The Mammoth Book of Tasteless Jokes (200 page)

The mother can’t quite believe what she just heard and gets him to repeat it. When he does, she says angrily, “Go and tell your father what you just told me!”

The boy goes into see his father and says, “Dad, mum’s mad.”

“Why son?”

“I just told her what I did in school today. I had a maths test, I got an A in spelling and I had sex with my English teacher.”

The father gives his son a nudge and a wink and says, “Congratulations son, you passed a milestone. I tell you what, let’s go out and celebrate. We’ll have some ice cream and then I’ll buy you a new bike.”

The boy replies: “Great! The ice cream sounds good, dad, but can you make it a football instead of a bike? My arse is still killing me.”

A teacher starts a new job at a primary school on Merseyside. Trying to make a good impression on her first day, she explains to her class that she’s a big football fan and supports Everton. She asks her students to raise their hands if they, too, are Evertonians. Everyone in the class raises their hand except one little girl. The teacher looks at the girl with surprise and says: “Sally, why didn’t you raise your hand?”

“Because I’m not an Everton fan, miss,” she replies.

“Well, if you’re not an Everton fan, then who are you a fan of?”

“I’m a West Ham fan, and proud of it,” Sally replies.

The teacher asks: “Sally, how come you’re a Hammers fan?”

“Because my mum and dad are from Barking in London and are West Ham fans, so I’m a West Ham fan too!”

“Still,” says the teacher, “that’s no reason for you to be a West Ham fan as well. You don’t have to be like your parents all the time, do you? What if your mum was a whore and your dad was a drug addict and car thief. Would you be like them then?”

“No, Miss. I’d be an Everton fan.”

Four city executives are playing golf. On the third green, they hear a mobile ringtone. One of the bankers takes the phone from his pocket, excuses himself to take the call, before returning to the game.

“Sorry, guys,” says the banker smugly, “but I am so important to my bank that I carry my phone with me at all times.”

At the fourth green, another phone rings. The second banker lifts the palm of his hand to his face and starts to talk into it. When he had finished, he explains: “Sorry, guys. I am such an indispensable employee that I actually have a mobile phone surgically implanted in my hand.” The others examine his hand with mild interest before resuming the game.

At the fifth green, another irritating ringtone starts. A third banker splits from the group, apparently talking to himself. On his return, seeing the faces of his bemused playing partners, he explains: “My bank would fall apart without me, so I have a phone embedded in my mouth.”

The game continues. At the sixth hole, a look of discomfort suddenly crosses the fourth banker’s face and he squats behind the nearest bush. A couple of minutes pass and he fails to reappear. Eventually, the other three gingerly peer behind the bush, only to find him squatting with his trousers round his ankles, apparently having a shit.

“Sorry!” the first three bankers mumble, not knowing where to look.

The fourth looks up at them and smiles. “Will you look at that,” he says. “I’m getting a fax . . .”

What do you get if you cross a PC with a nun?

A computer that will never go down on you.

One day at work Jim says to one of his workmates, “My elbow is killing me. I’m off to see my doctor about getting something done about it.”

His mate replies, “Listen, you don’t have to waste your time waiting around in a GP’s waiting room. There’s a brilliant new diagnostic computer in the clinic on the high street. Just give it a urine sample and the computer will tell you what’s wrong and what to do about it. It takes ten seconds and costs nothing.”

So Jim takes his advice and collects a urine sample in a jar and takes it to the clinic. The computer display lights up and asks for the urine sample. He pours the sample into a funnel and waits. Ten seconds later, the computer spews a printout: “You have tennis elbow. Soak your arm in warm water and avoid heavy activity. It will improve in two weeks.”

That evening, while thinking how amazing this new technology was, Jim began wondering if the computer was foolproof. He mixes some tap water, a stool sample from his dog, urine samples from his wife and daughter, scrapes some oil off the driveway and masturbates into the mixture for good measure.

Jim goes back to the chemist, pours in his new sample and awaits the results.

Bill Gates dies and finds himself standing before the pearly gates, being checked over by St Peter. “Well, Bill, I have to tell you that this is a tough call,” says St Peter. “I don’t know whether to send you to Heaven or Hell. On the one hand, you contributed enormously to society by putting a computer in almost every home, but you also created that annoying Windows operating system. Tell you what, I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. I’m going to let you decide where you want to go.”

“What’s the difference between the two?” Bill asks.

St Peter replies, “I’m willing to let you visit both places briefy if it will help you make your decision.”

“Fine,” says Bill. “Where should I go first?”

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Okay, let’s try Hell first,” says Bill.

So Bill goes to Hell. It is a beautiful, clean, sandy beach with clear waters and lots of bikini-clad women lounging around, taking in the sun. The weather is beautiful and the temperature pleasingly warm but not too hot. Bill is very pleased. “This is great!” he tells St Peter. “If this is Hell, I really want to see Heaven!”

“Fine,” says St Peter, and off they go.

Heaven is a place high in the clouds, with angels drifting about, playing harps and singing. It is very nice, but frankly a bit dull and not as enticing as Hell. Bill considers his options for a couple of minutes then delivers his decision. “All in all, I think I’d prefer Hell,” he tells St Peter.

“Fine,” says St Peter, “as you wish.” So Bill Gates goes to Hell.

Two weeks later, St Peter decides to check to see how he is doing in Hell. When he gets there, he finds Bill, shackled to a wall in a dark cave, screaming, with hot flames licking around his fleet, while demons are torturing him with branding irons.

“Hi, Bill, how’s it going?” he enquires of the late billionaire.

“This is my worst nightmare!” Bill cries. “This is nothing like the Hell I visited two weeks ago! I can’t believe this is happening! What happened to that other place, with the beautiful beaches, the scantily-clad women playing in the water?”

“That was a demo,” replies St Peter.