The Mammoth Book of Tasteless Jokes (143 page)

I decided to burn some calories today. So I set a fat kid on fre.

The average obese child is expected to die at the age of ffty-four. That’s the pension crisis sorted then.

My wife looks as if she has been poured into her clothes. And had forgotten to say “when”.

My wife is a light eater. As soon as it is light, she starts eating.

An overweight housewife is on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen foor, when she suddenly shouts to her husband, “Help! Frank! I’m paralysed! I can’t get up!”

Her husband runs into the kitchen, takes a look, and says, “Stand up, you stupid bitch. You’re kneeling on one of your tits.”

I was looking at my girl this morning and I said, “You know, there are three things I really don’t like about you . . .”

“Oh, really? What are they?” she asked.

“Your chin.”

What do you call an obese Chinaman?

A chunk.

I broke up with my girlfriend because she lied about her weight. When I say that, she died in a bungee-jumping accident when the elastic snapped.

Why are fat girls and mopeds alike?

They’re both fun to ride until your friends find out about it.

My wife told me she thought it would be very romantic if, when she dies, she could be buried in her wedding dress. I said, “You’d better hope you die of some kind of wasting disease then.”

I asked this young boy, “Which is your favourite Telly Tubby?”

He replied, “Probably the new Samsung 42-inch LCD, you patronizing twat.”

A fat bird walks into a pub and shouts, “If anyone can guess my weight, they can shag me.”

A man in the corner replies, “Ninety-three stone, you lardy-arsed bint.”

She replies, “Close enough, you lucky bastard!”

My wife said to me, “I don’t want you to think I have diabetes because I’m fat. I have diabetes because it runs in our family.”