The Daily Parker

Politics, Weather, Photography, and the Dog

Joke: the Ski Trip

Jack decided to go skiing with his buddy, Bob. They loaded up Jack's station wagon and headed north. After driving for a few hours, they got caught in a terrible blizzard. They pulled into a nearby farm house and asked the attractive lady of the house if they could spend the night.

"I'm recently widowed," she explained, "and I'm afraid the neighbors will talk if I let you stay in my house."

"Not to worry," Jack said, "we'll be happy to sleep in the barn."

Nine months later, Jack got a letter from the widow's attorney. He called up his friend Bob and said:

"Bob, do you remember that good-looking widow at the farm we stayed at?"

"Yes, I do."

"Did you happen to get up in the middle of the night, go up to the house and have sex with her?"

"Yes, I have to admit that I did."

"Did you happen to use my name instead of telling her your name?"

Bob's face turns red and he said, "Yeah, I'm afraid I did."

"Well, thanks! She just died and left me everything!"

Submitted by reader G.G.

Joke: Syrian Air Lines

The captain of a Syrian airliner sends out a distress message: "Mayday, mayday, mayday, Syrian 174, flame out engine one, we want to land at any airport in the Mid-East that's not in Israel."

No answer.

A short while later he announces, "Mayday, Syrian 174, flame out engines one and two, requesting permission to land at any airport in the Mid-East OTHER than in Israel."

Silence.

A while later the captain announces, "Mayday, Syrian 174, we are desperate. We have lost two engines and are losing the third. We need to land at any airport in the Mid-East OTHER than in Israel."

Still no answer.

Finally, the captain calls, "Help! This is Syrian Airlines 174, we have only one engine left and it is rapidly failing. Unless we can land we are going to crash. We need permission to land at ANY airport, INCLUDING in Israel."

A voice is heard in the Syrian airline cockpit:

"Shalom Syrian 174, Tel Aviv Approach. Radar contact over the Mediterrenean, eight-five west of Tel Aviv. We stand ready to assist."

"God bless you," says the Syrian pilot. "What should we do?"

"Repeat after me: Yitgadal, v'yitkadash..."

Submitted by reader L.P.

Joke: Hillary's Question

During a recent publicity outing, Hillary sneaked off to visit a fortune teller of some local repute. In a dark and hazy room, peering into a crystal ball, the mystic delivered grave news.

"There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just be blunt: Prepare yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a violent and horrible death this year."

Visibly shaken, Hillary stared at the woman's lined face, then at the single flickering candle, then down at her hands. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself. She simply had to know. She met the fortune teller's gaze, steadied her voice, and asked her question.

"Will I be acquitted?"

Submitted by reader S.S.

Joke: the Dermatologist

A woman walks into a dermatologist's office complaining of a rash. She lifts her shirt and shows the doctor a rash on her chest in the shape of a backwards G.

The dermatologist asks, "How did this happen?"

"Well," she explains, "my boyfriend plays football for Georgia Tech, and he likes to wear his jersey when we have sex."

The doctor accepts this and gives her a lotion for the rash.

The next day another girl walks into his office, and shows him an H-shaped rash on her chest.

"Does your boyfriend play sports?" he asks the girl.

"Actually, yes; he plays lacrosse for Hofstra," she replies. "He likes to wear his jersey when we have sex."

The doctor is way ahead of her, and hands her a prescription as she gets dressed.

A week later, a third girl comes into his office, and shows him an M-shaped rash.

"Let me guess," he says. "Your boyfriend plays for Michigan and likes to wear his jersey when you have sex."

The girl is indignant. "That's disgusting!" she exclaims. "If you must know, my girlfriend goes to Wellesley."

Submitted by reader A.R.

Satire: Star Wars, Episode 1

Actor Samuel L. Jackson, of Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown fame, will play "Jedi Master Mace Windu" in the upcoming Episode One of the Star Wars series.

braverman.org, having obtained a script on the black market, is pleased to excerpt some of Mace Windu's lines:

  • "You don't need to see my goddamn identification, 'cause these ain't the motherfuckin' droids you're looking for."
  • "Womp rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'll never know, 'cause even if it did I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker."
  • "This is your father's lightsaber. When you absolutely, positively, have to kill every motherfuckin' stormtrooper in the room...accept no substitutes."
  • "If Obi-wan ain't home then I don't know what the fuck we're gonna do. I ain't got no other connections on Tattooine."
  • "Feel the Force, motherfucker."
  • "What ain't no planet I've ever heard of! Do they speak Bocce on What?"
  • "You sendin' the Fett? Shit, Hutt, that's all you had to say!"
  • "Yeah Chewie Rocky Horror's got a hair problem. What the brother gonna do? He's a wookie."
  • "Does Jabba the Hutt look like a bitch?"
  • "Hand me my lightsaber... it's the one that says, 'BAD MOTHERFUCKER.'"

Submitted by reader B.P.

Fiction: E.M.F.

"Jessica!" Her name, screamed so close in that small place, brings them both back to earth. He pulls out, startled as she jumps and sees the man standing above them. His face is purple, raging; his eyes bulging, bloodshot, manic. The man in the stall knows something is very wrong. As she gasps "Pete!" and moves in her nakedness to placate him, somehow, the man with her dresses hurriedly. "Pete" is motionless for a long moment, eyes unbelieving. But as "Jessica" tries to deny what he's just seen, he stirs. Quick backhand—"Lying slut!"—and she is thrown against the stall, her head making a loud, sickening crack. Her eyes roll back and she slumps into unconsciousness. "Pete" reaches behind him and looks the other man in the eye. "Who are you?" he asks in a surprisingly calm voice. "Alex." "Well, Alex, I just caught you fucking my wife. I don't like that. I'm gonna show you just how much I don't like it." And he pulls a large black gun from behind him. "Say goodbye, mother fucker." Gun starts to find its target, the finger starts to tighten.

But these stalls are not very private, and the walls between leave a big space between them and the floor. And Alex, thin and agile, rolls under the wall as Pete brings out his gun. Under the wall into the bathroom proper and he jumps up to make his escape. Hard to push through all these people but he must, and as Pete roars in anger behind him Alex makes his desperate way outside.

The night is cold and damp, and outside the safety of the club's lights the shadows offer no cover. He dashes away from the club—no time to find a cab—and looks for a place to hide. Pete is right behind and Alex knows that he must find somewhere to dodge him—or someplace to find a weapon to protect himself. His eyes light upon a large abandoned steel factory nearby. Run to it, around to a fire escape, jump up and climb three steps at a time, up to a higher level. Pete loses a moment making the jump. Alex gains precious time, smashes a door window with his elbow, inside the building. The door groans open and he is in, down dark halls in his run.

Pipes cover the walls and ceilings, dripping water or hissing steam; steel doors and safety glass windows; old machinery lying forgotten. A few wires spark as Alex runs past. There is the dull hum of great electrical power, dark foreboding in the cold, moist air.

Down a hall through a steel door to the stairs, down two flights to a large landing. Pete yells from not far enough behind. Alex checks the doors on the landing—impulse prefers one certain door but it's locked. Pete can now see Alex, though Pete is still two flights up. Alex feels the terror rise in his throat and his limbs stiffen for a heartbeat, but the sound of Pete's footsteps clanging on the metal stairs breaks the paralysis. Alex dashes through the only open door he can find on that landing.

He enters a large room in the shape of a "T"; his door is at the right side of the T's top bar. It is 60 feet to the opposite wall down a 15-foot-wide "hall;" the room's extension ahead to his left is maybe 25 feet across and 40 feet deep. There are pipes of varying sizes running along the walls and ceiling, dripping water and hissing steam like the rest. The extension to his left, as he scampers further in, contains some steel lockers in the center and to the right of the room-several lockers are bashed in, as though football players have attacked them. There are showers far ahead to the left, shrouded in darkness, urinals to his immediate left, and toilets between them. But the toilets have only partial walls between them and no doors or walls in front for privacy. That missing section is propped against the lockers and partially draped with grey workcloth. Other cloth sections hang around the room, moving slowly in a silent breeze. The far end of the extension is dark but the red flickering of an "EXIT" sign barely shows another steel door with a large safety-glass window, a panic bar to open it from this side, and a large padlock preventing that panic bar from ever working again.

Alex runs to the side of the room opposite from his entrance, past old broken metal folding chairs, dead fluorescent bulbs, coat racks still with a few ragged coats, safety glasses and hard hats, and shelves of discarded tools and assorted junk. But the door he reaches—its window a tiny safety-glass peephole—is also locked securely. Alex is trapped in this place.

He darts back to the open area again—hears Pete's footsteps almost at the entrance. There must be somewhere to hide, and quickly, or some weapon to find, or some way to elude Pete. But even in desperation Alex can find nothing—this is it, the chase will end in this room. All is lost. Alex sinks into the shadows of the farthest toilet stall, awaiting the inevitable. His thoughts fade to his damning tryst with "Jessica" in the club. He never knew she was married! Revelation too late, far too late. The experience comes back now, strong, flooding his mind against what's coming...

Picks her up on the dance floor-a little smaller than he's used to, but so hot! Such a beautiful, elegant face. Such a beautiful body! "Jessica," she calls herself. "I'm Alex," he replies. And it starts. She keeps right up with him, dancing with no inhibitions, clinging to him like wet clothing. The music slows and swells, he leans down for a quick, furtive kiss. Her lips open and her hands dig in-the kiss locks and tongues meet in the hammering of blood and lust. The world disappears as hands slide and grope; the primal, hungry kiss. He finds a breast with his right hand and her moan sends steam across his chest. Knead, knead, gnaw on her face; this cannot continue on the dance floor. He breaks off to maneuver them into the bathroom—doesn't matter which one—and into a private stall. Back to the feeding frenzy. Clothes melt away, his mouth slides down to the breast—suckle like a baby, nibble around the nipple—his hands stroke her ass. Her back arches, her teeth grind; she starts to shake. He leans her back against the door and she lowers herself a little. Her hands cup his balls and tickle them; his breath catches and he clamps down on that breast. She grabs his shaft and slides from scrotum to head, back, up, back; tug and tug and tug to swollen erection. He spreads her soft, dark legs and finds the hole under her mound with two fingers. Her hands move harder, more violently; he grabs and fondles and teases her insides. Juices come quickly, he can barely hold her-or hold himself back. No more waiting—frantic, hungry kisses and licking; he grabs her ass and lifts her up and to him. Her legs wrap around the small of his back as he slides into her-so hot, so tight, so wet. Oh yes! Yes! Pump away, grunts, flesh slapping, moans, devour each other. (No notice of the man peeking over the stall, of the fury burning his eyes as Pete recognizes his beautiful wife fucking another man.) Alex, his eyes closed, can see the light, the rush of Paradise roaring towards him. The light, so strong! The sounds, so loud! He groans to welcome it...Ecstasy, mother fucker!


Bang.


Silence.


All is dark.

Copyright ©1992 Sean Pearson

Joke: the Pharmacist

A man walks into a pharmacy, buys a condom, then walks out of the store laughing hysterically. The pharmacist thinks this is weird, but, hey, there's no law preventing weird people from buying condoms. Maybe it's a good thing.

The next day, the man comes back to the store, purchases another condom, and once again he leaves the store laughing wildly. This piques the interest of the pharmacist. What's so funny about buying a rubber, anyway? So he tells his clerk "If this guy ever comes back, I want you to follow him to see where he goes."

Sure enough, the next day the laugher is back. He buys the condom, starts cracking up, then leaves. The pharmacist tells his clerk to go follow the guy. About an hour later, the clerk comes back to the store.

"Did you follow him? Where did he go?" asks the pharmacist.

The clerk replies "Your house."

Submitted by reader C.K.

Joke: Programming

Jesus and Satan have an argument as to who is the better programmer. This goes on for a few hours until they agree to hold a contest with God as the judge.

They set themselves before their computers and begin. They type furiously for several hours, lines of code streaming up the screen.

Seconds before the end of the competition, a bolt of lightning strikes, taking out the electricity. Moments later, the power is restored, and God announces that the contest is over. He asks Satan to show what he has come up with.

Satan is visibly upset, and cries, "I have nothing! I lost it all when the power went out."

"Very well, then," says God, "let us see if Jesus fared any better."

Jesus enters a command, and the screen comes to life in vivid display, the voices of an angelic choir pour forth from the speakers.

Satan is astonished. He stutters, "But how?! I lost everything, yet Jesus' program is intact! How did he do it?"

God chuckles, "Jesus saves."

Submitted by reader S.P.

Humor: Worst Opening Lines

The Edward Bulwar Lytton prize is awarded every year to the author of the worst possible opening line of a book. This has been so successful that Penguin now publishes five books' worth of entries.

Some recent winners:

  • "As a scientist, Throckmorton knew that if he were ever to break wind in the sound chamber he would never hear the end of it."
  • "Just beyond the Narrows the river widens."
  • "With a curvaceous figure that Venus would have envied, a tanned, unblemished oval face framed with lustrous thick brown hair, deep azure-blue eyes fringed with long black lashes, perfect teeth that vied for competition, and a small straight nose, Marilee had a beauty that defied description."
  • "Andre, a simple peasant, had only one thing on his mind as he crept along the east wall: 'Andre creep...Andre creep...Andre creep.'"
  • "Stanislaus Smedley, a man always on the cutting edge of narcissism, was about to give his body and soul to a back-alley sex-change surgeon-to become the woman he loved."
  • "Although Sarah had an abnormal fear of mice, it did not keep her from seeking out a living at a local pet store."
  • "Stanley looked quite bored and somewhat detached, but then penguins often do."
  • "Like an overripe beefsteak tomato rimmed with cottage cheese, the corpulent remains of Santa Claus lay dead on the hotel floor."
  • "Mike Hardware was the kind of private eye who didn't know the meaning of the word 'fear,' a man who could laugh in the face of danger and spit in the eye of death—in short, a moron with suicidal tendencies."

And the worst line of all:

  • "The sun oozed over the horizon, shoved aside darkness, crept along the greensward, and, with sickly fingers, pushed through the castle window, revealing the pillaged princess, hand at throat, crown asunder, gaping in frenzied horror at the sated, sodden amphibian lying beside her, disbelieving the magnitude of the frog's deception, screaming madly, 'You lied!'"

Submitted by reader J.H.

Joke: Lawyers at Lunch

Two attorneys went into a diner and ordered two drinks. Then they produced sandwiches from their briefcases and started to eat. The owner became quite concerned and marched over and told them, "You can't eat your own sandwiches in here!"

The attorneys looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and then exchanged sandwiches.

Submitted by reader C.K.