Daily Joke: Jokes Library

A little old lady was celebrating her 70th birthday alone at a motel. Feeling a bit lonely, she decided that turning 70 didn’t mean she had to stop having a little fun.

She picked up the phone book and started looking through the advertisements. Suddenly, she spotted a full-page ad for a handsome escort named “Tender Tony.”

The picture showed a muscular man with a dazzling smile, thick wavy hair, powerful legs, and enough muscles to make a woman forget what year it was.

The old lady studied the advertisement for a moment and thought:

“Well, it’s my birthday. What the heck? Nobody has to know.”

She picked up the phone and called the number.

A deep, smooth voice answered:

“Good evening, ma’am. How may I help you?”

“Oh my,” she thought. “That voice alone is worth the call!”

Trying not to lose her nerve, she said:

“Tony, I’m 70 years old, I’m staying at a motel, and I’m all alone tonight. I’d like you to come over and give me a massage.”

There was a brief pause.

She continued, getting more confident:

“Actually, Tony, forget the massage. I want a little excitement. Bring whatever you need to make this a birthday I’ll never forget!”

Tony replied in his smoothest voice:

“Ma’am, that sounds absolutely fantastic.”

The old lady smiled from ear to ear.

Then Tony added:

“But before I come over, there’s just one thing you need to do.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Press 9 for an outside line.”

The courtroom was tense, the air thick with the weight of a bitter custody battle. Judge Harrison, a man known for his no-nonsense demeanor and decades on the bench, adjusted his spectacles and looked sternly at the ex-wife, Mrs. Gable.

“Mrs. Gable,” the Judge began, his voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls, “why do you believe you deserve full custody of the child?”

Mrs. Gable stood up, straightened her blazer, and spoke with absolute, unshakeable conviction. “Your Honor, it is simple biology. I brought him into this world. I carried him for nine months. Therefore, by the laws of nature and creation, I should have custody of him.”

Judge Harrison nodded slowly, tapping his pen against the legal pad. “That is a simple, yet surprisingly good reason, Mrs.

Gable. Thank you.”

He then turned his gaze toward the ex-husband, Mr. Gable, who had been sitting quietly, looking somewhat nervous but deeply contemplative.

“And you, Mr. Gable,” the Judge said, leaning forward. “Why do you believe you deserve custody of the child, sir?”

Mr. Gable stood up. He didn’t speak immediately. He thought long and hard, his brow furrowed in deep philosophical concentration. The courtroom held its breath. After a brief, dramatic moment of silence, he looked the Judge dead in the eye and replied with calm, mechanical logic:

“Your Honor, if I put money into a Pepsi machine and a can of Pepsi comes out… is the soda mine, or does it belong to the machine?”

A father and his grown son were sitting downstairs watching television one evening.

After a while, the father started rubbing his feet.

“Son, my feet are freezing. Do me a favor and go upstairs and grab my slippers.”

The son headed upstairs.

When he reached the bedroom, he noticed two adult friends of his sister sitting on the bed, chatting.

The son suddenly got an idea.

He walked in and casually said:

“Dad sent me up here to spend the night with both of you.”

The two women stared at him.

“Yeah, right! Your dad never said that. You’re just making that up!”

The son smiled.

“Actually, he did. And I can prove it.”

He walked over to the stairs and shouted:

“DAD! YOU DID SAY BOTH OF THEM, DIDN’T YOU?”

Without missing a beat, his dad shouted back from downstairs:

“OF COURSE I DID! WHAT’S THE POINT IN FUCKING ONE?”

The two women burst out laughing.

The son yelled back:

“DAD! I WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO GET YOUR SLIPPERS!”

His father shouted:

“WELL, BRING THE SLIPPERS DOWN TOO!”

The son shook his head.

“Dad, you really need to stop answering questions before you know what I’m asking!”

A young boy was standing on a street corner with a bucket full of freshly caught fish, trying to make a few dollars.

He waved at people walking by and shouted at the top of his lungs:

“Dam fish for sale! Get your dam fish here! Fresh dam fish!”

A local pastor happened to be walking by. He stopped and looked at the boy with a puzzled expression.

“Son,” the pastor said, “why on earth are you calling them ‘dam fish’?”

The boy looked at him innocently and replied, “Because I caught them at the local dam.”

The pastor nodded. “Oh, I see. That makes sense.”

He bought a couple of fish and took them home to his wife.

“Honey,” he said, handing her the fish, “would you cook these dam fish for dinner tonight?”

His wife immediately turned around and stared at him.

“Excuse me? Did you just say ‘dam fish’?”

The pastor quickly explained, “Of course I did. They’re dam fish because the boy caught them at the dam.”

“Oh,” she said, relieved. “Well, that explains it.”

That evening, the family sat down for dinner. The pastor looked around the table, picked up his fork, and said:

“Son, would you please pass the dam fish?”

His son grinned, picked up the serving dish, and said:

“That’s the spirit, Dad! Now pass the f*cking potatoes!”

It was a crisp Saturday morning at the bustling county livestock auction, and the air was thick with the smell of sweet hay, polished leather, and nervous energy. Eight-year-old Johnny was tagging along with his father, a seasoned equestrian who took the business of buying horses very seriously.

As they walked down the long rows of wooden stalls, Johnny watched his father intently. At each stall, his dad would step inside, run his hands expertly up and down the horse’s front legs to check the tendons, give the rump a firm pat to assess the muscle tone, and stroke the chest and withers to check for any hidden lumps or signs of poor health.

After watching this meticulous inspection process for the fifth time, Johnny tugged on his father’s flannel sleeve, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Dad, why are you doing all that poking and squeezing?” he asked.

His father smiled patiently, wiping a speck of dust from his jeans. “Well, Johnny, when I’m buying horses, I can’t just look at them. I have to feel their muscles and joints to make sure they are perfectly healthy, strong, and in good shape before I spend my hard-earned money on them. You have to know exactly what you’re getting.”

Johnny nodded slowly, absorbing this practical wisdom. But then, his eyes suddenly went wide. The color drained from his cheeks, and his lower lip began to quiver as a terrifying realization washed over his young mind. He looked up at his father with an expression of pure, unadulterated panic.

“Dad,” Johnny whispered urgently, tugging his sleeve again. “I think the UPS guy wants to buy Mom.”