A guy walks into a bar
How does the enthusiastic chef serve his burgers?
On a hot summer day, a woman has a hankering for a hotdog.
Puzzled, the woman watches as the next customer, a young girl, walks up to order her hotdog. As she takes the container of relish, she bursts into a fit of giggles, and walks off with her food, still laughing merrily.
A middle-aged man steps up next. Shoveling sauerkraut onto his hotdog, he laughs uproariously and walks away grinning.
When she reaches the front of the line, the woman asks the hotdog vendor,
“Excuse me, sir, but why does everyone laugh when they get their hot dogs?”
“It’s simple, ma’am,” he says, handing her a piping-hot sausage, “I’m surprised you haven’t discovered for yourself.”
Glancing at the mustard, the woman lets loose a peal of laughter.
“Ya see, ma’am? The _real_ joke’s always in the condiments.”
A citizen of Moscow went into a restaurant
“Certainly,” said the waiter, “we have all that you have ordered except Pravda. That newspaper ceased publication when the old Communist regime collapsed.”
The waiter duly brought the borsht; the customer ate it with relish and said: “And now bring me the veal cutlets and don’t forget my rhubarb pie, coffee and my copy of Pravda.”
The waiter said patiently: “I’m sorry but I can’t bring you a copy of Pravda. It doesn’t exist anymore. It died with the Communists.”
The cutlets in turn were brought and eaten. “Now,” said the customer, “please bring me my rhubarb pie and then my coffee and the copy of Pravda.”
“The rhubarb pie is no problem,” said the waiter, “and there’s plenty of coffee but there is no longer any Pravda – like the old Communist government, it’s finished, done away with, no more.”
The customer consumed his pie and called the waiter over to his table. “That was excellent,” he said, “and now I’m ready for my coffee and the copy of Pravda.”
The waiter exploded: “How many times do I have to tell you, there is no Pravda. There is no Communist government. We’ve got rid of all that!”
“Yes, I know,” said the customer, “I just wanted to hear you say it again.”
Some people hate hotdogs.
What did the burger do when he ate his enemy the hotdog?
A stressed out businessman decides to have a drink on his lunch break to relax…[LONG]
He sits at the end of the bar nearest the entrance and orders a whiskey double. The bartender says, “Here you go, pally. If you need anything, Ill be down here washing up. Just holler.”
Thankful for some peace and quiet after a long week of demanding work, he relishes his drink in silence, absentmindedly eating peanuts and watching SportsCenter.
Not two minutes later, he hears a voice whisper in his ear – as clear as day: *”That is a great suit.”* He is startled. He glances around and of course, he was still alone. The bartender was still at the other end of the bar washing up. He chalks it up to stress. He takes another deep breath and resumes his former activities.
Not even a minute goes by and it happens again. *”You really are a good looking guy.”*
Unable to comprehend what is going on, he calls the bartender over.
“Hey, this may sound weird,” the man says, “But… is anyone else here? Not two minutes ago I swear it sounded like someone was whispering in my ear. Telling me I they liked my suit. Then just now I heard it again, only this time they were telling me I was a good looking guy. What’s going on?”
The bartender gives a puzzled look for a few seconds, and then a wave of realization comes over his face.
“Ooooh, I know. Sorry, pally. That was just the peanuts. They’re….*complimentary*.”
A buddhist monk goes to a hot dog stand and says, “Make me one with everything.”
The monk hands over a $100 bill and takes the hot dog. The vendor takes the note and smiles. “Have a nice day!”.
The monk is confused. “Pardon me, what about my change?”
The vendor answers with a bow: “Change only comes from within.”
A man, wandering through the desert, comes across a small town. [Long]
“Water,” he mumbles to the bartender, holding up two fingers and glancing at the sign that reads ‘Free Water’. As soon as the waters arrive, he gulps both of them down.
“You must be thirsty, eh?” grins the bartender. The man, feeling rejuvenated, nods.
“Grab me a beer, would you?” he asks. The bartender slides one over and he chugs it, relishing the cold liquid.
At the end of a few hours, the man has racked up quite a large bill. He yawns and gets up to stretch and leave, but is stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “How’re you gonna pay for that?” growls the now-hostile bartender.
“Oh!” laughs the man in surprise. “Sorry, I completely forgot! Let me just…” He trails off, realizing with a feeling of dread that his pouch is empty.
“You have to pay,” the bartender tells him angrily.
“I know, I know, I just, give me a second,” stalls the man in desperation. Suddenly, an idea pops into his head that just might work…
“I’ll tell a story!” he declares. “Trust me! It’ll be a great story.”
This piques the bartender’s interest, as he hasn’t heard a new story in years of being in the town. “Alright. And I’ll toss in a free room for the night,” he grunts. “Well, sit down and get started.”
So the man sits on a barstool and begins to weave a wonderful story with magic and dragons and fantasy, and near the end, every patron in the small inn is listening. However, the story ends with a huge anticlimax, and everyone groans to themselves as the group disperses.
“What was that?” roars the bartender, but the man has already gone up to his room.
The next morning, when the man emerges from the stairwell, the bartender is there, cleaning mugs. “That story was so disappointing last night, son,” he grumbles.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” says the man. “I’ll make up for it tonight if you give me another night here.” The bartender agrees, and they part on good terms.
That evening, everyone gathers around to hear another story. The man begins to speak, talking of steel and guns and war, but alas! this story, too, ends in a terribly disappointing anticlimax.
“Look, buddy,” snarls the bartender, pulling the man aside. “If you tell one more damn story like that, I’m gonna take you out into the desert-” He makes a gun with his fingers. “And shoot ya.”
The man nods, terrified for his life.
“But if you tell a good story, then I’ll give you three nights and as many free drinks as you want.”
The man nods again and scampers away, only returning much later.
That night, everyone crowds around again, looking interested and impatient. The man takes a deep breath and starts to speak of a forest and animals and elves. Halfway through, he falters, glancing at the bartender, who slides his finger across his throat threateningly. Shaken, he continues, sparing the occasional glance at the bartender, who glares at him each time. Predictably, this one ends with the worst anticlimax of all.
So the bartender takes the man out into the desert and shoots him.
I take my time while putting toppings on my hotdogs.
I like to name my hotdog “The Moment”…
I invented a relish made out of my own cash.
Dawn craved repetition.
But nothing compared to the joy of the early morning.
Because that’s when the dawn dawned on Dawn.
What did the man do when he had the opportunity to win a free hot dog?
You should see the nasty rejection letter I got from Heinz regarding my suggestion of a new condiment mixing relish and mustard…
What did the pickle say to the lemon?
I’ll see myself out
My wife complained about the fireworks that went on until midnight on the 3rd, I told her it was just a little fourth-play.
Bonus, before that the last funny thing I said was when my kid (4yo at the time) jumped on on her aunts back resulting in my wife saying, “Get off her back, your too heavy.”
My response was, “Don’t worry, aunts can carry 10 times their body weight.”
Well this should spice things up.
Early last February this year, I learned that National Grammar Day is celebrated on March 4th; I was looking forward to celebrating with some friends of mine in Toledo, Ohio…
Susan also turned out to be a wonderful cook; she prepared some delightful cucumber sandwiches paired with a refreshing pot of Earl Grey tea. There was also a relish tray laid out by Cynthia that accompanied the meal very well.
Needless to say, after an extraordinary time, I was not expecting what awaited me on the return journey. About 30 miles west of North Platte, Nebraska, an 18-wheeler collided with my 2006 Toyota Prius; the car was totaled, but my fate was even worse.
I was air-lifted to the nearest major trauma center where the doctors revived me and the surgeons began the delicate task of reconstructing my lower GI tract; debris from the collision had absolutely decimated my colon. They did the best they could, but my colon is now only 2 feet long; the average for most people is 5 feet.
Anyways, I finally know what a semicolon is.