Joke Thread the Third

Topic: What is this? The Spanish Exposition? (You see, it all began some time in the 13th century...)

Users: @Alexander @gkscotty @Graham @SuzyQ Chris fellranger Tony

irc.simpworks.com

[Archonix]

Cos I'm the admin.

John the farmer was in the fertilized egg business. He had several hundred young layers (hens), called "pullets", and ten roosters, whose job it was to fertilize the eggs.

The farmer kept records and any rooster that didn't perform went into the soup pot and was replaced. That took an awful lot of his time, so he bought a set of tiny bells and attached them to his roosters. Each bell had a different tone so John could tell from a distance, which rooster was performing. Now he could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report simply by listening to the bells.

The farmer's favorite rooster was old Butch, a very fine specimen he was, too. But on this particular morning John noticed old Butch's bell hadn't rung at all! John went to investigate. The other roosters were chasing pullets, bells-a-ringing. The pullets, hearing the roosters coming, would run for cover.

But to Farmer John's amazement, old Butch had his bell in his beak, so it couldn't ring. He'd sneak up on a pullet, do his job and walk on to the next one. John was so proud of old Butch, he entered him in the Renfrew County Fair and he became an overnight sensation among the judges.

The result...The judges not only awarded old Butch the No Bell Piece Prize but they also awarded him the Pulletsurprise as well.

Clearly old Butch was a politician in the making: who else but a politician could figure out how to win two of the most highly coveted awards on our planet by being the best at sneaking up on the populace and screwing them when they weren't paying attention?

[fellranger]

Agriculture and political satire!   It's a winner for me. 

[Fionn]

Ah...mercy!  I love a good chicken joke, having several chooks of my own (at home, not at college, sadly).

Okay, here's one:

Q: "When does a skeleton laugh?"
A: "When you tickle its funny bone!"
Q: "When does a mummy laugh?"
A: "When it tears a child apart like wet lettuce!"
Q: "..........."

[A Spy in Mancunia]

One I just saw:

A man wakes up one Sunday morning with a horrific hangover and no memory at all of what he did the previous night. The only thought in his groggy mind is, 'Man, my wife's gonna be so mad at me...'

But when he rolls over and opens one gummy eye, what does he see but a fresh glass of water on the bedside table, with two aspirins next to it and a little note in his wife's writing, reading 'Thought you might want these, honey. xxx'

A little bewildered, but grateful nonetheless, he swallows the aspirin and, feeling marginally better, staggers into the bathroom. Opening the door, he sees a newly-laundered towel on the heated towel rack, and his favourite dressing gown, also laundered, beside it.

Having showered, he totters downstairs, anxious about facing his wife. In the kitchen, his son sits alone at the breakfast table, eating some cereals. On the table, there's a note under a vase of flowers, that says, 'Honey, there are croissants keeping warm in the oven and some squeezed orange juice in the fridge. I'm off at the market getting steaks for dinner - see you soon. Love you.'

Completely foxed, he sits down at the breakfast table and asks his son, 'What on earth happened last night?'

'Well, Dad,' says his son through a mouthful of cereal, 'you staggered in at about three in the morning, singing a song about reindeer. Then you crashed into the hall table and broke it, threw up all over yourself, and Mum had to help you up the stairs to bed and undress you.'

'But - but-' stammers the man, 'I made a complete ass of myself! Why is your mother being so nice to me?'

'Oh, that,' says his son. 'When she started to take off your trousers, you started yelling "Lady, leave me alone, I'm married!"'

[Archonix]

First-year students at Texas A&M's Vet school were receiving their first
anatomy class, with a real dead cow. They all gathered around the surgerytable with the body covered with a white sheet. The professor started the class by telling them, 'In Veterinary Medicine it is necessary to have two important qualities as a doctor: The first is that you not be disgusted by anything involving the animal body. For an example, the Professor pulled back the sheet, stuck his finger in the butt of the dead cow, withdrew it and stuck his finger in his mouth. 'Go ahead and do the same thing,' he told his students. The students freaked out, hesitated for several minutes.

But eventually took turns sticking a finger in the anal opening of the dead cow and sucking on it. When everyone finished, the Professor looked at them and said, 'The second most important quality is observation. I stuck in my middle finger and sucked on my index finger. Now learn to pay attention. 'Life's tough, it's even tougher if you're stupid.'

[Archonix]

Stolen from bash.org... no idea why it was there.

Impure Mathematics
------ -----------
     To prove once and for all that math can be fun, we
present: Wherein it is related how that paragon of womanly
virtue, young Polly Nomial (our heroine) is accosted by that
notorious villain Curly Pi, and factored (oh horror!!!)
     Once upon a time (1/t) pretty little Polly Nomial was
strolling across a field of vectors when she came to the boundary
of a singularly large matrix. Now Polly was convergent, and her
mother had made it an absolute condition that she must never
enter such an array without her brackets on. Polly, however,
who had changed her variables that morning and was feeling
particularly badly behaved, ignored this condition on the basis
that it was insufficient and made her way in amongst the complex
elements. Rows and columns closed in on her from all sides.
Tangents approached her surface. She became tensor and tensor.
Quite suddendly two branches of a hyperbola touched her at a
single point. She oscillated violently, lost all sense of
directrix, and went completely divergent. As she tripped over a
square root that was protruding from the erf and plunged
headlong down a steep gradient. When she rounded off once more,
she found herself inverted, apparently alone, in a non-Euclidean
space.
     She was being watched, however. That smooth operator,
Curly Pi, was lurking inner product. As his eyes devoured her
curvilinear coordinates, a singular expression crossed his face.
He wondered, "Was she still convergent?" He decided to
integrate properly at once.
     Hearing a common fraction behind her, Polly rotated and
saw Curly Pi approaching with his power series extrapolated.
She could see at once by his degenerate conic and dissipative
that he was bent on no good.
     "Arcsinh," she gasped.
     "Ho, ho," he said, "What a symmetric little asymptote
you have I can see you angles have lots of secs."
     "Oh sir," she protested, "keep away from me I haven't
got my brackets on."
     "Calm yourself, my dear," said our suave operator, "your
fears are purely imaginary."
     "I, I," she thought, "perhaps he's not normal but
homologous."
     "What order are you?" the brute demanded.
     "Seventeen," replied Polly.
     Curly leered "I suppose you've never been operated on."
     "Of course not," Polly replied quite properly, "I'm
absolutely convergent."
     "Come, come," said Curly, "let's off to a decimal place
I know and I'll take you to the limit."
     "Never," gasped Polly.
     "Abscissa," he swore, using the vilest oath he knew.
His patience was gone. Coshing her over the coefficient with a
log until she was powerless, Curly removed her discontinuities.
He stared at her significant places, and began smoothing out her
points of inflection. Poor Polly. The algorithmic method was
now her only hope. She felt his digits tending to her asymptotic
limit. Her convergence would soon be gone forever.
     There was no mercy, for Curly was a heavyside operator.
Curly's radius squared itself; Polly's loci quivered. He
integrated by parts. He integrated by partial fractions. After
he cofactored, he performed runge - kutta on her. The complex
beast even went all the way around and did a contour
integration. What an indignity - to be multiply connected on
her first integration. Curly went on operating until he
completely satisfied her hypothesis, then he exponentiated and
became completely orthogonal.
     When Polly got home that night, her mother noticed that
she was no longer piecewise continuous, but had been truncated
in several places But it was to late to differentiate now. As
the months went by, Polly's denominator increased monotonically.
Finally she went to L'Hopital and generated a small but
pathological function which left surds all over the place and
drove Polly to deviation.
     The moral of our sad story is this: "If you want to
keep your expressions convergent, never allow them a single
degree of freedom."

[A Spy in Mancunia]

I think I saw this story in Dresden Codak once. Or maybe I dreamt it.  (<=Fry smiley, for no reason at all)

GASP! We have been... educated experienced!

[A Spy in Mancunia]

Nice lightbulb joke I found today...

Question: How many academics does it take to change a lightbulb?
Answer: CHANGE?!

[Archonix]

At a recent U2 concert in Glasgow, Bono asked the audience for total quiet.

Then, in the silence, he started to slowly clap his hands, once every few seconds. Holding the audience in total silence, he said into the microphone, “Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies.”

From the front of the crowd a voice with a broad Scottish accent pierced the quiet...

"Well, stop f**king doin it then."

[Don Cobra]

So an old shepherd is leading his sheep across the path when a gleaming 4x4 stops by and a man in an expensive suit with expensive suits and an expensive briefcase steps out, observing the old man and his sheep. He greets the shepherd and says, "If I can guess how many sheep you have, may I have one?"

The old man, without bothering much, accepts. The man readily jumps into the truck, pulls out his laptop with Internet via cellphone and brings up a NASA photograph of the place they're in, measures the area and divides it by the statistical average of the area occupied by one sheep, and after three hours of countless examinations and Excel spreadsheets with personalised macros, he steps out of the car with the answer:

"You have 1409 sheep, and four of them may be pregnant."
"You are correct, sir," the old man replied and allowed the man to take his sheep as promised. "Now, if you let me propose a challenge, if I can guess your profession, may I have my sheep back?"
"Well, surely," the man shrugged, not expecting a correct answer.
"You, sir, are a lawyer."
"Amazing! How did you find out?" the man said, exhilarate.
"First, because you came up to me without being called; second, because you charged me to tell me what I already knew; and finally, because you have no idea of what you're talking about. Now give me back my dog."

[A Spy in Mancunia]

Excellent.