Jokes Collection
Enjoy our collection of over 100,000 jokes. Find humor for every occasion and share laughs with friends and family.
Latest Jokes
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathroom. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience:
0.Occupied
1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
2.Poo on seat.
3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder in one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
-
Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with the suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Next door I could hear fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth.... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
-
Alas, it is evidently difficulty to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by a string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced to the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has manged to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
0.Occupied
1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
2.Poo on seat.
3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder in one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
-
Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with the suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Next door I could hear fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth.... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
-
Alas, it is evidently difficulty to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by a string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced to the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has manged to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
THE LIGHTBULB IS FINE. THERE IS NO PROBLEM WITH IT.
I MADE LIGHTBULBS WITH GOOD MANAGEMENT. LET'S MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.
I MADE LIGHTBULBS WITH GOOD MANAGEMENT. LET'S MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.
A Russian spy was told to try and infiltrate a top secret American research facility. The facility's name was Advanced Reconnaissance Manually Operated Robotics or A.R.M.O.R. HE was a deep cover agent so he was there for about 10-20 years stealing over a thousand diagrams and info for the Russians. The leader of the KGB (this was in the 60's) threw him a congratulatory dinner when he got back. The leader asked him "how the hell did you get all these secret's? "You were one of twenty agents working on this case and only you got anything. "Well" the spy replied "The first thing I did when I got there was find all the smartest Asian there and become friends with him. He's the one who gave me all my info" "That's amazing!" said the director "But why Asian? why not A white man or a black man?" the spy replied "The one thing that always works is finding a chink in the armor" BA DUM TISH
... On his first day of school his teacher asks, "What is your name?"
"My name is Mohammed" the boy replies.
"You live in Ireland now, Your new name is Mike" says the teacher.
The boy smiles and has a good time in his classes.
After school the boy returns home and is greeted by his mother.
"How was your first day at school, Mohammed?" his mother asks.
"I live in Ireland now, my new name is Mike!" The boy replies.
His mother becomes infuriated, "Have you forgotten where you came from? Your heritage? You have disgraced your ancestors!"
and his mother beat him and when his father comes home from work he does the same.
The next day the boy returns to school and his teacher sees his fresh bruises.
"Mike! What happened?" asked the teacher.
The boy replies with a grimace "Well, shortly after becoming an Irishman I was jumped by two fucking Arabs!"
"My name is Mohammed" the boy replies.
"You live in Ireland now, Your new name is Mike" says the teacher.
The boy smiles and has a good time in his classes.
After school the boy returns home and is greeted by his mother.
"How was your first day at school, Mohammed?" his mother asks.
"I live in Ireland now, my new name is Mike!" The boy replies.
His mother becomes infuriated, "Have you forgotten where you came from? Your heritage? You have disgraced your ancestors!"
and his mother beat him and when his father comes home from work he does the same.
The next day the boy returns to school and his teacher sees his fresh bruises.
"Mike! What happened?" asked the teacher.
The boy replies with a grimace "Well, shortly after becoming an Irishman I was jumped by two fucking Arabs!"
Three ducks walk into a bar. The first duck sits down and orders a beer. The bartender asks "Have a good day?" The duck says" "I was in and out of Puddles all day! It was a good day to be a duck!" The next duck walks in and orders 2 beers. The bartender asks "Did you have a good day also?" The duck says "I was in and out of Puddles all day! It was a great day to be a duck!" Finally, the third duck walks in and orders 2 shots of tequila and whiskey on the rocks. The bartender asks "You didn't have a good day like your friends?" The duck says "My name is Puddles how do you think my day went?!"
I sleep on my side, my roommate sleeps on his back, and my ex sleeps with everyone.
The American says "I'm a CIA agent"
The Russian says "I'm a KGB agent"
The Englishman says "I'm an MI6 agent"
The Pakistani says "I'm a newsagent"
The Russian says "I'm a KGB agent"
The Englishman says "I'm an MI6 agent"
The Pakistani says "I'm a newsagent"
.....but arrived to find a party in full swing.
On entering the house, he saw a circle of naked men with blindfolded women moving from man to man, fondling their genitals in an attempt to guess their identity.
The embarrassed priest turned to the host and said, "I'm sorry, I don't think I'd fit in here right now."
"Nonsense," said the host. "Your name's been called three times already!"
On entering the house, he saw a circle of naked men with blindfolded women moving from man to man, fondling their genitals in an attempt to guess their identity.
The embarrassed priest turned to the host and said, "I'm sorry, I don't think I'd fit in here right now."
"Nonsense," said the host. "Your name's been called three times already!"
How to Use Our Jokes
Share with Friends
Brighten someone's day by sharing our jokes with friends and family via social media or email.
Public Speaking
Break the ice at presentations or gatherings with a well-timed joke from our collection.
Content Creation
Find inspiration for your blogs, social media posts, or newsletters with our diverse joke library.