Badjim.com

June 29, 2006

Female arrest

Filed under: Bad Jim's Pub, Jim's Bad Law — Bad Jim @ 7:05 am

Compliments of Coonass Kim in New Iberia, Louisiana:

A female officer arrested a man for drunk driving. The female officer
tells the man, “Sir, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you
say can and will be held against you.”

The drunk replies, “T!ts”

June 28, 2006

It’s a girl thing . . .

Filed under: Other Bad Jokes or Useless Crap — Bad Jim @ 9:24 am

One for the ladies
From Mom:
My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms when I was a little girl, she’d take me into the stall, show me how to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat. Then she’d carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she’d instruct, “Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat. Then she’d demonstrate “The Stance,” which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.

That was a long time ago. Now, in my “mature” years, “The Stance” is excruciatingly difficult to maintain.

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it’s your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won’t latch. It doesn’t matter.

The dispenser for the modern “seat covers” (invented by someone’s Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn’t - so you carefully but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume “The Stance.”

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You’d love to sit down, but you certainly hadn’t taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold “The Stance.”

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser In your mind, you can hear your mother’s voice saying, “Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!” Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that’s still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn’t work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. “Occupied!” you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course.

You bolt up, knowing all too well that it’s too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you’re certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, “You just don’t KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.”

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a firehose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you give up.

You’re soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You’re exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can’t figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk
past the line of women, still waiting. You are no longer able to smile politely them.

A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. ( Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman’s hand and tell her warmly, “Here, you just might need this.”

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men’s restroom. Annoyed, he asks, “What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?”

. . .This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restroom (rest??? you’ve got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It’s so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door.

June 27, 2006

The Photographer

Filed under: Groaners — Bad Jim @ 3:54 pm

Today, June 27, is the birthday of the “Happy Birthday to you song! You’re welcome.

For you old timers out there: Remember the pre-Internet days when jokes would be copied on the Xerox machine and passed endlessly around the office or jobsite? One would get 23rd generation copies in the Intraoffice mail that were barely legible because of all the black spots?
Well - this joke is one that many of you may have seen in those days; regardless it’s a good laugh. It’s from Gordon the melon-headed Scotsman in the Tengiz field, in western Kazakhstan:

The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the proxy father was to arrive, Mr.Smith kissed his wife goodbye and said, “Well, I’m off now. The man should be here soon.”

Half an hour later, just by chance, a door-to-door baby photographer happened to ring the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.

“Good morning, Ma’am”, he said, “My name is Mr Lott and I’ve come to…”

“Oh, no need to explain,” Mrs Smith cut in, embarrassed, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Have you really?” said the photographer. Well, that’s good. Did you know that babies are my specialty?”

“Well that’s what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat”.

After a moment she asked, blushing, “Well, where do we start?”

“Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. And sometimes the living room floor is fun. You can really spread out there.”

“Bathtub, living room floor? No wonder it didn’t work out for Harry and me!”

“Well, Ma’am, none of us can guarantee a good one every time. But if we try several different positions and I shoot from six or seven angles, I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the results.”

“My, that’s a lot!” gasped Mrs Smith.

“Ma’am, in my line of work a man has to take his time. I’d love to be in and out in five minutes, but I’m sure you’d be disappointed with that.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Mrs Smith quietly.

The photographer opened his briefcase and pulled out a portfolio of >his baby pictures. “This was done on the top of a bus,” he said.

“Oh my God!” Mrs Smith exclaimed, grasping at her throat.

“And these twins turned out exceptionally well - when you consider their mother was so difficult to work with.”

“She was difficult?” asked Mrs Smith.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I finally had to take her to the park to get the job done right. People were crowding around four and five deep to get a good look.”

“Four and five deep?” said Mrs Smith, her eyes wide with amazement.

“Yes”, the photographer replied. “And for more than three hours, too. The mother was constantly squealing and yelling - I could hardly concentrate, and when darkness approached I had to rush my shots. Finally, when the squirrels began nibbling on my equipment, I just had to pack it all in.”

Mrs Smith leaned forward. “Do you mean they actually chewed on your, um..equipment?”

“It’s true, Ma’am, yes. Well, if you’re ready, I’ll set-up my tripod and we can get to work right away.”

“Tripod?”

“Oh yes, Ma’am. I need to use a tripod to rest my Canon on. It’s much too big to be held in the hand very long.”

Mrs. Smith fainted.

Forgiveness

Filed under: Bad Religon, Geriatrics — Bad Jim @ 7:19 am

From Jim P. in Houston:
Toward the end of his service, the minister asked, “How many of you have forgiven your enemies?”

Eighty percent of the congregation held up their hands. The minister then repeated the question. This ti me everyone responded, except one small elderly lady.

“Mrs. Jones, are you not willing to forgive your enemies?” the minister asked.

“I don’t have any,” she replied, smiling sweetly.

“That’s very unusual. How old are you?”

“Ninety-eight.”

“Oh,” the minister said, impressed. “Well, would you please come down front and tell us all how a person can live to be 98 and not have an enemy in the world?”

The little sweetheart of a lady tottered down the aisle, faced the congregation, and said, “I outlived the b!tches.”

June 23, 2006

Goodbye Mom

Filed under: Clean, Geriatrics — Bad Jim @ 8:21 am

From Jim P. in Houston:
A guy shopping in a supermarket noticed a little old lady following
him around. If he stopped, she stopped. Furthermore she kept staring at him. She finally overtook him at the checkout, and she turned to him and said, “I hope I haven’t made you feel ill at ease; it’s just that you look so much like my late son.”

He answered, “That’s okay.”

“I know it’s silly, but if you’d call out “Good bye, Mom” as I leave
the store, it would make me feel so happy.”

She then went through the checkout … and as she was on her way out
of the store, the man called out, “Goodbye, Mother.” The little old lady waved and smiled back at him.

Pleased that he had brought a little sunshine into someone’s day, he went to pay for his groceries.

“That comes to $121.85,” said the clerk.

“How come so much?! I only bought 5 items.”

The clerk replied, “Yeah, but your Mother said you’d pay for her things, too.”

~*DO NOT TRUST LITTLE OLD LADIES*~

June 22, 2006

A Texan in hell

Filed under: Clean, Ethnic/Regional Jokes — Bad Jim @ 7:58 am

Happy Stupid Guy Thing Day — June 22nd. Hmmmmmm, what kind of stupid guy thing can Bad Jim do today to celebrate? Any suggestions?

A variation on an old joke from Quayside Bob in Vietnam:
Day 1 - Per his daily ritual, Satan walks through his domain to see that everyone is sufficiently miserable. As usual, he pauses to take special pleasure in the pain and agony displayed by the new arrivals. However, on this particular day he spots a lanky Texan smiling and looking as though he’s at a picnic. “Hey you”, Satan yells, “The temperature in here is a constant 95 degrees and the humidity is 90%! You’re supposed to be miserable,” quips the Texan, “Maybe so, but it feels just like Houston in June to me. I had a ball on those hot summer nights at Gilley’s”. Miffed, Satan decides to adjust the temperature up to 100 degrees and the humidity to 95%.

Day 2 - On his daily stroll, Satan notices everyone appears exceptionally miserable today. He remembers the smiling Texan and decides to see how he’s faring today. To his surprise, the Texan has unbuttoned a couple of buttons on his shirt, but he still looks happy and carefree. Satan cries out, “Hey Tex, what are you smiling about now?” The Texan replies, “Well today reminds me of those Willie Nelson 4th of July picnics. Boy those were some great parties.” This really irritated Satan, who promptly turns the temperature down to 110° and the humidity up to 100%.

Day 3 - Satan dispenses with his daily stroll and goes straight to the region of hell where he would locate the Texan. Sure enough, he finds the Texan, shirt-off, with a huge grin on his face. “Okay, so what is it this time?” Satan asks. “Well, it’s just like Dallas in August. Man we had some fine times watching the Cowboys on Sunday afternoons.” Irate, Satan determines to put an end to this charade. He sets the temperature down to zero degrees with a 25 mile per hour wind.

Later that day, Satan decides to check back on that fool hardy Texan. He finds him huddled and shivering…lips blue, arms folded, snow in his hair and icicles hanging from his mustache. But bigger than Dallas, there he was laughing out loud and cheering. “I GIVE UP!” declared Satan. “What in blue blazes could you find to be happy about now?” The Texan replied, “Well, this can only mean one thing… The Aggies have finally won a National Championship!”

June 21, 2006

The further adventures of Bubba and Bud

Filed under: Ethnic/Regional Jokes, Jim's Bad Law — Bad Jim @ 10:58 am

Happy Summer Solstice. Today is the longest day of the year so stay up late.
From Coonass Kim in Louisiana:
Down south, Bubba called his attorney and asked, “Is it true theys suin them cigarette companies fer causin people to git cancer?”

“Yes, Bubba, sure is true,” responded the lawyer.

“And now someone is suin them fast food restaurants fer makin them fat an cloggin their arteries with all them burgers an fries, is that true, Mista Lawyer?”

“Sure is, Bubba.”

“And that lady sued McDonalds for millions when she was gave that hot coffee that she ordered?”

“Yep.”

“And that football player sued that university when he gradiated and still couldnt read?”

“That’s right,” said the lawyer. “But why are you asking?”

“Well, I was thinkin . . . What I want to know is, kin I sue Budweiser fer all them ugly women I slept with?”

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