Jump to content
RMweb
 

The Forum Jokes Thread

Colin_McLeod

By Colin_McLeod
in Wheeltappers

 Share
AY Mod
Message added by AY Mod,

Sexist, racist or religious jokes aren't funny - keep them to yourself!

Recommended Posts

  • RMweb Gold
Ramblin Rich

Ramblin Rich

Posted
  • RMweb Gold
Posted
On 18/02/2023 at 15:12, CameronL said:

One day, while Norman was having a pleasant running session on his little GWR BLT, the ‘phone rang. It was a solicitor, asking if Norman could attend the reading of his uncle Harry’s will, as Norman was a beneficiary.

 

Norman only vaguely remembered Uncle Harry: a large, jovial man who used to appear at the family home with strange tales of the countries he’d visited during his many travels, before disappearing abroad again. They had lost touch many years before. Norman hadn’t even known he’d died.

 

At his offices. the solicitor updated Norman: Uncle Harry had photographed and documented all his travels and made quite a good fortune writing highly entertaining books about them.

 

“And he’s left me something in his will?” Norman asked.

 

“Not so much something,” the solicitor replied. “Everything. There’s a six-bedroom house with outbuildings in three acres, two cars, a substantial portfolio of investments that bring in a very good return, the estate gets the rights from the book sales… Oh, and there’s the Rairie.”

 

“The … Rairie?”

 

“Yes, the Rairie. It’s a rare bird from the Himalayas. Harry brought it home from one of his trips. Come on, I’ve got to show you the house and grounds.”

 

Norman was delighted to see his inheritance. A very modern house in well-tended grounds, with some outbuildings that immediately started him thinking about a bigger railway. When the solicitor showed him round the house he kept his eyes opened for a cage with a colourful singing bird in it, but didn’t see one anywhere in the house.

 

They passed on to the back garden, which was beautifully tended, but no aviary. A tour of the outbuildings failed to reveal any exotic birds.

 

“Well, I suppose it’s time you met the Rairie,” said the solicitor. He led Norman towards the far end of the property, where someone had built something that looked suspiciously like a concrete bomb shelter. Sitting outside on a chair, smoking a pipe and reading a paper, was an elderly man.

 

“Hi Frank,” said the solicitor. “How’s the Rairie today? This is Norman, Harry’s great nephew and your new boss. Norman, this is Frank. He looks after the Rairie.”

 

“My name’s Frank,” the man replied. “But everyone calls me Seven Fingers, and to save you asking why, you’re about to meet the reason.”

 

He took out of his pocket a key suitable for the Tower of London and unlocked the door. The three passed through and Frank led them into a circular room, with a walkway around the edge, separated by a wall from a deep pit. At the bottom of the pit was a pool of water, and a mound of straw surmounted by what appeared to be a pile of dirty feather dusters.

 

“Oh, it’s asleep,” said Frank. “WAKE UP, SUNNY.”

 

“Sunny?” thought Norman.

 

The pile of dusters starting unfolding, stretching and growing, taller and taller. Standing there was a fearsome creature, seven feet tall, covered in shaggy grey feathers, with long claws on its feet and with a vicious-looking, two-foot long beak.

 

Which it opened and let forth an ear-splitting shriek. Norman flinched at the terrible sound.

 

“Why did Uncle Harry want to keep … that?” Norman asked.

 

“He said it reminded him of Nepal,” Frank replied.

 

“What does it eat?”

 

“Just about anything,” Frank replied. “Rats, lambs, day old chicks, a fox that broke in one night, last night’s leftover curry. It’s not fussy.”

 

“It? Don’t you know what sex it is?”

 

“No, and I’m not about to try to find out. If you want to have a go, let me know. Preferably after the event.”

 

Down in the pit, Sunny shrieked again, rattled its tail feathers and did what seagulls do on tourists. The smell was appalling.

 

“Is it always like that?” Norman asked.

 

“No, sometimes it’s really bad,” Frank replied. They left the Rairie in its malodorous enclosure.

 

 

Norman settled into his new life, but he never managed to form any kind of attachment to his shrieking, stinking, vicious bequest. And one day, terrible news! Seven Fingers told him that he was retiring in order to spend more time with his remaining digits.

 

Norman realised he’d never find anyone to take over looking after the Rairie. He asked the solicitor if he could possibly get rid of it somehow.

 

“No way,” said the solicitor. “It’s in the will that you have to make sure it’s looked after. Besides, they’re a protected species. You can’t just send it back to Nepal. Harry brought  it here as a chick. It wouldn’t survive in the wild. Maybe you could try the zoo.”

 

So Norman phoned the zoo, and after explaining that he had a rare creature he’d like to donate, he was put through to the Director.

 

“What kind of creature is it?” the Director asked.

 

“A Rairie,” Norman replied.

 

There was a pause on the line.   Then, “Not a chance,” the Director replied. “We had one once, but we had to get rid of it. Visitors complained that it gave their children nightmares.”

 

Norman suddenly saw a glimmer of hope. “Get rid of it? How did you do that?”

 

“We sent it back to Nepal. There’s a Rairie rescue sanctuary in the Himalayas at a monastery of Buddhist monks. They think they’ll build up good karma by rescuing Rairies. I’ll give you the details.”

 

Norman took them down and called the solicitor. He consented to the idea, so Norman immediately began planning the trip to repatriate the Rairie. It was a long job: a flight to be booked, a special Rairie-proof crate built (the airline insisted), a truck, guide and porters to be arranged. But finally everything was in place and Norman and his bird jetted to the other side of the world.

 

A truck picked them up at Kathmandu and headed off into the Himalayas. After several days’ driving the road ended in a small village and the party continued on foot: on swaying rope bridges over ice-cold foaming rivers, along mountain paths where the valleys echoed from the shrieks of their burden.

 

Finally the path ended at a sheer cliff. Cut from the very rock was a staircase ascending the face of the precipice. They struggled up with their screaming, stinking luggage.

 

At the top was a plateau. A quaint monastery occupied the centre, surrounded by the sort of Rairie homes that Norman had in his back garden. The air was filled with the sound and stench of Rairies. The guide explained their mission to a passing monk, who sent them to see the Abbot, who was standing on the top of the cliff, admiring the view.

 

He greeted them in Nepalese. “The Holy One welcomes us,” the guide said, “and says he knew we were coming.”

 

“How?” Norman asked, wondering if the ancient mystic had some strange power to foretell the future.

 

“He heard us coming up the stairs,” replied the guide, and a small  world dissolved. “He says nothing makes a noise like a Rairie. However, there’s bad news. They don’t have room for Sunny.”

 

“What? They must have!” Norman replied. “I’ve come all the way from England with this bird! They’ve got to take him!”

 

“No chance,” replied the guide. “Earlier this month there were flash floods all through the Rairies' habitat. Loads  were homeless. The sanctuary is crammed with them.”

 

“Well, can you please ask him if there’s anything else I can do?”

 

After a short exchange in Nepalese, the guide said “The Holy One says that you could push it off the cliff. After all ….

 

It’s a long way to tip a Rairie.”

 

On 18/02/2023 at 17:13, pH said:

I really hope that was a cut and paste! 
 

About the time I first heard that joke (approximately 60 years ago), there was a thing for that kind of joke, the telling of which could be spread over several sessions. The punch line of one, about a small hirsute animal with a hypodermic stuck in its head was “He’s the furry with the syringe on top.”

I read a version of this in the Puffin Joke Book in 1974.

Trying to remember others of similar groan inducing quality; one that comes to mind is:

What do you call a male cow at the limit of visibility?

Barely percepti-bull. 😉

 

  • Like 2
  • Funny 4
Link to comment
Share on other sites
Stanley Melrose

Stanley Melrose

Posted
Posted

OK here you are then.

 

I don’t know how many people spend their Summer holidays in Southern France or Northern Spain, as I do, but there is still a tradition of the travelling circus in that part of the world. There is a small number of family run circuses that move daily from town to town and village to village, throughout the summer, entertaining the holidaymakers with traditional circus acts. Sometimes the stink of the caged animals in hot weather is as bad as the Liverpool F.C.’s Kop on a mild Saturday in August. But back to the story which I read in Sud-Ouest, a local regional French newspaper some years ago.

 

It appears that in a remote village in the Pyrenees some genetic mishap resulted in a family producing generations of dwarfs. Not only were they tiny, they were also phenomenal acrobats. They could do all sorts of tumbling tricks, for example arranging themselves into human pyramids several storeys (i.e. dwarfs) high. They would then lean forwards and collapse the pyramid into a succession of forward rolls ending up in an arrow formation standing to attention on the ground – a bit like Everton’s current line-up.

 

Anyway, one of the circus owners heard rumours of the existence of this village and its family of dwarfs and made plans to visit them one winter to see if the stories were true. To his great delight, they were – and beyond his wildest dreams. If he could only persuade the family to work their tumbling into a routine, his circus would be the main attraction throughout the towns and villages of Southern France and Northern Spain the following summer. After some hard negotiation he signed the family for the following season and they joined the rest of his team in their winter quarters to work on their act.

 

All went supremely well and by the time the next season started he was confident his circus would break records all over the region. He was right! Night after night the big top was packed to capacity and the family of dwarf Basque acrobats stole the show. Many efforts were made to lure the family away to rival circuses but fortunately they remained loyal to their original benefactor. Because of this they all prospered and the whole circus became featured in every form of media. Of course, there were those who were just curious about dwarfs and their life-style. They wanted to know all sorts of intimate details about their lives and habits. Unlike so many others, celebrity status did not affect the Basque acrobats; in fact they revelled in it. They appeared on television; they were feted everywhere – and they all made a lot of money.

 

As the season came to an end, the ultimate reward was in sight – a spectacular show on national television to be broadcast from Paris. The whole circus was to perform on prime time TV and the fee would be enormous. The circus owner was absolutely delighted and the acrobat family ecstatic with their new-found popularity. The invitation included accommodation at a smart hotel on the Champs Elysee – with shopping trips thrown in, as long as the cameras could record their every move. To ensure that the advertising revenue was maximised, the TV company insisted on filming a trailer in the hotel lobby, featuring most of the circus acts but especially the acrobats. No problem, everyone was so happy to oblige as long as the money came in because circus life is tough and there aren’t many big pay-days for performers.

 

The day of filming dawned and the circus performers came down to breakfast to find the cameras already set up in the hotel foyer. The owner of the circus had agreed a programme so that all his acts got some publicity but the highlight was to be the final routine which was to involve the Basque family of dwarf acrobats. The producer made one stipulation: the grand finale was to be the collapsing pyramid of the acrobats with a new twist. The pyramid would collapse towards the revolving door of the hotel and the dwarfs would roll one by one through the spinning door onto the pavement outside. The acrobats were thrilled at this and so confident of their abilities that they didn’t even rehearse the stunt.

 

After the mandatory interviews, the producer gave the signal and the acrobats formed their human pyramid. At this given signal, the door was pushed at just the right speed and the pyramid collapsed towards it. One by one the dwarfs rolled through the door and outside. They all ended up in a heap in the gutter, grinning and chattering. Before they could get to their feet a large camion came along and mowed them all down. Every single one was killed - and this on live television, too.

 

As the announcer said later, the moral of the story is, “Don’t put all your Basques in one exit”.

  • Like 2
  • Funny 7
Link to comment
Share on other sites
pH

pH

Posted
Posted
3 hours ago, Dunsignalling said:

ISTR one such "joke" involving a Knight of the Round Table and a number of boxes of varying sizes, that could be stretched to whatever length the teller could endure....

 

John


You mean the one about the Black Knight with the red plume and the white horse?

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites
  • RMweb Gold
Ramblin Rich

Ramblin Rich

Posted
  • RMweb Gold
Posted

There was a man touring the Alps several hundred years ago. He found lodging in an alpine hostel one night and realised the owner's wife and daughter had fabulous jewelry. Being rather roguish he thought he would try a spot of thieving, thinking they would take the jewels off at night.

 

He crept into the main bedroom and took the wife's jewelry, then went into the daughter's room. He realised she was still wearing her necklace. Greed overtook him and he quietly unclipped the necklace. Just as he removed it, the daughter woke up and screamed.

 

The thief ran out with what he had, quickly chased by the owner. In the darkness, the owner couldn't tell which path the man took. Hoping he was going the eight way, he set off up hill but then the  sun began to rise and he realised he was on the opposite side of the valley to the thief.

 

"You robbed my daughter!" the hostel owner bellowed.

 

"And your old lady too-oo-oo!" the thief shouted back.

 

And that's how yodelling was invented.

  • Like 2
  • Funny 2
  • Friendly/supportive 4
Link to comment
Share on other sites
  • RMweb Premium
Sidecar Racer

Sidecar Racer

Posted
  • RMweb Premium
Posted

 A towns well respected pie maker was summonsed and in court for apparent

shortcomings with meat quality in his beef and rabbit pies according to the Food

Standards Authority.

 

 When quizzed by the judge he expressed innocence of any known

failings in said pies as he was always exact in his quantities used .

 

 The Judge asked about this and he answered , its always 50/50 sir .

 

 Be more explicit said the judge .

 

 

 Well Sir its one cow one rabbit .

 

 

  • Like 2
  • Funny 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
 Share
Go to topic listing
×
×
  • Create New...