Friar's Club Encyclopedia of Jokes

by Barry Dougherty

  —LOUIS GRIZZARD

  Waiters and waitresses are becoming nicer and much more caring. I used to pay my check, they’d say, “Thank you.” That graduated into “Have a nice day.” That’s now escalated into “You take care of yourself, now.” The other day I paid my check and the waiter said, “Don’t put off that mammogram.”

  —RITA RUDNER

  The restaurant we ate at was so dirty, it looked like a Roman bath with all the water drained.

  —DAVID BRINKLEY

  I ordered a hot chocolate and the waiter brought me a Hershey bar and a match.

  Have you ever been in a restaurant and there’s a couple in the next booth being overly affectionate? They’re necking and groping and you’re trying to eat your eggs. I always want to go up to them and say, “Excuse me . . . would you mind if I join you?” How do these people think? Do they wake up in the morning: “Do you want to have sex, honey?” “No, let’s wait until we get to Denny’s!”

  —BOBBY KELTON

  We finally got a McDonald’s in Bangladesh. They serve McNothings.

  —GERRY BEDNOB

  I went to a restaurant with a sign that said they served breakfast at any time. So I ordered French toast during the Renaissance.

  —STEVEN WRIGHT

  Can’t we just get rid of wine lists? Do we really have to be reminded every time we go out to a nice restaurant that we have no idea what we are doing? Why don’t they just give us a trigonometry quiz with the menu?

  —JERRY SEINFELD

  I went into an authentic Mexican restaurant. The waiter poured the water and warned me not to drink it.

  —BRAD GARRETT

  I started a grease fire at McDonald’s. Threw a match in the cook’s hair.

  —STEVE MARTIN

  If you want to have fun some time, go into a restaurant’s kitchen and yell, “Immigration!”

  —MILTON BERLE

  After a delicious lunch in an Italian restaurant, the well-traveled businesswoman called the chef over to compliment him on the meal. “Frankly, your eggplant parmesan was better than the one I ate in Milan last Tuesday,” she told him.

  “It’s not surprising,” said the chef proudly. “They use domestic cheese. Here we use imported!”

  Actor Lou Jacobi happened into a rundown restaurant and spotted a fellow actor sweeping the floor. “I can’t understand it,” said Lou, “someone with your talents, working in a joint like this?”

  “At least I don’t eat here,” snapped the guy.

  —JOEY ADAMS

  Did you hear about the new restaurant that just opened up on the moon? Good food, but no atmosphere.

  I went into a Polish-Cajun restaurant. They served blackened toast.

  —RICH CEISLER

  Guy walks into a restaurant. Orders eggs.

  The waitress asks, “How would you like those eggs cooked?”

  The guy says, “Hey, that would be great.”

  A waiter brings the customer the steak he ordered with his thumb over the meat.

  “Are you crazy?” yelled the customer. “You have your hand on my steak!”

  “What?” answers the waiter. “You want it to fall on the floor again?”

  A guy goes into a luncheonette and orders a hamburger and a hot dog. A few minutes later, the waitress puts a plate in front of him with an open bun on it, pulls a hamburger out of her armpit, and tosses it on the bun.

  The guy says, “What the hell was that all about?”

  She says, “I was just keeping it warm for you.”

  He says, “Cancel my hot dog.”

  A man goes into a greasy spoon restaurant and orders a bowl of chicken soup. “What’s this?” he screams after he’s served. “There’s a pussy hair in my soup! I’m not payin’ for it!” And he storms out.

  The waitress gets very upset, follows him outside, and sees him go to the whorehouse across the street. He pays the madam and retires to a room with a lovely blond and goes down on her with gusto.

  The waitress bursts in and says, “You complain about a hair in your soup and then come over here and do this!” the waitress yells.

  He lifts his head, turns to her, and says, “Yeah! And if I find a noodle in here, I ain’t payin’ for it either!”

  S

  Sales and Selling

  Young man: I want to buy a diamond ring.

  Salesman: Yes, sir. How would you like to buy one of our combination sets? Three pieces—engagement, wedding, and teething.

  —JOEY ADAMS

  When the legendary salesman was asked his secrets of success, he gave a humble shrug. “I’m sure you all know the cardinal rules: know your product; make lots of calls; never take no for an answer. But frankly, I owe my success to consistently missing a three-foot putt by two inches.”

  “I do happen to need somebody,” admitted the owner of the variety store to the unimpressive-looking man who was interested in a job. “But tell me, can you sell?”

  “Of course,” was the confident reply.

  “I mean really sell,” reiterated the shopkeeper.

  “You bet,” said the young man.

  “I’ll show you what I mean,” said the owner, going over to a customer who had just walked in and asked for grass seed. “We’re having a very special sale on lawn mowers,” he told the customer. “Could I interest you in one?”

  “What do I need a lawn mower for?” protested the customer. “I don’t even have any grass yet.”

  “Maybe not,” said the owner agreeably, “but all that seed’s going to grow like crazy very quickly and then you’ll need a lawn mower in the worst way. And you won’t find them on sale in midsummer, that’s for sure.

  “I guess you’ve got a point,” admitted the fellow. “Okay, I’ll take a lawn mower, too.”

  “Think you can do that?” asked the storekeeper of his prospective employee after the customer had left. The man nodded. “Okay, good. Now I have to run to the bank. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes, but while I’m gone I want you to sell, sell, sell.”

  The new guy’s first customer was a woman who came over and asked where the tampons were.

  “Third aisle over, middle of the second shelf.”

  “When she came to the counter to pay, he leaned over and said, “Hey, you wanna buy a lawn mower? They’re on sale.”

  “Why on earth would I want a lawn mower?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

  “Well, you aren’t going to be fucking for a few days,” he blurted, “so you might as well mow the lawn.”

  A woman walked into an expensive dress store and announced to the owner, “I’m the greatest salesperson ever. And I want a job.”

  “That’s quite a claim,” the owner responded, “but unfortunately I don’t have any openings.”

  Undaunted, the woman asked, “How many dresses does your best employee sell in a day?”

  “Five or six,” the owner answered.

  Without blinking an eye, the woman claimed, “I’ll sell twelve without pay or commission, just to show you how good I am.”

  The owner, knowing she couldn’t lose, agreed. And, indeed, just an hour before closing, the new salesperson had sold eighteen dresses. “Do I get the job now?” she asked.

  “I’ve got one more test for you,” the owner declared. She went back into the storeroom and returned with the most hideous dress imaginable. “Sell this dress by the time the store closes tonight and you’ve got a job.”

  Forty-five minutes later, the woman marched into her office and threw down the sales receipt. “I’m impressed,” the owner admitted in amazement. “You’ve got the job. How on earth did you convince somebody to buy that dress?”

  “Getting the woman to buy it wasn’t a problem. The hard part was strangling her Seeing Eye dog.”

  Customer: I’d like some rat poison.

  Clerk: Will you take it with you?

  Customer: No, I’ll send the rats over to get it.

  —JOEY BISHOP

  The manager
of a ladies’ dress shop realized it was time to give one of her salesclerks a little talking-to. “Tina, your figures are well below any of our other salespeople’s. In fact, unless you can improve your record by the end of the month, I’m going to have to let you go.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Garcia,” said a chastened Tina. “Can you give me any advice on how to do better?”

  “Well, there is an old trick I can tell you about. It sounds silly, but it’s worked for me in the past. Get hold of a dictionary and go through it page by page until you come to a word that has particular power for you. Memorize it, work it into your sales pitch whenever it seems appropriate, and you’ll be amazed at the results.”

  Sure enough, Tina’s figures went way up, and at the end of the month Mrs. Garcia called her in again and congratulated her. “Did you try my little trick?” she asked.

  Tina nodded. “It took me the whole weekend to find the right word, but I did: ‘fantastic’”

  “‘Fantastic.’ What a good word,” said Mrs. Garcia encouragingly. “How’ve you been using it?”

  “Well, my first customer on Monday was a woman who told me her little girl had just been accepted into the most exclusive prep school in the city. I said, ‘Fantastic.’ She went on to tell me how her daughter always got straight As, was captain of the swim team, and was the most popular girl in her class, but was always home in bed by eleven o’clock. I said, ‘Fantastic.’ And she bought three dresses, two blouses, a skirt, and a sweater set. My next customer told me she needed a formal dress for the spring ball at the Ardsley Country Club, which she was in charge of. I said, ‘Fantastic.’ She went on to say that ten other women had wanted to head the dance committee, but she had won because her tennis game was the best, she had the best figure, and her husband made the most money. I said, ‘Fantastic.’ And she not only bought a designer gown but also three pairs of shorts, two hats, and a raincoat. And it’s been like that all the week: the customers keep boasting, I keep saying ‘fantastic,’ and they keep buying.”

  “Excellent work, Tina,” complimented her boss. “Just as a point of interest, what did you used to say to customers before you discovered your power word?”

  Tina shrugged. “I used to say, ‘Who gives a shit?’”

  Marveling at a certain employee’s ability to sell toothbrushes, the head of the sales department decided to follow him around one day. He soon observed this particular salesman choose a busy street corner on which to set up an array of toothbrushes and a small bowl of brownish stuff surrounded by chips. The salesman would then select a likely customer and announce, “Good morning! “We’re introducing Nifty Chip Dip—would you like a free sample?”

  Tasting the dip, the bystander would invariably spit it out in disgust and howl, “It tastes like mud!”

  “It is,” the salesman would inform them calmly. “Care to buy a toothbrush?”

  George was killed in a hit-and-run accident just outside his jewelry store, and he arrived at the pearly gates at the same time as a flashy dude in a cheap suit.

  “Welcome to heaven,” said St. Peter warmly. “I’m in such a good mood today that I’m going to offer both of you whatever your heart desires. What would you like, sir?” he asked, turning to the man in the cheap suit.

  The fellow considered for a moment, then said, “I’d like a million bucks.”

  In an instant his arms were filled with cash, and he walked through the gates with a smile a mile wide.

  “And you, sir?” asked St. Peter, turning to George.

  “I’d like twenty bucks’ worth of fake gold jewelry,” he responded instantly, “and ten minutes alone with the guy in the cheap suit.”

  Hersch was a salesman. One day, as he was driving across the Negev desert, he spotted what looked like a body by the side of the road. Hersch slammed on the brakes, ran over, and discovered an Arab on the brink of death. Hersch took the poor man into his arms and bent close so he could make out his parched whisper.

  “Water, effendi . . . water.”

  “Are you in luck!” cried Hersch exultantly. “Why, in my carrying case, which I happen to have right here beside me, I have the finest collection of one hundred percent silk neckties to be found this side of the King David Hotel. Normally thirty-five dollars, but for you, twenty-two dollars and fifty cents.”

  “Water, effendi, water,” gasped the Arab, plucking feebly at Hersch’s sleeve.

  “I tell you what. Since you seem like such a nice guy, I’ll make it two for thirty-five dollars—that’s for a polysilk blend, though, I gotta tell you.”

  “Water, effendi, water.”

  “You drive a hard bargain.” Hersch shook his head regretfully. “Okay, any tie you want for sixteen dollars and fifty cents—but I can’t go any lower.”

  “Water, effendi, water.” The dying Arab’s words were barely audible.

  “Oh, it’s water you want. Why didn’t you say so?” Hersch’s voice was filled with reproach. “Well, you’re in luck again. Just over that sand dune’s a lovely resort, I used to vacation there myself. They’ll have all the water you can drink.” And Hersch got back in his car and drove away.

  The Arab managed to stagger to the top of the sand dune, and, sure enough, a neon-lit sign announcing Le Club Gaza was visible from the top. The Arab summoned the last of his strength, crawled across the burning sand to the entrance, and collapsed. “Water, effendi, water,” he croaked.

  “Ah, you want water,” said the doorman sympathetically. “We have all kinds: mineral water, well water, club soda, Perrier, seltzer. Only thing is, you have to have a tie to get in.”

  The door-to-door vacuum salesman goes to the first house in his new territory. He knocks, a lady opens the door, and before she has a chance to say anything, he runs inside and dumps horseshit all over the carpet. He says, “Lady, if this vacuum cleaner don’t do wonders cleaning up that horseshit, I’ll eat every chunk of it.”

  She says, “You want tomato sauce on that? We just moved in and we haven’t got the electricity turned on yet.”

  School

  The third-grade teacher was shocked to find a number of foul words scrawled on the blackboard when she walked into the classroom. “Children,” she said sternly, “you are much too young to use such vile language. Now we’re all going to close our eyes and count to fifty, and while we’re counting, I want the little boy or girl who wrote those words to tiptoe up and erase them.”

  At the signal, the teacher and her students closed their eyes and the teacher counted out loud, very slowly. When she reached fifty, she said, “All right, class, everybody open their eyes.”

  All eyes went to the blackboard.

  None of the words had been erased, and below them was the message: “The Phantom strikes again.”

  Kids today think the Trojan War was fought over contraceptives.

  —NORM CROSBY

  I’m enjoying summer school. I believe it’s been good for me. It saves a lot on sunscreen.

  —CHARLES M. SCHULZ

  I had the worst study habits, the lowest grades . . . then I found out what I was doing wrong. I was highlighting with a black Magic Marker.

  —JEFF ALTMAN

  I knew comedy was for me when I was the only Asian in high school who failed math. But you know, when I failed, eight other students around me failed, too.

  —DAT PHAN

  In my day, girls used to get pinned in high school. That was the big thing. Now they’re getting nailed.

  —BILL MAHER

  My school was so tough, the school newspaper had an obituary column.

  —NORM CROSBY

  I went to correspondence school. They threw me out from there. I played hooky … I sent them an empty envelope.

  —BARON MUNCHAUSEN (JACK PEARL)

  My school was so tough, when the kids had their school pictures taken, there was one taken from the front and one from the side.

  —NORM CROSBY

  A grade-school teacher gives the assignment to her c
lass that each student should think of a story and then a moral for that story to share with the class the next day. The following day the teacher asks for the first volunteer to tell their story, and little Amy raises her hand.

  “My dad owns a farm and every Sunday we load the chicken eggs on the truck and drive into town to sell them at the market. Well, one Sunday we hit a big bump and all the eggs flew out of the basket and onto the road.” The teacher asks for the moral of the story and Amy replies, “Don’t keep all your eggs in one basket.”

  Next, little Sandy offers to tell her story, and she says, “Well, my dad owns a farm, too, and every weekend we take the chicken eggs and put them in the incubator. Last weekend only eight of the twelve eggs hatched.” The teacher asks for the moral of the story and Sandy replies, “Don’t count your eggs before they’re hatched.”

  Finally it’s little Andy’s turn and he says, “My uncle John fought in the war, and his plane was shot down over enemy territory. He jumped out before it crashed with only a machine gun, a machete, and case of beer. On the way down he drank the case of beer.

  “Unfortunately, he landed right in the middle of one hundred enemy soldiers. He shot seventy with his machine gun, but ran out of bullets, so he pulled out his machete and killed twenty more. The blade on his machete broke, so he killed the last ten with his bare hands.”

  The teacher looks in shock at Andy and asks if there is possibly any moral to his story and Andy replies, “Don’t mess with uncle John after he’s been drinking.”

  I was terrible at history. I could never see the point of learning what people thought back when people were a lot stupider. For instance, the ancient Phoenicians believed that the sun was carried across the sky on the back of an enormous snake. So what? So they were idiots.

  —DAVE BARRY

  One day the teacher tells the class they’re going to play a thinking game, and asks for a volunteer. “Pick me, pick me,” begs Bobby.