The governor was inspecting the new state-supported psychiatric hospital and on being taken through the isolation wards was struck by the fact that in one cell there was sitting a man of distinguished appearance who was reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal and who was wearing nothing but a glossy silk top hat.
The inmate looked up, and saw the governor and his surrounding cluster of doctors and other functionaries.
The inmate thereupon rose, bowed politely, and said in cultured tones, "Sir, I perceive you are a man of importance and it strikes me that you must be curious as to why I sit here in the nude."
"Well, yes," said the governor cautiously. "The thought had in-deed struck me."
"It is not at all mysterious," said the inmate. "The cell is air-conditioned as you will note and is maintained at most comfortable temperature, and I am, moreover, quite private. Since clothing is not necessary either for warmth, modesty, or adornment, why bother with it at all?"
"True," muttered the governor, rather taken aback at the other's obvious rationality.
"But tell me," he said, "in that case, why the top hat?" The inmate shrugged. "Oh, well, someone might come."
Mr. Jones badly needed to know the time, but his wristwatch, alas, turned out to have stopped hours before. The streets were deserted and the only living soul in sight was a man sunning himself in a deck chair on the large, fenced-off lawn of the local mental hospital.
A little dubious, but observing that the man really looked quite harmless and reflecting that in any case he had no choice, Mr. Jones called out, "Sir, do you by any chance have the time?"
"The time? One moment." The man on the lawn was galvanized into action. Leaping out of his deck chair, he withdrew a small stick from one pocket and a small hammer from another. He tapped stick into the ground, adjusted it carefully until he was satisfied was vertical, then whipped out a measuring tape. He measured the length of the stick above the ground and the length of its shadow Throwing himself prone on the ground, he sighted the top of the stick against some point on the building, made a mark on the ground, and then made a few new measurements.
Out from his back pocket came a slide rule. Back and forth he manipulated it and finally, perspiring slightly, he said, "It is exactly 3:22.5 P.M., provided this is June 30, as I think it is."
Mr. Jones, who had watched all this with astonishment, could not help but be convinced, and adjusted his watch carefully. He then said, "This has been a most impressive use of the solar position to tell time, but what do you do at night, or on a cloudy day, when there are no shadows to measure?"
"Oh, then," said the inmate, holding up his left arm, "I just look at my wristwatch."
A stranger came into a bar in which there were only the bartender, dog, and a cat.
As the stranger ordered his drink, the dog rose, yawned, and said "Well, so long, Joe," then walked out.
The stranger's jaw dropped. He said to the bartender, "Did you hear that? The dog talked." "Don't be a jackass," said the bartender. "A dog can't talk."
"But I heard him."
"You just think you heard him. I tell you dogs can't talk. It's just that wise-guy cat over there. He's a ventriloquist."
An earthworm, curving past a stalk of grass, came upon another earthworm of surpassing beauty and fell in love at once.
"Marry me," he cried passionately, "and make me happy." Whereupon the object of his affection said querulously, "Oh, shut up, you old fool. I'm your other end."
What did Dallas chef of police say when the elephant walked into the police station?
Nothing! He didn't notice
Background:
This joke reflects the ease with which, after John F. Kennedy's assassination and the arrest of Lee Harvey Oswald for that crime, Jack Ruby was able to smuggle a gun into the Dallas County jailhouse and use it to kill Harvey.
Robinson was an inveterate gambler, and time and again, he labored to make his fortune at Las Vegas. Many were the systems he had tried, from complicated mathematical formulas to pure guesswork- but nothing had worked. One evening, as he was in the process of once again parting with his bankroll, he was holding his last chip irresolutely when a small voice in his ear said, "Put it on twenty-seven." Robinson started and looked about. There was no one near him.
The small voice said, "Put it on twenty-seven." So he did and twenty-seven won.
The small voice said, "Put it all on twelve." He did and twelve won.
The small voice said, "Put it all on fifteen."
He did and fifteen won. By now the pile before him had grown large, and other players had stopped and begun to watch. Robinson allowed a confident smile to cross his face. The small voice said, "Put it all on five." Without hesitation he did and five won.
Now he had a fortune before him and the small voice said, "One last time. Put it all on seventeen." He did and the wheel spun. Round and round, and the little ball hovered, hovered, hovered, began to drop into seventeen, and in a final twist, hopped out again.
Two mice met in the early nineteen-sixties, when manned flights in orbit were as yet in the planning stage. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, one said, "But you look worn out, Michael. What's the matter?"
Michael shrugged his little shoulders and said, "Life isn't easy for us scientists, you know. I'm in space research, and those experimental flights in rockets, with the weightlessness and the acceleration and the uncertainty of safe return-Well, it's hard on one's nerves."
"In that case," said his friend, "why don't you quit and take a job in some other line of work?" That's easy to say," said Michael, "but stop and think - Is a job in cancer research any better?"
There's a magician who works his show on a cruise ship.
After a while, the captain's parrot understands how the magician does every trick and starts shouting, "Look, it's not the same hat," He's hiding the flowers under the table," or "Hey, why are all the cards the ace of spades?"
The magician is furious, but can't do anything against the captain's parrot.
Then the ship sinks, and the magician and the parrot find themselves on a piece of wood, staring at each other with hatred. This goes on for days.
Finally, the parrot can't hold back: "Okay, I give up. Where's the ship?"
__________________
"Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die."
That's easy to say," said Michael, "but stop and think - Is a job in cancer research any better?"
Like so many of those dry jokes, with no vocal delivery or facial expression to help out, you have to modernize them, and add a delivery style, to make them work.
I mean, that's a great Jewish joke, but it is dated and so dry.
__________________
"Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die."
A man walked into a bakery and said, "I want a birthday cake baked for me in the shape of the letter S."
The baker nodded. "I'll have it ready for you by two this afternoon. But it will cost money." "Money is no object," said the customer.
At two o'clock the customer was back. The cake was proudly presented in all its serpentine glory, and the man flew into a passion. "Not an ordinary capital S, you idiot," he shouted. "I want a beautiful flowing S in script."
The baker said, "But you didn't say so. If you can come back at eight in the evening, I'll have it for you." The customer was back at eight. Another cake was presented. He looked at it critically and said, "I don't like the frosting. Could you make it with a pinker cast? I'll pay for the extra trouble."
"I can fix that in no time, if you'll wait," said the baker. By eight-thirty he was back, and the cake was perfect. With a sigh of relief, the baker pulled a box down and prepared to package the cake.
"Hold it," said the customer. "I'm eating it here."
Jones, sitting over a few drinks at the club with Anderson, said thoughtfully, "I bought a parakeet some time ago, but it was a bad investment. It doesn't say a word, and I expected it to talk."
"It should," said Anderson forcefully. "I have several that talk. What have you bought for it?"
"A cage. What else?"
"Plenty else. A parakeet isn't a canary. It has to be kept occupied. You have to buy it a little ladder on which it can hop up and down. It needs a little swing to swing on, little cakes of candied seeds to peck on, and a little mirror for company. Then it will talk."
Jones thought, nodded, and said, "I didn't know. Thanks for the information."
Two weeks later, they met at the club again and Jones said savagely, "You and your advice! I bought a ladder, a swing, a cake of candied seeds, and a mirror, and that parakeet never talked. In fact, this morning I found it dead at the bottom of the cage and my entire investment is lost."
Anderson was astonished. "I can't understand it. You mean it never said a single word?"
Jones said thoughtfully, "Well, come to think of it, it might have said something. Just before I found it dead, I heard a small voice say, "Who moved the ladder?""
Re: Somebody Tell A Joke
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