A drunk decides to go ice fishing, so he gathers his gear and goes walking around until he finds a big patch of ice. He heads into the center of the ice and begins to saw a hole.
All of sudden, a loud booming voice comes out of the sky. “You will find no fish under that ice.”
The drunk looks around, but sees no one. He starts sawing again. Once more, the voice speaks, “As I said before, there are no fish under the ice.”
The drunk looks all around, high and low, but can’t see a single soul. He picks up the saw and tries one more time to finish. Before he can even start cutting, the huge voice interrupts. “I have warned you three times now. There are no fish!”
The drunk is now flustered and somewhat scared, so he asks the voice, “How do you know there are no fish? Are you God trying to warn me?”
“No”, the voice replied. “I am the manager of the hockey arena!”
A guy with leprosy won tickets to see the world series.
When he got there, he wandered through the bleachers looking for his seat. He finally found the open seat and asked the man in the adjoining seat if it would be okay to sit there.
The man answered, “Yeah. Just sit down, shut up, and watch the game.”
The leper sat down and added, “As you can see, I have leprosy. If it disturbs you, I will move.”
“It doesn’t bother me. Just shut up, and watch the game.”
A while later, during the fourth inning, the man suddenly vomited. Frothy beer, hot dogs, and peanuts were splattered everywhere.
Seeing this, the leper got up and said, “Thank you for allowing me to sit next to you, but I can see that my appearance has caused you to get sick. I will find another place to sit.”
“It’s NOT you. Just sit down, shut up, and watch the game.”
So the leper sat back down, but during the sixth inning, the man began to vomit again. This time it is projectile. A powerful blast of beer and pretzels shoots out from the man’s mouth and nose until his stomach is completely emptied.
Seeing this, the leper got up and said, “Thank you for allowing me to sit next to you, but I can see that my appearance has caused you to get sick. I will find another place to sit.”
“Really, it’s NOT you. Just sit down, shut up, and watch the game.”
So the leper sat back down, but during the seventh inning, the man began to vomit again. This time it was the dry heaves.
The leper feels absolutely awful at the sight of this man suffering. Once again, the leper offers to leave, but the man insists, “Really, it’s NOT you.”
So the leper asks, “Well if it’s not me, then what is making you so sick?”
“It’s that guy behind you. He keeps dipping his nachos in your back.”
So to recap, Birdie is sick of Dewey’s cooking, and has hired Chef Jimmy Demerde to train him. Will Jimmy be able to overcome Dewey’s delusions of adequacy long enough to get him to stop ruining food?
A young executive was working late, trying to impress his boss.
As he was leaving the office, at 7 p.m., he found the CEO standing in front of the document shredder with a piece of paper in his hand.
“Listen,” said the CEO, “this is a very sensitive and important document, and my secretary left hours ago. Can you make this thing work?”
“Certainly,” said the young executive. Excited with the opportunity to kiss up to the man, he turned the machine on, inserted the paper, and pressed the start button.
“Excellent, excellent!” said the CEO, “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
As his paper disappeared inside the machine the relieved CEO says, “Now, I just need one copy.”
(Hope your day is going better than this. Happy Friday the 13th!)
A husband and wife were having dinner at a very fine restaurant when this absolutely stunning young woman came over to their table, gave the husband a big kiss, said she’d see him later and walked away.
His wife glared at him and said, “Who the hell was that?”
“Oh,” replied the husband, “she’s my mistress.”
“Well, that’s the last straw,” said the wife. “I’ve had enough, I want a divorce.”
“I can understand that,” replied her husband, “but remember, if we get a divorce it means that you don’t get any more shopping trips to Paris, no more wintering in Barbados, no more summers in Tuscany, no more Ferrari’s and Lexus’s in the garage and no more yacht club. But the decision is yours.”
Just then, a mutual friend entered the restaurant with a gorgeous babe on his arm.
The moon shown silver on the waters of the lake and the waves that were beating on the shore were hardly equal in intensity to the waves of passion nearby.
One ardent couple paused long enough for the young man to whisper, “Darling am I the first man to make love to you?”
Her tone, upon answering, was slightly more than irritable.
“Of course you are!” she said, “and the best, too. I don’t know why you men always ask the same old ridiculous questions.”
The wife handed her husband a silk scarf and asked, “Didn’t I see your secretary wearing this exact scarf the other day when I stopped in at the office?”
The husband was visibly shaken. “Where did you find that?” he stammered.
“I didn’t,” replied the wife. “The mail man found it sticking out of your night-stand.
I suppose I should start by telling you how it happened. It was an otherwise nondescript day back in February. I went to get out of my rocker-recliner and when I scooched forward to get up, the front armrests bottomed out on the floor as they always do. Unbeknownst to me, Alex just happened to be laying down there that fateful day, and his left arm managed to get pinched.
Of course he yowled the loudest I'd ever heard him yell in his entire life and shot off into the basement. I felt terrible about it, but then I had no way of knowing he was down there when I went to get up. After a short while, Alex came back upstairs, and I was able to check for injury.
Shockingly, there were no broken bones, no blood, and Alex was able to walk just fine. It almost seemed cartoonish at the time, but down the left side of his left arm was a ribbon of flattened fur. He seemed somewhat indifferent to this, and acted like he just wanted to put the whole thing behind him. Seeing as Alex didn't appear to be in immediate danger, I took a "wait and see" position.
Over the next month, the "ribbon" began to shrink inward towards his elbow. I took this as a good sign that his injury was healing naturally and everything would be fine... But things were not fine. After a month and a half, his elbow began to swell. By mid-April I had to take him in to the vet for an exam.
The vet did a fair bit of Hmmm'ing and scrunched her face a lot. She didn't want to poke it with anything for fear it might introduce something. She took some measurements and expressed a "wait and see" attitude. I then scheduled a follow up appointment two months out.
Only a month later in mid-May, the swelling on his elbow had increased to the point that it started to ulcer. I called the vet and got him in immediately. This time they tried to drain it, but it went horribly. After the first stick, Alex started squirting blood all over the place, and the vet and technician freaked out and were running around looking for towels while I had to hold my cat down in a growing pool of his own blood.
After they got things back under control, she tried again with a larger needle, and went in from a different direction. After plunging to the center of the mass, she remarked that it was solid and that the fluid had probably dispersed into the surrounding tissue. She then went on to suggest that it might even be "malignant" and recommended a biopsy. They gave me an estimate for the procedure that ran from $500 to $800. I immediately left and made an appointment with another vet that I had gone to in the past.
The next day, my alternate vet didn't have any good news. By now, Alex's arm was very infected. At first he suggested that the arm would have to come off, but after noting Alex's age, he pulled back and recommended palliative care. I pushed for a quote on the cost of an amputation, and he informed me it would be around $3500 at the lowest, and that at his age, Alex would only live another 6 months after the surgery, and to just stick with palliative care.
They gave Alex a shot of antibiotics, a shot for long term pain management, prednisolone tablets and a liquid antibiotic, along with an appointment to come back about a month later.
Over the memorial day weekend, I cleaned Alex's wound and administered his meds. Alex was still Alex though. He obviously wanted to live, so I began making phone calls. Eventually I got in touch with the Humane Society. It took week and a half to finally get in, but after looking at Alex's arm, their surgeon said that the arm was "not compatible with long term survival" and agreed to amputate it... in two weeks.
That was the longest two weeks of my life.
Every day that thing on his elbow grew bigger and bigger. In the final week, it started to split open. It looked like something out of a horror movie. The outer layer of skin died off and eventually I had to cut the hard chunk of dried flesh off with scissors. Fortunately the antibiotics prescribed by the second vet kept the wound site free from infection.
And through all of this, Alex was still Alex. He just kept on living his life like nothing was wrong. Even with that thing on his arm, he still walked normal, climbed up and down the stairs, jumped on the bed, table, dresser, et cetera. Part of me knew this cat was gonna make it, but part of me was scared that his arm was going to go septic and Alex would die.
I felt relieved on the day of the surgery. We made it through to this day! Alex would be a tripod, but he was going to live! I dropped Alex off at the Human Society and went to work expecting to pick him up between 4:00 pm and 5:00 pm.
My phone rang a little before noon. The voice on the other end informed me that the surgery had gone fine, and they didn't notice anything wrong during the procedure, but in the recovery room, Alex's heart rate began to drop, he went non-responsive, and his pupils dilated. The surgeon explained that sometimes a blood clot will break free during the surgery and make its way into the brain. Alex had had a stroke. There was nothing more they could do.
Moments later, Alex died.
Usually I show off pictures of Gail here, (she's doing find by the way). Gail is a fun dog who loves to constantly run and play, but Alex was the one that I could really count on for affection. He would hop up on my chest when I was resting in my recliner and purr. He would be there at the door to greet me when I came home. He would keep me company when I pooped. He would wake me in the morning, and insist I gave him a thorough petting before I went to sleep at night. He talked to me with his incessant meows, and made sure I never left the house without filling the food and water bowls. Alex loved to get his "full kitty massage" complete with belly rubs, and he was the kind of cat that would walk up and headbutt me to let me know I was his as much as he was mine.
Flush Twice has been around since May of 2003. It started out as a JOTD (Joke of the Day) website. New jokes were published every weekday. Over the years, good jokes were increasingly hard to come by, and eventually they got so rare that I just stopped trying to publish them.
Since 2004 there has also been an eponymous comic. I still occasionally publish a new one on Saturdays. It’s also rare anymore, but sometimes it happens.
Here lately I’ve been posting a “Link of the Day”. For the time being, I will be featuring a new website from my enormous collection of bookmarked websites every weekday. None of it is solicited promotions, and no one is paying me to feature their site. These are just websites that at one time I thought were interesting enough to add to my bookmarks folder.
I highly encourage using some kind of ad blocking extension before clicking on any of these links. You’ll also hear me say this phrase a lot about these posts: “They can’t all be winners.” But it’s better than just leaving the site abandoned.
The jokes were generously provided by friends and visitors such as yourself. I want to express my eternal thanks to everyone over the years who helped contribute to the collection.
So what is it that makes a joke funny?
It all boils down to a sudden shift in perception. The story starts you thinking one way, then the punchline turns that thinking on its ear. The art of the joke is to craft a short story that isn’t overly contrived, then deliver a punchline that suddenly shifts your perception about the story you were being told.
Many of the jokes on this site are offensive, and I make no apologies for it. Offensive jokes work by making the reader uncomfortable through the use of a taboo subject thus enhancing the underlying humor. Without the offensive element, the joke would simply not be as funny.
