the world's worst joke?

[rich]

Good evening
I thought I'd share with you a misadventure that befell my brother when he was on Lewis, learning to play the pipes.
His instructor lived in an old style home with a turf roof.
My brother, alas, was a recalcitrant and tuneless player. His instructor was famed far and wide for the nastiness of his character and the swiftness of his rage.
So it is not surprising that after 20 minutes of my brother's ineffectual attempts to play pibroch his teacher finally exploded.
He seized the pipes from my brother and in a fit of empurpled rage hurled them at the ceiling.
There was a rumble overhead and some peat dust began to fall in little showers into the room below. Then down came an old tire, followed by a half rusted hip bath and then some peat and an ancient scythe, then more peat and then with a terrific crash the roof beams fell in and looking up one could see the night sky with a full moon.
My brother said to his teacher, there is one lesson you should take to heart from this:

PEOPLE WHO LIVE IN GRASS HOUSES SHOULD NOT THROW DRONES.

[DeHaviLand]

Oh dear, dont forget your coat Sir. :roll:

[Lolabelle]

Good one! I love it, just goes to show that being bad tempered doesn't really do you much good in the long run. That episode should certainly give the man pause for thought before he launches into "Prima Donna Mode" [lol]

[DeHaviLand]

Oh dear Lolabelle, I think this little tale is somewhat apocryphal.

[quirbal]

I've heard worse.

[Julia]

The big chess tournament was taking place at the Plaza in New York. After the first day's competition, many of the winners were sitting around in the foyer of the hotel talking about their matches and bragging about their wonderful play. After a few drinks they started getting louder and louder until finally, the desk clerk couldn't take any more and kicked them out.

The next morning the Manager called the clerk into his office and told him there had been many complaints about his being so rude to the hotel guests....instead of kicking them out, he should have just asked them to be less noisy. The clerk responded, "I'm sorry, but if there's one thing I can't stand, it's chess nuts boasting in an open foyer."

[rich]

Good evening.

I have another joke. (Don’t all leave at once – that’s very rude.)

Oh well, I’ll tell it anyway.

A number of years ago, I was at Scrabster en route to Orkney and waiting for the last of the cars to be loaded aboard our ferry

Suddenly there was an awful commotion as a collie dog came running up the stairs from the food preparation area.

The dog was followed by a man in a chef’s uniform, brandishing a meat cleaver.

With considerable courage I placed my body in front of the man and demanded to know what was going on.

He informed me that the dog had got into the supply area and had eaten a hundredweight of beefburgers that had been part of a consignment for Bewes the Butcher in Stromness.

His cousin, Bewes the Butcher in Thurso had purchased a special machine for making beefburgers. It involved a long assembly line and a team of workers in white coats. A cow would go in one end and come out the other as beefburgers.

What was truly wonderful about this project was that it all took place aboard the ferry so that the burgers would arrive truly fresh!

By this time the chef was nearly in tears.

He confessed to owning the border collie in question (which had disappeared by this time , although it was likely harvesting the rubbish bins from the Upper Deck.)

His plan had been to sell the dog to his cousin who was a farmer in Orkney and in need of a good working dog.

“I fed the dog only this morning. I told him he was to be on his best behaviour on the boat. I told him that if he misbehaved there would be no sale, I would be out ten quid and he would have to face a return trip across the Pentland Firth, a body of water that dogs hate because it makes them as sick as…well- dogs.”

He paused, and then his body shuddered with a great heaving sob at how his best laid plans had come unstuck.

“I loved that dog but how could he do this to me?” he said. “He sniffed once, he sniffed twice and then he dived in the hamburgers. My entire life is in ruins.”

To which I replied: “Don’t blame the dog. He is clearly a victim of his OLA-FACTORY- SENSES.”

[Errogie]

One evening my brother met a man in a pub and they started to exchange stories about unusual pets which they had posessed at various times during their lives.

The conversation ranged from tales of faithful and obedient collies to lesser but equally cute animals such as gerbils and monitor lizards, but my brother eventually admitted that the one thing he had never ever possessed was a talking bird of any description despite having tried his dangdest with several budgies and a parrot.

"Well", said his new companion, "I may be able to help you there because I do know of an old lady recently deceased who was the owner of a most renowned talking bird, in size somewhere between a canary and an African Grey parrot, known as a Tibetan Rarie".

The upshot was that my brother duly landed up the proud new owner of this distinguished bird complete with a large cage and a piece of cuttle fish bone next to the things water bowl and small mirror. So, he waited, and patiently tried to encourage the new arrival in his home to communicate or to say something but the bird simply sat on its perch with a supercilious look and said nothing. He played it music of all sorts and even went through his entire jazz collection but still no response. It preened in the mirror and gnawed at it's bit of bone and still nothing happened.

So becoming more and more frustrated he tracked down his drinking companion for advice. They talked it over comprehensively and finally it was agreed that the bird might be prompted into speech by being given a severe fright. So they introduced it to a large cat, they showed it a t.v. advert for Kentucky fried chicken and tried to devise progressively more scary experiences for the feathered horror.

Eventually they came up with the notion that chucking the bird and it's cage from a great height on the end of a bungee rope might just loosen up its vocal chords. So into the car, and a long drive all the way north up the A9 into Caithness and finally as far as Dunnet head where they could go no further.

One end of the rope was duly attached to the old foghorn and coiled carefully on the cliff edge taking care not to become entangled in any exotic vegetation and my brother picked up the cage high above his head ready to cast it out into the abyss and the foaming waves a long long way below. And as he did so the bird cocked its head to one side looked down and winked at him and then said in perfect queen's english

"You've come a long way to tip a rarie"

[psyberyeti]

what's the fastest thing on two wheels underwater?


A motor pike:cool:

[psyberyeti]

What's the fastest thing on 3 wheels underwater?




A motor pike and side carp.:lol: