The Mammoth Book of Tasteless Jokes

by E. Henry Thripshaw

  Things were definitely picking up! He said, “Thanks, Sally, that’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all day. Let’s go!” So they went to lunch at a quiet little restaurant with a private table where they shared a bottle of wine and a lovely meal. On the way back to the offce, Sally leaned over and whispered, “You know, It’s such a beautiful day, we don’t need to go straight back to work, do we, boss?”

  He responded, “I guess not. What do you have in mind?”

  She said, “Let’s drop by my apartment, it’s just around the corner.”

  After arriving at her apartment, Sally turned to him and said,

  “Boss, if you don’t mind, I’m going to step into the bedroom for just a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay,” he nervously replied. She went into the bedroom and, after a couple of minutes, she came out carrying a huge birthday cake – followed by his wife, two kids, and ffteen of his friends and co-workers, all singing “Happy birthday”.

  He just sat there, on the sofa, sobbing, naked and erect . . .

  A man comes home early from work one evening to fnd his best friend in bed with his wife. Overcome by fury, he stabs him to death. His wife looks at him and shakes her head. “Keep that up, and pretty soon you’ll have no mates left!”

  An angry wife met her husband at the door. There was alcohol on his breath and lipstick on his collar. “I assume,” she snarled, “that there is a very good reason for you to come waltzing in here at six o’clock in the morning?” “Yes there is,” he replied. “Breakfast.”

  THE INTERNET

  I joined an online dating agency but my profle keeps getting rejected.

  Apparently, “My dick” is not an acceptable answer to the question “What do you want most in a woman?”

  A man joins an online dating agency and winds up going out on several dates that are very disappointing. So he emails the agency to complain. “Have you got someone on your books who doesn’t care what I look like or what job I have and has a nice big pair of tits?”

  The reply comes back, “Yes, we do have one. It’s you.”

  I met this thirteen-year-old girl in an internet chat room. She was clever, funny, flirty and sexy, so I suggested we meet up. Turns out she is an undercover detective. How cool is that for a thirteen-year-old!

  I met an incredible girl on the internet: smart, sexy and uninhibited. Of course, it turned out to be a ffty-fve-year-old bloke. Frankly, the sex was disappointing.

  I was surfng the net when I came across an old fame on Friends Reunited. It had been years since we’d spoken and it really was great to catch up. We were getting on well and she suggested that we should meet up for old times’ sake. I was up for it and we arranged to meet up the following week. I can’t tell you how nervous and excited I was as my ‘date’ drew nearer. Now, to be honest, I’d let myself go a bit over the years and so thought I’d come clean. I phoned her and said “It’s only fair to warn you that I’m probably not quite how you remember me. I’ve lost most of my hair and have been indulging a little too much in the good life.”

  To which she started to laugh and then said to me, “Oh, don’t worry! I’ve put on a few pounds myself!” Naturally I told her to fuck off.

  I got an email today from a “bored housewife, thirty-ish, looking for some action!” So I sent her my washing. That will keep the bitch busy.

  Ten signs That Your Partner is having an Online Affair

  1 She sits at the computer naked.

  2 After signing off, he always has a cigarette.

  3 The giant rubber inflatable disk drive.

  4 In the morning the computer screen is fogged up.

  5 He’s become amazingly good at typing with one hand.

  6 Every day, Bill Gates sends $10 million worth of flowers.

  7 The jam in the laser printer is a pair of knickers.

  8 During sex, she screams: “A COLON BACKSLASH ENTER INSERT!!!!”

  9 The fax file is filled with pictures of some guy’s arse.

  10 Lipstick on the mouse.

  IRISHMEN

  An Irishman tried to mug an old-aged pensioner. He said, “Give me all your money now, bitch, or you’re geography.” “Don’t you mean history?” she replied. He said, “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  Where does an Irish family go on holiday? A different bar.

  Two Irish couples decide to spice up their sex lives by swapping partners.

  Paddy says later: “That was fucking great. I wonder how the girls got on.”

  An Irishman pulls alongside a lorry and shouts “Oi, driver! You’re losing your load!”

  The lorry driver ignores him. Five miles further along, Paddy again shouts “Oi, you’re losing your load!’ Yet again, the lorry diver ignores him.

  Five miles further along, Paddy yells “I’m not joking! Honestly, you are losing your load!”

  Finally, the lorry driver pulls up, climbs out of his cab and walks over to Paddy’s window and says: “Fuck off. I’m gritting!”

  Two Irishmen were walking along a river bank when they saw a crocodile with a man’s head sticking out of its mouth. One said to the other: “Will you look at that fash fucker with the crocodile skin sleeping bag.”

  A very attractive young female speech therapist was working with a group of stammerers, with absolutely no success, despite having tried every technique in the book. Finally, out of desperation, she has an idea. “If any of you can tell me the name of the town where you were born, without stuttering, I’ll have wild and passionate sex with you. So, who would like to go frst?”

  A number of hands shoot up. She invites an Englishman to start the ball rolling. “B—b—b—b—b—b—b—irmingham,” he volunteers.

  “Sorry, Michael,” says the speech therapist, “No sex for you, I’m afraid. Who’s next?”

  A Scotsman raises his hand and blurts out, “P—p—p— p—p—p—p—aisley.”

  “That’s not much better, Angus. How about you, Seamus?” The Irishman takes a deep breath and eventually blurts out, “London.”

  “Brilliant, Paddy!” says the speech therapist, and they retire to an adjacent room to keep her promise. After half an hour of hot, steamy sex, the Irishman comes up for air and says, “. . . d—d—d—d—d—d—d—d—erry.”

  An Irish family is sitting in the living rom. The wife turns to the husband and says, “I know, let’s send the kids out to P-L-A-Y so we can fuck.”

  How do you get a one-armed Irishman out of a tree? Wave at him.

  Did you hear about the Irish family who froze to death outside a theatre in Dublin? They had been queuing for three weeks to see “Closed For The Winter”.

  Ten Reasons Why it is Really Great to Be Irish

  1 Guinness.

  2 You have fifteen children because you are not allowed to use contraceptives.

  3 You can get into a fight just by marching down someone’s street

  4 Pubs never close.

  5 You can cite Papal edicts on contraception to persuade your girlfriend that you can’t have sex with a condom on.

  6 No one can ever remember the night before.

  7 You get to shoot people in the knees who you don’t agree with.

  8 Stew.

  9 More Guinness.

  10 Eating stew and drinking Guinness in an Irish pub after a bout of sectarian violence.

  A local radio station in Belfast held a competition. Listeners were invited to suggest words that weren’t in the dictionary, but could still be used in a sentence that would make sense. The winning prize was an all-inclusive two-week holiday in Spain.

  DJ: Radio Belfast here, what’s your name?

  Caller: Hi, my name’s Colin.

  DJ: Hi, Colin, what’s your word?

  Caller: Goan . . . spelled G-O-A-N, pronounced “go-an”.

  DJ: You’re correct, Dave. “Goan” is not in the dictionary.

  Now, for that trip to Spain: what sentence can you use that word in where it would make sense?
<
br />   Caller: Goan fuck yourself!

  The DJ immediately cut the man off and took other calls from listeners, none of which were successful.

  DJ: Radio Belfast here, what’s your name?

  Caller: Hi there, me name’s Dave.

  DJ: Hi, Dave, so what’s your word?

  Caller: Smee . . . spelled S-M-E-E, pronounced “smee”.

  DJ: That works, Dave, “Smee” is not in the dictionary. Now, for that trip to Spain: what sentence can you use that word in where it would make sense?

  Caller: Smee again . . . goan fuck yourself.

  Seamus and Paddy are walking home after a night on the ale. They have no money left to get a taxi and have missed their last bus home. They fnd themselves staggering past the bus depot. Paddy has a brainwave. “Seamus, get in there and steal a bus. I’ll stay out here and keep lookout.”

  So Seamus climbs over the wall into the bus depot. Twenty minutes later, Paddy is standing there like a prick, wondering what the hell his mate is doing. Eventually Paddy climbs over the wall as well and sees Seamus running from bus to bus looking at the numbers on the front.

  “What the feck are you doing?” says Paddy.

  Seamus replies, “I can’t fnd a number 32 anywhere, Paddy.”

  “You feckin’ idiot,” says Seamus. “We’ll just steal a number 30 to the roundabout and walk the rest of the way.”

  Ireland’s worst ever air disaster occurred early this morning when a small two-seater Cessna plane crashed into a cemetery. So far the body count is 1,267 and rising.

  Two men are sitting next to each other at a bar. After a while one looks at the other and says, “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing just now and I’m guessing from your accent that you’re from Ireland.”

  The other guy responds proudly, “Yes, that I am at that.”

  The frst man says, “So am I. And where about from Ireland might you be?”

  The other man answers, “I’m from Dublin, I am.”

  The frst guy responds, “Sure, and so am I. And what street did you live on in Dublin?”

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

  The frst man says, “Bejesus, it’s a small world, so did I. And to what school would you have been going?”

  The other man answers, “Well now, I went to St Mary’s, of course.”

  The frst man gets really excited and says, “And so did I. Tell me, what year did you leave school?”

  The other man answers, “Well, let’s see, I left school in 1964.”

  The frst guy shouts: “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!”

  At this the barmaid walks over to the bartender, shaking her head and muttering. “It’s going to be a long night tonight,” she says.

  He replies, “Why do you say that?”

  “The Murphy twins are pissed again.”

  What do you call three Irishmen in a ditch? A sleep over.

  Ireland declares war on France. The French President, little Nicolas Sarkozy, is sitting in his offce, sipping a Martini and tickling wife Carla’s bum, when his telephone rings.

  “Hello there, Mr Sarkozy,” says a voice at the other end. “This is myself Paddy, down in County Clare, Ireland. I am ringing to inform you that we are offcially declaring war on you!”

  “Well, Paddy,” little Sarkozy smirks, “this is indeed terrible news! How big is your army?”

  “Right now,” says Paddy “there is myself, my cousin Seamus, the next door neighbour Mick and the whole of the pub darts team. Hang on now . . . that makes eight of us!”

  Sarkozy replies, “I have to inform you, Monsieur Paddy, that I have at my disposal a standing army of around 100,000 men.”

  “Bejesus!” says Paddy. “I’ll call you back.”

  The following day le petit Sarkozy takes another call from Paddy. “Mr President sir, I’m calling you to tell you the war is still on. We have found some military equipment!”

  “And what equipment would that be, Monsieur Paddy?” Sarkozy enquires.

  “We have two combine harvesters, a bulldozer and a fat-bed truck.”

  Sarkozy replies: “I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 5,000 tanks and 3,000 armoured troop carriers. Also, I have increased my army to 150,000 since we last spoke.”

  “Fecking hell,” says Paddy. “I’ll have to get back to you.”

  Sure enough, Paddy rings again the next day. “Mr President, the war is still on! We have managed to get ourselves an air force. We have modifed Shamus’s ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit. What’s more, four lads from the pub down the road have agreed to join in.

  Sarkozy stifes a laugh and replies, “I must tell you, Monsieur Paddy, that I have 100 bombers and 200 fghter planes. My military bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. By the way, since we last spoke, I have increased my army to 200,000!”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” says Paddy, “I will have to ring you back.”

  Sure enough, Paddy calls again the next day. “Hello Mr President. I am sorry to inform you that we have had to call off the war.”

  “Really? I am sorry to hear that, Monsieur Paddy,” says Sarkozy. “Why the change of heart?”

  “Well,” says Paddy, “we had a chat over a few pints of Guinness and decided there is no way we can feed 200,000 prisoners.”

  An Irishman walks up to the counter and says, “Can I have some Irish sausages please?” The assistant looks him up and down and says: “Are you Irish?”

  The Irishman was indignant. “If I had asked you for Italian sausages, would you ask me if I was Italian?” he demanded.

  “Well, no . . .”

  “If I asked for German Bratwurst, would you ask me if I was German?”

  “No.”

  Or if I asked you for a Kosher hot dog, would you ask me if I was Jewish? Or if I asked you for a taco, would you ask me if I was Mexican?”

  “No.”

  “And if I asked you for frogs’ legs, would you ask me if I was French? What about Danish bacon, would you ask me if I was Danish?”

  “Well, no, I probably wouldn’t,” conceded the assistant.

  The Irishman went on: “So why did you ask me if I’m Irish just because I asked for Irish sausages?”

  “Because this is a library, sir.”

  How did the Irish acid-bath murderer lose his hand?

  Pulling out the plug.

  Mick and Paddy went down to the local river every Sunday morning to hire a boat and do a spot of fishing. One day they hit form and find themselves reeling in fish after fish. Mick turns to Paddy and says, “This is the perfect spot for fish. Quick, Paddy, put a mark on the side of the boat so we know where to come next week.”

  “Don’t be such a fecking idiot,” replies Paddy. “We might not get the same boat next time.”

  ITALIANS

  Did you hear about the half-Irish, half-Sicilian schizophrenic?

  He made himself an offer he couldn’t understand.

  Why do Italians whistle in the toilet?

  So that they know which end to wipe.

  What would you call it when an Italian has one arm shorter than the other?

  A speech impediment.

  What do you call an Italian man eating pussy?

  Cunnilinguini.

  An old Italian guy went to his parish priest and asked if the priest would hear his confession.

  “Of course, my son,” said the priest.

  “Well, father, during the Second World War, a beautiful woman knocked at my door one day and asked me to hide her from the Germans, so I hid her in my attic, and they never found her.”

  “You did a very wonderful thing, my son. This is nothing that you need to confess,” said the priest.

  “Hang on, father. It’s worse. I was weak and told
her that she had to pay for rent of the attic with her sexual favours,” continued the old man.

  “Well, it was a very diffcult time and you took a big risk, my son,” said the priest. “If the Germans had found you out, they would have tortured you and you would have suffered terribly. I know that God, in his wisdom and mercy, will balance the good and the evil, and judge you favourably.”

  “Thank you, father,” said the old man. “That is a great load off my mind. Can I ask another question?”

  “Of course, my son,” said the priest.

  The old man asked, “Do I have to tell her that the war is over?”

  Why is Italy shaped like a boot?

  Because you couldn’t get that much shit into a shoe.

  A black guy and a gorilla walk into a bar in Rome. The guy says to the barman, “I’d like a beer and a gin and tonic for my girlfriend here.”

  The barman says, “Sorry, pal, we don’t serve gorillas in here.”

  So the guy takes the gorilla home, shaves off all her hair, gives her a nice wig, lipstick, red dress, etc. He takes her back to the bar and says, “I’d like a beer and a gin and tonic for my girlfriend here.” The bartender gives them the drinks and they go off and sit down at a table.

  The barman turns to a customer at the bar and says, “You know what drives me mad? Every time a good-looking Italian chick comes in here, she’s with some black guy.”