After an examination, the doctor sighed and said, “I’ve got some bad news. You have cancer, and you’d best put your affairs in order.”
The woman was shocked, but managed to compose herself and walk into the waiting room where her daughter had been waiting.
“Well my child, we celebrate when things are good, and we celebrate when things don’t go so well. In this case, things aren’t well. I have cancer. Let’s head to the club and have a martini.”
After 3 or 4 martinis, the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and more martinis. They were eventually approached by some of the woman’s old friends, who were curious as to what the two were celebrating.
The woman told her friends they were drinking to her impending end. “I’ve been diagnosed with AIDS,” she told them.
The friends were aghast, gave the woman their condolences and beat a hasty retreat.
After the friends left, the woman’s daughter leaned over and whispered, “Momma, I thought you said you were dying of cancer, and you just told your friends you were dying of AIDS! Why did you do that?”
“Because I don’t want any of those bitches sleeping with your father after I’m gone,” came the reply.
It’s late fall and the Indians on a remote reservation in South Dakota asked their new chief if the coming winter was going to be cold or mild.
Since he was a chief in a modern society, he had never been taught the old secrets. When he looked at the sky, he couldn’t tell what the winter was going to be like.
Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, he told his tribe that the winter was indeed going to be cold and that the members of the village should collect firewood to be prepared.
But, being a practical leader, after several days, he got an idea. He went to the phone booth, called the National Weather Service and asked, ‘Is the coming winter going to be cold ?’
‘It looks like this winter is going to be quite cold,’ the meteorologist at the weather service responded.
So the chief went back to his people and told them to collect even more firewood in order to be prepared.
A week later, he called the National Weather Service again. ‘Does it still look like it is going to be a very cold winter?’
‘Yes,’ the man at National Weather Service again replied, ‘it’s going to be a very cold winter.’
The chief again went back to his people and ordered them to collect every scrap of firewood they could find.
Two weeks later, the chief called the National Weather Service again. ‘Are you absolutely sure that the winter is going to be very cold?’
‘Absolutely,’ the man replied. ‘It’s looking more and more like it is going to be one of the coldest winters we’ve ever seen.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ the chief asked.
The weatherman replied, ‘The Indians are collecting firewood like crazy.’
OK, I had originally installed Movable Type. For some reason I thought it would be more… um… Let’s just say I’ve switched over to WordPress since, and it really is easier.
Attending a wedding for the first time, a little girl whispered to her mother, ‘Why is the bride dressed in white?” The mother replied, ‘Because white is the color of happiness, and today is the happiest day of her life.’ The child thought about this for a moment then said, ‘So why is the groom wearing black?’
A little girl, dressed in her Sunday best, was running as fast as she could, trying not to be late for Bible class. As she ran she prayed, ‘Dear Lord, please don’t let me be late! Dear Lord, please don’t let me be late!’ While she was running and praying, she tripped on a curb and fell, getting her clothes dirty and tearing her dress. She got up, brushed herself off, and started running again! As she ran she once again began to pray, ‘Dear Lord, please don’t let me be late… But please don’t shove me either!’
Three boys are in the school yard bragging about their fathers. The first boy says, ‘My Dad scribbles a few words on a piece of paper, he calls it a poem, they give him $50.’ The second boy says, ‘That’s nothing.. My Dad scribbles a few words on piece of paper, he calls it a song, they give him $100.’ The third boy says, ‘I got you both beat. My Dad scribbles a few words on a piece of paper, he calls it a sermon, and it takes eight people to collect all the money!’
An elderly woman died last month. Having never married, she requested no male pallbearers. In her handwritten instructions for her memorial service, she wrote, ‘They wouldn’t take me out while I was alive, I don’t want them to take me out when I’m dead.’
A police recruit was asked during the exam, ‘What would you do if you had to arrest your own mother?’ He answered, ‘Call for backup.’
A Sunday School teacher asked her class why Joseph and Mary took Jesus with them to Jerusalem . A small child replied, ‘They couldn’t get a baby-sitter.’
A Sunday school teacher was discussing the Ten Commandments with her five and six year olds. After explaining the commandment to ‘Honor thy father and thy mother,’ she asked, ‘Is there a commandment that teaches us how to treat our brothers and sisters?’ Without missing a beat, one little boy answered, ‘Thou shall not kill.’
At Sunday School they were teaching how God created everything, including human beings. Little Johnny seemed especially intent when they told him how Eve was created out of one of Adam’s ribs. Later in the week his mother noticed him lying down as though he were ill, and she said, ‘Johnny, what is the matter?’ Little Johnny responded, ‘I have a pain in my side. I think I’m going to have a wife.’
Two boys were walking home from Sunday school after hearing a strong preaching on the devil. One said to the other, ‘What do you think about all this Satan stuff?’ The other boy replied, ‘Well, you know how Santa Claus turned out… so it’s probably just your Dad.’
I really need to stop taking this site so seriously. It’s not like I’m getting paid to do it, so why do I let it bother me so? Perhaps it’s because I just want to become good at something that other people enjoy.
A guy goes into a bar with his pet octopus, sets him up on the bar and says “I bet anyone in here 50 bucks that my octopus can play any musical instrument you hand him. One guy walks up with a guitar and says, “You’re on.” He lays his 50 bucks on the bar and hands over the guitar.
The octopus proceeds to tune the strings and begins to play a wonderful classical rendition.
Everyone’s aghast! The guy collects his 50 bucks.
Next guy brings up a trumpet and lays his money on the bar. The octopus takes it, plays with the valves for a moment, and proceeds to play a wonderful jazz riff. The guy collects his money again.
The bartender leaves and comes back a few minutes later with a set of bagpipes and lays his 50 bucks on the bar. The octopus picks it up, turns it around, looks at it some more, turns it over again to get a different perspective.
After a few minutes of this the guy is getting impatient and asks, “What are you waiting for? Why don’t you start playing it?”
The octopus looks over and says, “Play it? Heck I was trying to figure out how to get her damned pajamas off!!”
A ten year old boy was failing math. His parents tried everything from tutors to hypnosis, but to no avail. Finally, at the insistence of a family friend, they decided to enroll their son in a private Catholic school.
After the first day, the boy’s parents were surprised when he walked in after school with a stern, focused and very determined expression on his face, and went right past them straight to his room, where he quietly closed the door.
For nearly two hours he toiled away in his room – with math books strewn about his desk and the surrounding floor. He emerged long enough to eat, and after quickly cleaning his plate, went straight back to his room, closed the door, and worked feverishly at his studies until bedtime. This pattern continued ceaselessly until it was time for the first quarter report card.
The boy walked in with his report card-unopened-laid it on the dinner table and went straight to his room. Cautiously, his mother opened it, and to her amazement, she saw a bright red “A” under the subject of MATH. Overjoyed, she and her husband rushed into their son’s room, thrilled at his remarkable progress.
“Was it the nuns that did it?”, the father asked. The boy only shook his head and said, “No.”
“Was it the one-on-one tutoring? The peer-mentoring?”
“No.”
“The textbooks? The teachers? The curriculum?”
“Nope,” said the son. “On that first day, when I walked in the front door and saw that guy they nailed to the ‘plus sign,’ I just knew they meant business.
Support our troops? Eh… Recently it feels more like the honeymoon is over. When I show my comics to my Army buddies, this one is usually among the first. Most of them can relate.
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.
