupportable for many reasons. We’re in the age of robotics and AI. This is where all the jobs are going. Humans have one indispensable function; they consume. They buy products. They can do that from their homes. They don’t need to be out and about.

Sir, for some time I, and many others, have been wondering about your hair. How it’s done.


Do you wake up in the morning and get out of bed---rumpled---and leave your hair that way all day?

Again, I thought I’d explained that. Goodness, no. I tried the random rumpled strategy and it didn’t work at all. Variations of an unpleasant nature result from the anarchic approach. I have a stylist. She’s very good.

What does she do?

Before breakfast, she handles my look. She more or less copies yesterday and the day before, and so on. Nothing is casual.

I ask, because it seems to me your presentation is on the order of “oppressed English schoolboy.” You know, the lad who’s mocked and beaten by his mates on a regular basis and is deeply ashamed. And at moments, I’m reminded of a child who’s stolen a plum and been caught.

Right. I fancy that it’s straight out of Dickens. I’m a regretful little thief. I’m brooding over my fate.

Obviously, you like the look.

When I slam the hammer on the population---the fourth or fifth lockdown---it’s always with a certain degree of sadness. Guilt. I want people to sense that, to see it in my hair, face, and manner. At any rate, we all serve the cause.

What cause is that?

Since the end of the Empire, aside from brief respites of heroics, our way of life has been: Suffering. That’s the theme. It’s deep, and runs through all classes.

You’re saying there’s no---

No way out. We stand in line. We huddle. We bitch and moan. Occasionally, we erupt into violence. Our art is making something out of that suffering. I’m the whipped schoolboy in all of us.

Sir, isn’t that in itself a rather pathetic cartoon with which outsiders have characterized us?

Yes and no, Baldy. But you see, now we have a new chance. There is light at the end of the tunnel. We can remake our society in the form of a brilliant machine.

A what?

The New Normal is going to be a functional slot for every person, and a person for every slot. No citizen or immigrant left behind. Technology demands a civilization that, step by step, is planned to provide specific duties for each human---and altogether, those duties integrate and add up to a whole clicking and blinking and whirring Organism.

Orwell? Huxley?

But first, we must break every person down so that his independent impulses are squeezed out of him. Hence, the lockdowns. And that is why I wear my hair the way I do. To register a note of grief about the pain of necessary imprisonment.

I see.

I am a symbol, as it were, of both regret and joy. Because the future will shine. It will contain, after several generations, no scabs or scars. Its perfect surface will reflect our commitment: all for one and one for all and all for all.


Willingly, freely, pleasurably lived.

And if you’re still remembered in that future, sir?

Sipping a glass of tea or whiskey on a quiet afternoon, someone will look at a photo of me and chuckle at my hair and my demeanor. And since all memory of the past will have been deleted by then, that someone will have no idea why I was the way I was.

Just like now.


You’re Big Brother who’s made himself up to look like Little Boy.

Bingo. You win the prize.

What’s the prize?

Locked down in your home---a delivery of something indispensably British: a watercress sandwich with a whisper of butter on white bread with no crust.



So a Frog Hops Into a Bank...

A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. He can see from her nameplate that the teller's name is Patricia Whack. So he says, "Ms. Whack, I'd like to get a loan to buy a boat and go on a long vacation."

Patti looks at the frog in disbelief and asks how much he wants to borrow.

The frog says $30,000.

The teller asks his name and the frog says that his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger, and that it's OK, he knows the bank manager.

Patti explains that $30,000 is a substantial amount of money and that he will need to secure some collateral against the loan. She asks if he has anything he can use as collateral.

The frog says, "Sure. I have this," and produces a tiny pink porcelain elephant, about half an inch tall, bright pink and perfectly formed.

Very confused, Patti explains that she'll have to consult with the manager and disappears into a back office.

She finds the manager and says "There's a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30,000. He wants to use this as collateral." She holds up the tiny pink elephant. "I mean, what the heck is this?"

The bank manager looks back at her and says: "It's a knick knack, Patti Whack. Give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone"


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Tasks For Today

1. Organise
2. Talk to wife/husband/partner
3. Re-organise
4. Talk to wife/husband/partner
5. Abandon idea
6. Talk to self!
7. Then do what has to be done yourself!

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bazz cargo

Retired Supervisor
A vision in a pink baby doll nightie. Twenty-two year-old Fliss lay, reading a fashion magazine, on an opulent bed as she waited for her brand new husband to finish in the bathroom. Okay, so he was eighty-seven and loaded with enough wealth to pay off half the world's debt. With a little luck and her skills, this honeymoon could well lead to widowhood tomorrow. She smiled...

The old git came out of the bathroom. He was wearing a peg on his nose, ear defenders and an extra thick condom.

Fliss slid the magazine onto the floor. "What the hell are you dressed like that for?"

"Well," he said, " the two things I can't stand is the smell of burning rubber and the sound of a woman screaming."


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It's a good joke, Bazz. But please bear in mind that I would like to keep this thread for clean jokes. One of the Courtjester's threads is for the others. I know about it because I set it up for him, what now seems to be a long time ago.


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Just a note to say that I’m living,
That I’m not among the dead,
Though I’m getting more forgetful
And mixed up in me head.

I’ve got used to me arthritis,
To me dentures I’m resigned;
I can cope with me bi-focals,
But, ye Gods, I miss me mind!

Sometimes I can’t remember
When I stand at the foot of the stairs,
Whether I must go up for something
Or have just come down from there!

And before the fridge so often
Me poor mind is filled with doubt:
Have I just come to put some food away
Or do I need to take it out?

So, if it’s me turn to write to you,
There’s no need for getting sore;
I may have thought I’d written,
And didn’t want to be a bore.

Just remember that I love you
And wish that you were near.
Well, it’s nearly time for the post now,
So I must say: ‘Good bye, me dear!’

And here I stand beside the post-box
Me face is so very red!
Meaning to post this letter,
I’ve opened it instead.

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From The Mouths Of Children

1. A nursery school pupil told his teacher that he had found a cat that was dead. ’ How do you know it was dead?’ the lady replied. ‘Well, I p***ed in its ear and it didn’t move,’ said the child. ‘You did WHAT?’ the teacher exclaimed in surprise. ’ You know,’ explained the boy, ‘ I leaned over and went ‘ Pssst’ and it didn’t move’

2. A small boy is sent to bed by his father. Five minutes later. . . . . . ’ Da-ad. . . . ’ ‘ What?’ ‘I’m thirsty. Can you bring me a drink of water?’ ‘ No, You’ve had your chance. Lights out. ’ Five minutes later: ‘ Da-aaaad. . . . . ’ ‘WHAT?’ ‘ I’m THIRSTY. Can I have a drink of water??’ ‘ I told you NO! If you ask again, I’ll have to smack you!!’ Five minutes later. . . . . . ’ Daaaa-aaaad. . . . . ’ ‘ WHAT!’ ‘ When you come to smack me, can you bring a drink of water?’

3. An exasperated mother, whose son was always getting into mischief, finally asked him ‘ How do you expect to get into Heaven?’ The boy thought it over and said: ‘ I’ll just run in and out and in and out and keep slamming the door until St. Peter says, ‘ For Heaven’s sake, Dylan, come in or stay out!’ ‘

4. One summer’s evening during a violent thunderstorm a mother was tucking her son into bed. She was about to turn off the light when he asked with a tremor in his voice, ‘Mummy, will you sleep with me tonight?’ The mother smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. ’ I can’t dear,’ she said. ‘ I have to sleep in Daddy’ s room. ’ A long silence was broken at last by his shaky little voice: ‘The big sissy. ’

5. It was that time, during the Sunday morning service, for the children’ s sermon. All the children were invited to come forward. One little girl was wearing a particularly pretty dress and, as she sat down, the minister leaned over and said,’ That is a very pretty dress. Is it your Easter Dress?’ The little girl replied, directly into the minister’s clip-on microphone: ‘Yes, and my Mum says it’ s a bitch to iron. ’

6. When I was six months pregnant with my third child, my three year old came into the room when I was getting ready to get into the shower. She said: ‘Mummy, you are getting fat!’ I replied, ‘That’s because a baby is growing in my tummy.’ ‘I know,’ the child replied, ‘but what’s growing in your bum?’

7. A little boy was doing his maths homework. He said to himself, ‘ Two plus five, that son of a bitch is seven. Three plus six, that son of a bitch is nine. . . . ’ His mother had been listening and said: ‘ What are you doing?’ The little boy answered: ‘ I’ m doing my math homework, Mum.’ ‘And this is how your teacher taught you to do it?’ the mother asked? ‘Yes,’ said the boy. The mother decided the time had come for having a word with the teacher. So she went the next day: ‘What are you teaching my son in math?’ The teacher replied: ‘Right now, we are learning addition. ’ The mother said: ‘Are you teaching them to say two plus two, that son of a bitch is four?’ When the teacher had stopped laughing, she said: ‘What I taught them was that two plus two, THE SUM OF WHICH, is four. ’

8. One day a first grade teacher was reading the story of Chicken Little to her class. She came to the part of the story where Chicken Little tried to warn the farmer. She read: ‘. . . and so Chicken Little went up to the farmer and said: ‘ The sky is falling, the sky is falling!’ Pausing for a moment, the teacher asked the class: ‘And what do you think the farmer said?’ One little girl raised her hand and replied: ‘I think he said:’ Holy sh*t! A talking chicken!’ The teacher had to stop teaching for ten minutes.

9. Another little girl, when asked her name, usually replied: ‘I’m Mr. Sugarbrown’s daughter.’ Her mother told her that this was wrong and she should say: ‘I’m Jane Sugarbrown. ’ When the Vicar spoke to the girl in Sunday School, he asked: ‘Aren’t you Mr. Sugarbrown’s daughter?’ The girl replied: ‘ I thought I was, but mother says I’m not.’

10. Yet another little girl asked her mother: ‘Can I go outside and play with the boys?’ ‘No,’ replied the mother, ‘you can’t play with the boys, they’re too rough.’ Thinking about it for a few moments, the girl came back with: ‘But if I find a smooth one, can I play with him?’

Created by Anon.
Edited by Aquarius

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Tired of being harassed by parents,
Who don’t know anything?

Act Now!
Move out! Get a job!
Pay your own bills,
While you still know everything!

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God Versus Darwinism

One day, a group of Darwinian scientists got together and decided that humankind had come a long way and no longer needed God. So they picked one from their group to go and tell God. The Darwinian walked up to God and said: ‘God, we’ve decided that we no longer need you. We have reached the point where we can clone people and do many miraculous things ourselves, so why don’t you just leave us alone and get lost?’

Listening patiently and kindly to the Darwinian, when the man had finished talking God replied: ‘Very well, how about having a man-making contest?’

Happily, the Darwinian agreed and God added: ‘Shall we do it just like I told you in the legend of Adam and Eve?’ The Darwinian replied: ‘Sure, no problem.’ Bending down, he grabbed a handful of mud. God looked at him and shook his head: ‘Oh no, that’s not the way. You have to make your own mud!’

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The Princess And The Frog

Once upon a time, in a land far away, a beautiful, independent, self assured princess happened upon a frog, as she sat contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle.

The frog hopped into the Princess’ lap and said: ‘Sweet Lady, I was once a handsome Prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young Prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in yon castle, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children and forever feel grateful and happy doing so.’

That night, while enjoying a repast of lightly sautéed frog’s legs, the princess chuckled to herself and thought: ‘I don’t bloomin’ well think so!’

From ‘I Don’t Know How She Does It’

By Allison Pearson
Edited by Aquarius

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The Trip To Rome

A woman was getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: ‘Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded and dirty. You’re crazy to go to Rome. How are you getting there?’

‘We’re taking Continental,’ was the reply. ‘We got a great rate!’

‘Continental?’ exclaimed the hairdresser. ‘That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly and they’re always late. Where will you be staying in Rome?’

‘We’ll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome’s Tiber River called Teste.’

‘Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its something special and exclusive, but it’s really a dump.’

‘We’re going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope.’

‘That’s rich,’ laughed the hairdresser. ‘You and a million other people trying to see him. He’ll look the size of an ant. Good luck on this trip of yours. You’re going to need it.’

A month later, the woman came for another hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome . ‘It was wonderful,’ she explained, ‘not only were we on time in one of Continental’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they moved us into first class. The food and wine were wonderful and I had a handsome twenty-eight year old flight attendant who waited on me hand and foot. The hotel was great! They’d just finished a five million dollar remodelling job, and now it’s a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologised and gave us their owner’s suite at no extra charge!’

‘Well,’ muttered the hairdresser, ‘that’s all well and good, but I bet you didn’t get to see the Pope.’

‘Actually, we were quite lucky, because on a tour through the Vatican a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and told me the Pope would like to meet some of the visitors. If I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, he walked in and shook my hand! As I knelt down, he just spoke a few words to me.’

‘Oh, really! What did he say?’

‘After blessing me he said: ‘Who messed up your hair like this?’’

Created by Anon.
Edited by Aquarius

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The Advantages Of Being A Bear

In my present lifetime I’m a woman. In my next one I would like to be a bear. Let me tell you why:

When you’re a bear, you hibernate during the winter months and do nothing but sleep for up to six months. I could deal with that.

Before you hibernate, you’re supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that, too.

When you’re a girl bear, you give birth to children, each one the size of a walnut, while you’re sleeping and upon waking up they have already grown into cute cuddly cubs. I could certainly deal with that.

Besides, if you’re a mother bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat those who bother your cubs, including their father, your mate. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them too. I could deal with that.

If you’re a bear, your mate expects you to wake up growling and that you have hairy legs as well as excess body fat.

Oh yes, I am definitely going to be a bear!

Created by Anon.
Edited by Aquarius

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Olympic Games in London 2012

It’s the year 2012 and the Olympic Games in London are in full swing. One fine day, three friends by the name of Smith, Brown and Jones are dying to get into the stadium, in spite of the fact that they cannot afford to buy tickets.

Refusing to be stuck for a solution, Smith picks up a manhole-cover, tucks it under his arm, walks to the gate and says: ‘Smith, United Kingdom, discus.’ The man at the checkpoint waves him in.

Brown picks up a length of scaffolding, slings it over his shoulder, marches to the gate and says: ‘Brown, United Kingdom, pole vaulting.’ He too is waved in.

‘Ah,’ Jones thinks to himself. Looking around, he spots a roll of barbed wire. He picks it up, tucks it under his arm, walks up to the gate and says: ‘Jones, United Kingdom, fencing.’

Created by Anon.
Edited by Aquarius

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The Zebra

A man walks into a psychiatrist’s office with the complaint: ‘Doctor, I think I’m going crazy. I keep imagining I am a zebra. Each time I look at myself in the mirror I see my entire body covered with black stripes.’

‘Calm down. You are not a zebra,’ the doctor reassures the man. Go home, take these pills and get a good night’s rest. I’m sure the black stripes will disappear.’

The man does as he is told, but the next day he is back. ‘Doctor,’ he says, ‘the black stripes have disappeared. I feel great! Now, have you anything for the white stripes?’

Created by Anon.
Edited by Aquarius

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A Hairy Bikers’ Tale

Five hairy bikers went into a bar where a lone small man was peacefully eating a pie and having a drink. They pestered the chap for a while and finally their leader put out a cigarette in the poor fellow’s nearly full glass. The man got up and walked out without saying a word. After convulsing themselves with laughter, the bikers ordered lagers and the leader grinned at the barman: ‘Not much of a fighter, that one, eh?’ ‘No,’ replied the barman. ‘Not much of a driver, either. He’s just backed a forty-tonner over your bikes.’

Created by Anon.
Edited by Aquarius

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