The Mammoth Book of Tasteless Jokes (6 page)

Seeing this, the editor felt so sorry for him he said; “For £3 you can have seven words.”

The old man thanked him and thought for a while. Then he wrote: “Doris Smith Dead. Ford Focus for Sale”.

A couple made a pact that whoever died first would come back and tell their partner if there was an afterlife. The husband was the first to go and, true to his word, he made contact with his wife one night when she was lying in bed.

“Sarah, Sarah . . .”

“Is that you, Ted?”

“Yes, I’ve come back just as we agreed.”

“What’s it like?”

“Well, I get up in the morning, I have sex, I have breakfast, go off to the golf course, I have sex, I bathe in the sun, and then I have sex twice. I have lunch, another romp around the golf course, then sex pretty much all afternoon. After that it’s supper and the golf course again. Then have sex until late at night. The next day it starts again.”

“Oh, Ted! You surely must be in Heaven.”

“Not exactly, I’m a rabbit in Essex.”

Two old Yorkshiremen, Ted and Frank, have been mates for as long as either can remember. They are now both in their nineties and throughout their friendship they have shared a love of cricket, both as players in their youth and now as devoted spectators. One day while they are sitting at Headingley watching a county game, Ted turns to Frank and says, “You know Frank, me and thee have been friends for more than eighty years and we’ve enjoyed our cricket all that time.”

“Aye,” replies Frank.

“Well,” Ted continues, “we’ve both had a decent innings and are now getting towards the point where we’ve got to carry our bat for the last dignified walk back to the pavilion.”

“Aye,” replies Frank.

“Do you think they have cricket in Heaven?” asks Ted.

Frank says: “I don’t know, lad. But if one of us takes the walk to the pavilion before the other, let’s promise that if it’s at all possible, we will come back and let the other know.”

“Sounds good to me,” says Frank.

A couple of months later Ted gets ill and unfortunately a few days later takes the long walk back to the pavilion. About a week after Ted dies, Frank is asleep in bed and is woken by a voice he recognizes as his old deceased mate.

Franks says: “Ted, is it thee?”

“Aye,” says Ted. “We agreed that the first one would come back and let the other know if there was cricket in Heaven.”

Frank answers, “Aye.”

“Well,” says Ted, “there is some good news and some bad news, which would you like first?”

Frank considers his options for a moment. “I’ll have the good news first, please.”

So Ted starts with the good news. “There is test match cricket in Heaven and the weather is always a warm summer afternoon. All of our old friends are here and you have the strength and vitality of your youth so that you can bat and bowl all day without getting tried. And Frank, the afternoon teas are to die for.”

“That’s great,” says Frank, “but, what’s the bad news then?”

Ted replies: “You’re opening the batting for us next Monday.”

Charlie came home drunk one night, collapsed into bed beside his sleeping wife and fell into a deep slumber. When he awoke he was standing in front of the Pearly Gates where St Peter said, “You died in your sleep, Charlie.”

Charlie was shocked. “I’m dead? No, I can’t be! I’ve got too much to live for. Send me back!”

St Peter said, “I’m sorry, but there’s only one way you can go back, and that is as a chicken.”

Charlie was devastated but begged St Peter to send him to a farm somewhere near his home. The next thing he knew he was in a farmyard, covered with feathers, clucking, and pecking the ground.

A cock strolled past. “So, you’re the new hen, eh? How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” replied Charlie, “but I have this odd feeling inside. Like I’m going to explode!”

“You’re ovulating,” explained the cock. “Don’t tell me you’ve never laid an egg before.”

“Never,” said Charlie.

“Well, just relax and let it happen,” says the cock. “It’s no big deal.”

Charlie did as the cock said and a few very uncomfortable seconds later, out popped an egg.

Charlie was overwhelmed as he experienced motherhood for the first time. He soon laid another egg, and then another. His joy was overwhelming.

Just he was about to lay his fourth egg, he felt a smack on the back of his head, and heard his wife shout, “For fuck’s sake, Charlie! Wake up you drunken bastard. You’ve shat the bed!”

Dear Marge,

I’m writing to tell you my problem. For the past twenty years I have been married to a sex maniac. My husband won’t leave me alone. He fucks me regardless of what I am doing: cooking, ironing, washing dishes, sweeping, even doing anything that askjsh l;sasp wth nd f unothel gothsl ehj fpslth fjsl;s;;o{*&^^ .lp sld mpskdli dlks; “+**