Category: jokes

Wallace walked into a supermarket with his zipper down. A lady cashier called out to him and said, “Your barracks door is open.” Not a phrase that men normally use, he went on his way looking a bit puzzled.

When he was about done shopping, a man came up and said, “Your fly is open. He zipped up and finished his shopping. At the checkout, Wallace intentionally got in the line where the lady was who told him about his “barracks door.”

He was planning to have a little fun with her, so when he reached the counter he said, “When you saw my barracks door open, did you see a Marine standing in there at attention?”

The lady, who was a bit sharper than the man, thought for a moment and said, “No, no, I didn’t. All I saw was a disabled veteran sitting on a couple of old Duffel bags.”

Sometimes seem to forget what the true meaning of church is. Now, a hilarious story is going viral that serves as a reminder that church is not about fancy clothes and is instead solely about giving thanks to God.

An older cowboy walked into a church one Sunday morning that was located in a wealthy part of town. Though his clothes were clean, he was wearing jeans, a denim shirt and boots that were all tattered up. He was also carrying an old cowboy hat and a very worn out bible.

The wealthy congregants of the church were all dressed in their finest outfits, and they stared at the cowboy with judgmental glares when he walked into the sanctuary.

Nobody would even greet him, and when he sat down, those next to him moved away from him to other seats. They made no attempt to hide the fact that they were completely appalled by his appearance.

I’ve been teaching now for about fifteen years. I have two kids myself, but the best birth story I know is the one I saw in my own second grade classroom a few years back. When I was a kid, I loved show-and-tell.. So I always have a few sessions with my students. It helps them get over shyness and usually, show-and-tell is pretty tame. Kids bring in pet turtles, model airplanes, pictures of fish they catch, stuff like that. And I never, ever place any boundaries or limitations on them. If they want to lug it in to school and talk about it, they’re welcome.

Well, one day this little girl, Erica, a very bright, very outgoing kid, takes her turn and waddles up to the front of the class with a pillow stuffed under her sweater. She holds up a snapshot of an infant. ‘This is Luke, my baby brother, and. I’m going to tell you about his birthday.’

‘First, Mom and Dad made him as a symbol of their love, and then Dad put a seed in my Mom’s stomach, and Luke grew in there. He ate for nine months through an umbrella cord.’ She’s standing there with her hands on the pillow, and I’m trying not to laugh and wishing I had my camcorder with me. The kids are watching her in amazement.

‘Then, about two Saturdays ago, my Mom starts going, ‘Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!’
Erica puts a hand behind her back and groans. ‘She walked around the house for, like an hour, ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ (Now this kid is doing a hysterical duck walk and groaning.)
‘My Dad called the middle wife. She delivers babies, but she doesn’t have sign on the car like the Domino’s man. They got my Mom to lie down in bed like this.’ (Then Erica lies down with her back against the wall.)

‘And then, pop! My Mom had this bag of water she kept in there in case he got thirsty, and it just blew up and spilled all over the bed, like psshhheew!’ (This kid has her legs spread with her little hands miming water flowing away. It was too much!)

‘Then the middle wife starts saying ‘push, push,’ and ‘breathe, breathe.
They started counting, but never even got past ten. Then, all of a sudden, out comes my brother. He was covered in yucky stuff that they all said it was from Mom’s play-center, so there must be a lot of toys inside there.
When he got out, the middle wife spanked him for crawling up in there in the first place.’
Then Erica stood up, took a big theatrical bow and returned to her seat.
I’m sure I applauded the loudest.

Ever since then, when it’s Show-and-tell day, I bring my camcorder, just in case another ‘Middle Wife’ comes along.

I got chatting to a girl in a club. “Can I buy you a drink ?” I asked. “Have you not got a girlfriend ?” she replied, “Guys like you always have girlfriends.” “No, sadly we broke up just over a month ago,” I assured her.

“Oh I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, “Go on then, I’ll have a white wine please.” A few drinks later after a kiss and a cuddle we headed off back to her place and made passionate love.

While I was putting my clothes back on she said … While I was putting my clothes back on she said, “So, you’re good looking, a nice guy and amazing in bed.

Can I ask why on earth you split with your girlfriend ?” I said, “My wife found out.”

When asked what the problem is, the wife goes into a tirade listing every problem they had ever had in the years they had been married. On and on she goes: neglect, lack of intimacy, emptiness, loneliness, feeling unloved and unlovable—an entire laundry list of unmet needs she has endured.

Finally, after allowing this for a laundry list of unmet needs she has endured. Finally, after allowing this for a sufficient length of time, the therapist gets up, walks around the desk, and after asking the wife to stand, he embraces and kisses her long and passionately as her husband watches with a raised eyebrow.

The woman shuts up and quietly sits down as though in a daze.

The therapist turns to the husband and says, “This is what your wife needs at least three times a week. Can you do this?”.

“Well, I can drop her off here on Mondays and Wednesdays, but on Fridays, I fish.”

A man, while playing on the front nine of a complicated golf course, became confused as to where he was on the course. Looking around, he saw a lady playing ahead of him. He walked up to her, explained his confusion and asked her if she knew what hole he was playing. She replied, “I’m on the 7th hole, and you are a hole behind me, so you must be on the 6th hole.” He thanked her and went back to his golf.

On the back nine the same thing happened; and he approached her again with the same request. She said, “I’m on the 14th hole, you are a hole behind me, so you must be on the 13th hole.” Once again he thanked her and returned to his play.

He finished his round and went to the clubhouse where he saw the same lady sitting at the end of the bar. He asked the bartender if he knew the lady. The bartender said that she was a sales lady and played the course often. He approached her and said, “Let me buy you a drink in appreciation for your help. I understand that you are in the sales profession. I’m in sales, also. What do you sell?”

She replied, “If I tell you, you’ll laugh.” “No, I won’t.” “Well, if you must know,” she answered, “I work for Tampax.” With that, he laughed so hard he almost lost his breath. She said, “See I knew you would laugh.” “That’s not what I’m laughing at,” he replied.“I’m a salesman for Preparation H, so I’m still a hole behind you!”

A young family moved into a house, next to a vacant lot. One day, a construction crew turned up to start building a house on the empty lot. The young family’s 5-year-old daughter naturally took an interest in all the activity going on next door and spent much of each day observing the workers. Eventually the construction crew, all of them “gems-in-the-rough,” more or less, adopted her as a kind of project mascot. They chatted with her, let her sit with them while they had coffee and lunch breaks, and gave her little jobs to do here and there to make her feel important.

At the end of the first week, they even presented her with a pay envelope containing ten dollars. The little girl took this home to her mother who suggested that she take her ten dollars “pay” she’d received to the bank the next day to start a savings account.

When the girl and her mom got to the bank, the teller was equally impressed and asked the little girl how she had come by her very own paycheck at such a young age.

The little girl proudly replied, “I worked last week with a real work crew building the new house next door to us.”

“Oh this is great” said the teller: “And will you be working on the house again this week, too?”

The little girl replied, “I will, if those assholes at Home Depot ever deliver the f**kin’ sheetrock…”

Kids say the darndest things, don’t they? Just be aware that they repeat everything they hear.

Both my parents earned more than enough to provide a comfortable life. My father, Henry, was a regional manager for a popular retail store. And my mother, Lydia, was a nurse. We were fine. And yet, my school years were marred by spending Saturday mornings at thrift stores, looking for hand-me-down clothes. My social life and birthday parties were basically non-existent, because attending these events meant buying gifts, and that was something my mother found utterly incomprehensible. Pocket money? That was a foreign concept to my mother. But then, a diary entry changed everything. Growing up, my father was my favorite. “Oh, Cara,” he said, every night when he came to switch my bedroom light off. “You’re my little light, you know that?” Throughout my childhood, my father littered my bleak existence with joy. He would sneak in little treats, secrets trips to the movies when mom was working, and sometimes, he would simply buy me cotton candy — my favorite sweet treat. On the other side of it all, was my mother. She barely interacted with me, always lost in her own daydreams. But when it came to buying groceries, or switching off the lights,

she was alert and strict. “Come on, Cara,” she would hiss under her breath. “Do you think we’re made of money? Switch off the light when you leave the room.” once, when I was in high school, I got a part-time job at the local pet grooming salon. I just wanted to make some money for myself. “Good, Cara,” Dad said. “This is a good thing for you.” Mom rolled her eyes. But when my first paycheck came in — Mom helped herself to more than half of it. “I need it, Cara,” she said. “I’m sorry but you don’t understand how to run a household.” This became a trend. And then, when I was almost done with school, my father got into an accident during a storm. “I’m sorry, honey,” Mom said, coming into my room with her socks and slippers. “Dad didn’t make it.” The shock hit me from all directions, but more than that — I was shocked that Mom looked more stressed about the funeral preparations rather than the loss of my father. Mom and I slipped through life in silence after that. I didn’t know how to navigate life with her. All I knew was that my father had put money away for me — my college fund. And I was so close to getting out. Just before my high school graduation, when I had begun applying to colleges, I found out that my mother had taken my entire college fund. You just don’t understand, Cara,” she said, sipping on a mug of tea. “There are some things that are bigger than you.” But that was it. That was the final drop of water in the sinking ship that was our relationship. By then I had some savings, and I moved out.

I rented out a room at a share-house, and took on longer hours at the salon. Years rolled by, and I continued to work and study part-time, and just when I thought that I had successfully buried that chapter of my life, a phone call uprooted everything. My mother had passed away. Despite the years of accumulated hurt and resentment, I found myself at her funeral. After the service, my mother’s sister, Veronica asked me to go to my childhood home and sort through mom’s belongings. “I wouldn’t know what to do, Cara,” Veronica said. “I wouldn’t know if anything is valuable or not.” Amidst the modest clothing and remnants of her life, my mother didn’t have much. But as I was going through everything, I stumbled upon something unexpected — her diary. I couldn’t even recall my mother having a diary. I didn’t remember her writing in one. My fingers trembled as I held it. I knew my mother resented me, but did I want to read about it? I decided that I needed to — for the sake of closure, if anything. I sat in the living room, and began to flip through the pages. Dear Diary, I hate having to live like this, scrimping and saving, denying my daughter the joys of childhood. But I’m trapped. Henry’s decisions leave me no choice… I paused, feeling a knot form in the pit of my stomach. All these years, I was convinced that my mother was the villain in my story. It had never occurred to me that there might be something deeper fueling her frugality. Dear Diary, Cara is such a happy child. She’s thriving in school, but I know it won’t last. Her joy won’t be the same anymore. Henry took out a business loan — he’s convinced that he can make a mark in the waste-paper industry. But I’m convinced that it is a mistake. I didn’t know that my father did anything other than his job as a manager.

Around the time OP shared his story online, his ex-wife faced another challenge when her most recent husband left her. Indifferent to the specifics of their breakup, OP found himself uninterested in the details. Despite the circumstances, he acknowledged that the departing husband didn’t strike him as a terrible person and left their house to his now-struggling ex-wife. However, OP remained oblivious to the financial intricacies. The situation took an unexpected turn when she called him last week, desperately seeking assistance with food. She explained that she had exhausted her budget for herself and the kids. Agreeing to consider the request, OP asked for a moment to think before calling her back. The fallout escalated with some siding against him, criticizing him for not providing the help she sought. After a chat with his live-in girlfriend,

OP, armed with a freezer full of elk, venison, wild hog, and a pantry stocked with beef, pork, and chicken, decided to lend a hand. Things took an unexpected twist when he called his ex-wife and offered her a sizable haul of groceries. Instead of accepting the offer, she threw a curveball, requesting cash to order food. Holding his ground, OP firmly declined the request, asserting that he had two weeks’ worth of food ready for her, but cash for takeout was off the table. Accused of expecting gratitude for what she deemed “scraps,” OP found himself labeled by his ex-wife. Unfazed, he clarified his intent, emphasizing the abundance of frozen meat, canned veggies, and fresh garden produce, and he planned to offer unopened pasta and rice bags. OP stood firm and motivated by a desire for his kids to eat well, especially given their inclination for hunting and his older son’s culinary skills.

Convinced he was fulfilling her request, he instructed his girlfriend to skip packing anything. To confirm, he texted the kids, assuring them he’d handle any hunger concerns. Their response revealed that while food was available, it required preparation. “Both of them also said that if I was willing to spare some of the elk and hog roasts they would take them. I laughed and said I would take them over later,” explained OP. Despite his genuine effort to assist, OP found himself at the center of controversy. His ex-wife, painting a different narrative, accused him of attempting to manipulate her into a “housewife” role while allegedly neglecting their kids’ food needs. The fallout escalated with some siding against him, criticizing him for not providing the help she sought. Amid the uproar, OP, standing firm in his conviction, questioned if there was a perspective he might be overlooking. OP’s story garnered substantial attention on the internet, with most commenters deeming him “NTA.” One user wrote, “Definitely NTA- there’s no reason to be giving her money. She asked for help with food you were readily willing to give her some of your food! But she doesn’t want/need help with food.” “She wants/needs money. With 50/50 custody you shouldn’t have to give her any money. If she absolutely needs it she will have to apply for government benefits. She’s being ridiculous,” concluded the user. “NTA. You used the same approach I use with panhandlers. I will buy food for them and give them the food, but I will not give them money. And it’s quite disappointing how few people will let me buy them a sandwich or a meal when they want money,” added another commenter. “NTA, I’m confused on why she thinks preparing food for her kids is being manipulated into being a housewife… it’s called being a normal parent. Clearly, she’s nobody’s housewife anyways,” another user expressed. In your opinion, was OP right in refusing to give money to his ex-wife? What would you do if you were in OP’s place?

A Farm Kid Joins the Marines Dear Ma and Pa, I am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before all of the places are filled. I was restless at first because you get to stay in bed till nearly 5 a.m. But I am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot, and shine some things. No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing.

Men got to shave but it is not so bad, there’s warm water. Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food, but tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by the two city boys that live on coffee. Their food, plus yours, holds you until noon when you get fed again. It’s no wonder these city boys can’t walk much.

We go on “route marches,” which the platoon sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it’s not my place to tell him different. A “route march” is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks.

The sergeant is like a school teacher. He nags a lot. The Captain is like the school board. Majors and colonels just ride around and frown. They don’t bother you none. This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don’t know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a chipmunk head and don’t move, and it ain’t shooting at you like the Higgett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don’t even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.

Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. You get to wrestle with them city boys. I have to be real careful though, they break real easy. It ain’t like fighting with that ole bull at home. I’m about the best they got in this except for that Tug Jordan from over in Silver Lake . I only beat him once. He joined up the same time as me, but I’m only 5’6″ and 130 pounds and he’s 6’8″ and near 300 pounds dry.
Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.
Your loving daughter.