Daily Joke: Jokes Library

Dr. Harrison was a seasoned, highly respected physician who had been practicing in the same quiet, well-lit clinic for over thirty years. He was currently conducting the annual physical for Mrs. Gable, a respectable, slightly anxious woman who took her health very seriously.

The examination was going flawlessly. Dr. Harrison listened to her chest with his stethoscope, checked her reflexes, and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm. Finally, he peeled off his latex gloves, smiled warmly, and delivered the good news.

“Mrs. Gable, I’m thrilled to report that your heart is strong, your lungs are perfectly clear, your pulse is steady, and your blood pressure is practically textbook. You are in excellent health.”
Mrs. Gable let out a long, audible sigh of relief, smoothing down her blouse. “Oh, thank goodness, Doctor. I was so worried.”

“However,” Dr. Harrison continued, adjusting his reading glasses and picking up his clipboard, “to be absolutely thorough and complete your file, there is one more quick check I need to perform. I need to take a look at that little thing which gets you ladies into all kinds of trouble.”
Mrs. Gable froze.

Her eyes widened in sheer horror. Her mind instantly raced back to her mother’s strict, old-fashioned warnings and her own deepest, most private insecurities. Her face flushed a deep, burning shade of crimson. Assuming the doctor had somehow discovered a terrible secret or was making a highly inappropriate, boundary-crossing demand, she began to tremble.

With shaking hands, she reached for the top button of her blouse, squeezing her eyes shut as she prepared to comply with what she believed was a deeply compromising medical request. Pop. The first button came undone. The rustle of fabric filled the quiet room.

Dr. Harrison, who had been looking down at his notes, suddenly heard the sound. He looked up, and his eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated panic. He dropped his pen, threw his hands up in the air, and took a hurried step backward.

“No! No! Good heavens, no!” the doctor stammered, his own face now matching hers in color. “Please, put your clothes back on this instant! I just meant I need to see your tongue to check for a vitamin deficiency!”

An American traveling to Japan on business found himself with two unexpected days free after his work was completed earlier than planned. Being single and having been away from home for some time, he decided to enjoy some female company and visited a geisha house.

After choosing a companion, they retired to a private room. As they became intimate, the woman began softly repeating, “Yakamoda… Yakamoda…”

Not knowing any Japanese, the American assumed she was expressing her enjoyment. Encouraged, he continued, and soon picked up the pace.

The woman became more emphatic, repeating, “Yakamoda! Yakamoda! Yakamoda!”

Taking this as a sign of even greater enthusiasm, the American became increasingly energetic. Finally, the woman shouted at the top of her lungs:

“YAKAMODA! YAKAMODA! YAKAMODA!”

When they were finished, the American noticed that she had apparently fainted. Not wanting to disturb her, he quietly gathered his belongings and left.

The following day, he was playing golf with one of his Japanese business clients. On the 173-yard par-3, his Japanese partner struck a beautiful shot. The ball landed on the green, rolled smoothly toward the hole, and dropped straight in.

Thrilled by the shot and eager to impress his client with his newly acquired Japanese vocabulary, the American exclaimed:

“Yakamoda, sir!”

The Japanese gentleman stared at him for a moment and replied:

“What do you mean, ‘wrong hole’?”

Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers down in Louisiana, spending his days performing complex underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. It’s a tough gig, but he recently sent an email to his sister that was so hilariously tragic, she immediately forwarded it to radio station 103.2 FM in Fort Wayne, Indiana, for their “Worst Job Experience” contest. Needless to say, she won first prize.

Here is the email that started it all:
“Hi Sis,

Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother.
I know you’ve been feeling down about work lately, so I thought I’d share my latest office dilemma to help you realize your job isn’t so bad after all. But before I get to the main event, I have to bore you with a few technicalities.

As you know, my ‘office’ lies at the bottom of the Gulf. I wear a wet suit, and this time of year, the water is brutally cold. To keep from turning into a human popsicle, we use a diesel-powered industrial water heater.

This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks seawater in, heats it to a delightful temperature, and pumps it down to the diver through a heavy-duty garden hose taped to our air line.

It sounds like a brilliant plan, and I’ve used it dozens of times with zero complaints. When I get to the bottom and start working, I take the end of the hose and stuff it down the back of my wet suit. This floods the entire suit with warm water. It’s basically like working in a personal, underwater Jacuzzi.

Everything was going perfectly until, all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. Naturally, I reached back and scratched it. That only made things infinitely worse. Within seconds, the itch turned into a fiery, agonizing burn. I yanked the hose out from my back, but the damage was already done.
In sheer panic, I realized exactly what had happened. The hot water intake had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it directly into my suit. Now, since I don’t have much hair on my lower back, the jellyfish couldn’t stick there. However, the crack of my butt was not nearly as fortunate.

When I scratched what I thought was a simple itch, I was actually grinding a live, stinging jellyfish directly into the crack of my butt.

I immediately radioed the dive supervisor to explain my agonizing dilemma. His instructions were entirely unclear, mostly because he, along with five other divers on the comms channel, were laughing so hysterically they could barely breathe.

Needless to say, I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops, totaling thirty-five minutes, before I could even reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.

Thirty-five minutes of burning.

When I finally arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my heavy brass diving helmet. As I clumsily climbed out of the water, the site medic—whose face was red and streaming with tears of laughter—handed me a massive tube of soothing cream. He told me to rub it on my butt the second I got inside the decompression chamber.

The cream eventually put the fire out, but I couldn’t poop for two days because my butt was swollen completely shut.

So, next time you’re having a bad day at the office, just think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.”

Michael the Dragon Master was an official in King Arthur’s court. He had a long-standing obsession with getting unusually close to the beautiful Queen, but he knew that acting on this desire would mean certain death. One day, he revealed his secret wish to his colleague, Horatio, who was the King’s chief physician.

Horatio said, “I can arrange it, but I will need 1,000 gold coins to pay the necessary bribes.”

Michael the Dragon Master readily agreed.

The next day, Horatio prepared a special itching lotion. While the Queen was taking a bath, he secretly placed a small amount of it in her clothing. Soon after she dressed, the itching began and quickly became unbearable.

When Horatio was called to the royal chambers, he told the King that only a special remedy could cure the Queen’s unusual condition. He further explained that, according to his tests, the only person capable of providing the remedy was Michael the Dragon Master.

King Arthur summoned Michael and issued an imperial command.

Michael secretly placed the antidote Horatio had given him into his mouth. For the next four hours, he dutifully followed the King’s instructions and helped relieve the Queen’s terrible itching.

Satisfied that his secret ambition had finally been fulfilled, Michael returned to his chamber, where he found Horatio waiting and demanding payment.

However, now that his obsession had been satisfied, Michael refused to pay Horatio anything. He simply sent him away, knowing that Horatio could never reveal what had happened without getting himself into serious trouble with the King.

The next day, Horatio decided to get his revenge. He secretly placed a massive dose of the same itching lotion into King Arthur’s royal clothing.

Before long, the King was desperately uncomfortable.

Michael the Dragon Master was summoned once again…

And this time, Horatio was waiting for his payment.

Father Thomas was a brand-new priest, and the weight of his very first Sunday mass was crushing him. He was so nervous he could hardly string two sentences together during his morning prayers. Sensing the young man’s panic, the seasoned Monsignor O’Malley pulled him aside with a conspiratorial wink.

“Father, when I get nervous on the pulpit, I have a little trick,” the Monsignor whispered. “I keep a small glass of vodka right next to the holy water. If I start to tremble, I just take a small sip. It works wonders.”

Grateful for the lifeline, Father Thomas decided to take the advice. The following Sunday, he stood behind the pulpit, his heart hammering against his ribs. He reached over, poured a splash of vodka, and took a sip. The warmth spread through his chest, and his nerves instantly vanished. Emboldened, he took another sip. Then, just to be safe, he finished the glass.

He proceeded to deliver the most energetic, impassioned, and utterly unhinged sermon the parish had ever heard. He talked up a storm, pacing the altar with the confidence of a revivalist preacher.

Feeling incredibly proud of his performance, Father Thomas returned to his office after mass, loosening his collar with a satisfied sigh. But as he opened his door, he found a crisp, handwritten note slipped neatly onto his desk. It was from the Monsignor.

With a trembling hand, Father Thomas read the list:

1. Sip the vodka, Father, don’t gulp it.
2. There are 10 Commandments, not 12.
3. There are 12 disciples, not 10.
4. Jesus was crucified, not constipated.
5. Jacob wagered his donkey; he did not bet his ass.
6. We do not refer to Jesus Christ as “the late J.C.”
7. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not “Daddy, Junior, and the Spook.”
8. David slew Goliath; he did not kick the living daylights out of him.
9. When David was hit by a rock and knocked off his donkey, do not say he was “stoned off his ass.”
10. We do not refer to the cross as the “Big T.”
11. When Jesus broke the bread at the Last Supper, He said, “Take this and eat it, for it is my body.” He did *not* say, “Eat me.”
12. The Virgin Mary is not referred to as “Mary with the Cherry.”