Two parish priests were going to Hawaii on vacation. They were determined to make this a real vacation by not wearing anything that would identify them as clergy.
As soon as the plane landed, they headed for a store and bought some really outrageous shorts, shirts, sandals, sunglasses, etc.
The next morning they went to the beach, dressed in their ‘tourist’ garb.
They were sitting in beach chairs, enjoying a drink, the sunshine and the scenery when a drop-dead-gorgeous topless blonde came walking straight towards them. They couldn’t help but stare.
As the blonde passed them, she smiled and greeted them, “Good Morning, Father, Good Morning, Father,” nodding, addressing each of them individually. Then she passed on by.
The men were both stunned. How in the world did she know they were priests?
So the next day, they went back to the store and bought even more outrageous outfits.
Once again, in their new attire, they settled down in their chairs to enjoy the sunshine.
After a little while, the same gorgeous topless blonde came walking toward them.
Again she nodded at each of them and greeted, “Good morning, Father, Good morning, Father.” She then started to walk away.
One of the priests couldn’t stand it any longer and asked, “Just a minute, young lady.”
“Yes, Father?”
“Yes, we ARE priests and proud of it, but I have to know, how in the world did you know we are priests, dressed as we are?”
Ever hear the sound of your own voice? It’s rather annoying, isn’t it? That’s how I feel whenever I go back and read some of my rants and comics. While I’m actually quite proud of much of the work I’ve done on my comic and various ramblings, there are certain desultory prose that I regard as cringe-worthy. I imagine today’s scribbling on my digital palimpsest will evoke that same sense of mortified embarrassment in a week or so.
Just so you know, the jokes on the left are taken from various friends, coworkers, emails, and occasionally other websites. While I do rewrite many of them to correct grammar, or ensure that the actual punchline lands at the end of the joke, or that the joke is consistently told in the past tense, or that silly ethic pronunciations are re-written in plain English because I refuse to do the voices… OK, you get the idea… The point is, the jokes aren’t mine. I do my best to edit them as appropriate, but I also try to keep out of it as much as possible.
As for the stuff that shows up on the right, well that is mine, and that’s where the cringe factor comes in. Many times I go back and read things I’ve written only to realize I’m reading the accidental diary of a morose clown. Oh my god! Do I really sound like that? It’s like realizing your fly was down during a semi-formal event.
Thankfully, no one I know IRL is reading any of this. Even though it’s not a secret to my coworkers, friends, and family that I run this JOTD and comic, none of them would ever bother to visit this site. Except for the times I’ve used my phone to show off a comic I made, none of them have actually seen it, and they usually dismiss it as something I made using an app or copied from something else. Seriously?! At first glance, do you actually think my comic was created on an iPad using an app developed by someone else? What’s worse, I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not!
I suppose that’s the underlying reason why I write stuff like this. It’s the reason I renamed the comic to “Pathos in the Plumbing”. Among all my family, friends, and coworkers, none of them actually care about my hobbies and interests, and when you look at it like that. it’s kind of comically sad. I live inside a monkey sphere that insulates me from people I might actually have things in common with. Writing about it is basically a kind of therapy to deal with that fact.
A hunter was rushed into the emergency room with a bear trap clamped onto his testicles.
As the horrified doctor was examining him, he said “Man, how did this happen?”
The hunter explains that he was out in the woods and felt the call of nature. Bending down by a tree, the bear trap was triggered and snapped shut on his testicles.
“Oh,” exclaims the doctor, “The pain must have been excruciating!”
“It was,” said the hunter. “The second worst pain in my life.”
“Second worst? What could have been worse than that?”
There once was an Indian whose given name was “Onestone,” so named because he had only one testicle.
He hated that name, and asked everyone to not to call him Onestone!
After years and years of torment, Onestone finally cracked and threatened, “If anyone calls me Onestone again, I will kill them!”
Word got around and nobody called him that any more.
Then one day a young girl named Blue Bird forgot and greeted, “Good morning, Onestone.”
He jumped up, grabbed her, and took her deep into the forest where he had sex with her all day and all night. He had sex with her all the next day, until Blue Bird died from exhaustion.
Word got around that Onestone meant serious business!
Years went by and no one dared call him by his given name until a woman named Yellow Bird returned to the village, after being away for many years. Yellow Bird was Blue Bird’s cousin, and she was overjoyed when she saw Onestone! She hugged him and said, “Good to see you, Onestone.”
Onestone grabbed her, took her deep into the forest, then he screwed her all day, screwed her all night, screwed her all the next day, screwed her all the next night, but Yellow Bird wouldn’t die!
What is the moral of this story? The moral is: You can’t kill two birds with one stone!
At the cinema a man noticed a young woman sitting all by herself. He was excited to see she had both hands under her skirt and was playing herself furiously.
He moved to the next seat to her and offered his help.
She welcomed his help, and so the man started playing her like crazy.
When he tired and withdrew his hand, he was surprised to see her go back to work on herself with both hands.
Wasn’t I good enough?” he asked sheepishly.
“Oh, you were marvelous!” she said. “But these crabs are still itching!”
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.
