Unique Jokes.com, A funny blog…

For the elder generation.

Truer words were never spoken…
Sing along—All together now:

Are you lonesome tonight, does your tummy feel tight?
Did you bring your Mylanta and Tums?
Does your memory stray, to that bright sunny day…
When you had all your teeth and your gums?

Is your hairline receding? Are your eyes growing dim?
Hysterectomy for her, and its prostate for him.
Does your back give you pain… do your knees predict rain?
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight

Is your blood pressure up, your good cholesterol down?
Are you eating your low fat cuisine?
All that oat bran and fruit, Metamucil to boot,
keeps you like a well oiled machine.

If it’s football, or baseball…he sure knows the score.
Yes, he knows where it’s at…but forgets what it’s for.
So, your gall bladder’s gone. But his gout lingers on.
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?

When you’re hungry, he’s not.
when you’re cold, then he’s hot.
Then you start that old thermostat war.
When you turn out the light, he goes left, you go right.
Then you get his great symphonic snore.

He was once so romantic, and witty and smart.
How’d he turn out to be such a cranky old fart?
So don’t take any bets, this is as good as it gets.
Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight.

Paddy and Murphy are knocking back a few pints of Guinness at
the local pub and in walks O’Rourke.

O’Rourke says, “did ye hear about O’Hara dyin last night?”

Paddy and Murphy, in shock, exclaim, “No! Poor O’Hara. Has
anyone told his wife?” O’Rourke says, “No she hasn’t been told
yet, but I’ll get sweet talking Patrick to tell her. He is
such a sweet talker and so good with words that he can talk
the fish out of the brook and the birds out of the trees.”

They leave to find Patrick and as they are leaving in he walks
in and says, “Good Mornin to ye all lads, a pint on me for
everyone.” O’Rourke tells Patrick the sad news about O’Hara
dying and asks him to break the news very gently to his wife,
as she doesn’t yet know.

Patrick, the sweet talker says, “I will be glad to have a chat
with O’Hara’s wife and I’ll break it so gently to her that a
whimper is all she’ll utter. I’m a man of words and I can charm
the fish from the brook and the birds from the trees. Don’t
worry lads, I’ll take care of this. They don’t call me sweet
talker for nuttin.”

Well, off they all go to O’Hara’s house. Patrick knocks on the
door and O’Hara’s wife answers and says, “Yes may I help you?”
Sweet talking Patrick steps forward and at attention says,
“Are you the widow O’Hara?” To which the woman responds,
“My name is O’Hara but I’m not a widow.”

Sweet talking Patrick braces himself and exclaims, “Shit you
ain’t, woman!”

Let’s see if I understand how America works lately . . If a
woman burns her thighs on the hot coffee she was holding in
her lap while driving, she blames the restaurant.

If your teen-age son kills himself, you blame the rock ‘n’ roll
music or musician he liked.

If you smoke three packs a day for 40 years and die of lung
cancer, your family blames the tobacco company.

If your daughter gets pregnant by the football captain you
blame the school for poor sex education.

If your neighbor crashes into a tree while driving home
drunk, you blame the bartender.

If your cousin gets AIDS because the needle he used to shoot
up with heroin was dirty, you blame the government for not
providing clean ones.

If your grandchildren are brats without manners, you blame
television.

If your friend is shot by a deranged madman, you blame the
gun manufacturer.

And if a crazed person breaks into the cockpit and tries to
kill the pilots at 35,000 feet, and the passengers kill him
instead, the mother of the deceased blames the airline.

I must have lived too long to understand the world as it is
anymore. So if I die while my old, wrinkled butt is parked
in front of this computer, I want you to blame Bill Gates, OK?

Michael the Dragon Master was an official in King Arthur’s court. He
had a long-standing obsession to nuzzle the beautiful Queen’s
voluptuous breasts. But he knew the penalty for this would be death.

One day he revealed his secret desire to his colleague, Horatio, who
was the King’s chief physician. Horatio said “I can arrange it, but I
will need 1,000 gold coins to pay bribes.” Michael the Dragon Master
readily agreed.

The next day Horatio made up a batch of itching lotion and poured a
little of it into the Queen’s brassiere while she was taking a bath.
Soon after she dressed, the itching commenced and grew in intensity.

Upon being called to the royal chambers, Horatio told the King that
only a special saliva would cure this type of itch, and that tests had
shown such a saliva was only to be in the mouth of Michael the Dragon
Master.

King Arthur summoned Michael the Dragon Master and issued the
imperial command. Michael the Dragon Master slipped the antidote to the
itching lotion, which Horatio had given him, into his mouth and for the
next four hours worked passionately on the Queen’s magnificent breasts.

Satisfied, he returned to his chamber and found Horatio demanding
payment. However, with his obsession now satisfied, he refused to pay
Horatio anything and shooed him away, knowing that Horatio could never
report this matter to the King.

The next day, Horatio slipped a massive dose of the same itching
lotion onto King Arthur’s loincloth. And Michael the Dragon Master was
again summoned by the King.

Moral of the story: Pay your bills

Look right into the security camera and use it as a mirror while
you pick your nose.

While handling guns in the hunting department ask the clerk if
he knows where the anti-depressants are.

Dart around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the
theme from ‘Mission Impossible’.

In the auto department practice your Madonna look using different
size funnels.

Hide in the clothing rack and when people browse through say
‘PICK ME! PICK ME!!!!!!’

When an announcement comes over the loud speaker assume the
fetal position and mumble ‘It’s those voices again’. And last but
not least,

Go into a fitting room and yell real loudly ‘Hey! We’re out of
toilet paper in here!’