Joker King - find funny jokes from here.

Except at a funeral.

He orders a beer.

Cut off one leg and make it run across Canada.

restaurant in peace

meaning she has to spend the next three weeks wearing a cone.

I mean, the people at that Lynyrd Skynyrd concert got really excited when I yelled out “free bird!”, but for some reason they weren’t interested in my parrot.

It's called "A Fistula Full Of Dollars"

Ewwwwwwwwe

Later in bed she gave me a treat. Let’s say by the end of it I had blue balls.

I mean It really goes without saying

Do to inflation and rising grocery costs the 5 second rule has been extended to 8.5 seconds

Dr. Felix Ainsworth was, by all accounts, a brilliant man. He had three PhDs, two honorary doctorates, and one rather unfortunate arrest for trespassing at the Large Hadron Collider, which he claimed was a simple case of mistaken identity—though it was unclear whether he had mistaken himself for a subatomic particle or vice versa. He worked at the Lunar Academy for Applied Theoretics, a highly prestigious institution on the Moon where humanity’s greatest minds were free to make the sorts of mistakes that would have leveled a city back on Earth. It was there, in his dimly lit office, that Dr. Ainsworth embarked on the most perilous journey of his career: attempting to write a knock-knock joke. This began, as all great scientific endeavors do, with complete and utter confusion. He had been tasked with delivering a speech at the annual gala, and a colleague—who had long since abandoned hope that Ainsworth would ever be socially competent—had suggested he “open with a joke.” He considered this suggestion with the same level of seriousness he usually reserved for quantum entanglement. A joke. Simple. A mere arrangement of words, structured for maximum amusement. It was, in essence, a formula. Thus, he set about his task with rigor. He scrawled equations on his whiteboard. He cross-referenced comedic timing with probability theory. He developed a grand unified theorem of punchlines. At last, he stared down at his notebook, adjusted his glasses, and read his work aloud: “Knock, knock.” A silence followed. It took him several minutes to remember that knock-knock jokes, by their very nature, required an interlocutor. Thus, he built one. The Lunar Academy had recently constructed the most advanced artificial intelligence ever devised, housed in a sleek humanoid form. It was named ARA (Autonomous Response Algorithm), and it had been designed to handle complex social interactions with tact, wit, and grace. Unfortunately, this meant it was utterly incompatible with Dr. Ainsworth, whose presence tended to cause lesser AIs to crash out of sheer existential distress. Still, ARA was programmed to obey direct requests, and so when Dr. Ainsworth said, “Knock, knock,” it hesitated only briefly before replying, in a flawless synthetic voice, “Who’s there?” He froze. In all his calculations, in all his formulas, in all his meticulous work, he had never once considered what the answer might be. And so, in a moment of raw improvisation, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Boson.” There was a long pause as ARA, the most advanced artificial mind ever created, processed this response. At last, it said, “Boson who?” Dr. Ainsworth blinked. He had no answer. He had not thought that far ahead. Desperate, he defaulted to honesty: “I… don’t know.” And that was when everything changed. A sudden alert blared through the Academy. Equations flashed across ARA’s internal display. The AI stiffened, then whispered, almost reverently: “Of course.” ARA had, in an instant, resolved a century-old paradox of quantum mechanics. The uncertainty of the joke, the incompleteness of the answer—these had aligned perfectly with the fundamental nature of particle interactions, revealing a solution that had eluded physicists for generations. Dr. Ainsworth, naturally, was delighted. Not because he had just inadvertently changed the course of science, but because— “Well,” he said smugly. “That proves it. Humor is a science.” And thus, having unknowingly revolutionized physics, Dr. Ainsworth returned to his desk, picked up his pen, and began working on a follow-up: “Knock, knock.” This time, he was determined to have an answer.

Now, I have known absent-minded men in my time. I once met a banker so distracted that he absentmindedly signed over his own house to a stray dog—though, having met his wife, I suspect it was not absentmindedness so much as desperate cunning. But if ever there was a man who could get lost in his own shadow, it was Professor Erasmus T. Abernathy. He was a scholar of some renown, famous for his contributions to the field of theoretical physics and infamous for his habit of boiling his own socks instead of eggs, which made him a subject of concern in both academic and culinary circles. He had once been tasked with delivering a keynote address to the Royal Society of Science but managed instead to deliver a laundry receipt to an audience of dignitaries, while his actual speech was later found tucked neatly into the breast pocket of his laundered and pressed overcoat. One day, the professor set out on a simple errand: he was to meet a publisher who had requested he submit an article on the mathematical structure of humor. The meeting was to take place at noon. It was now 11:58. He was feeling quite confident. He put on his best overcoat, buttoned it up entirely the wrong way, and, finding that it felt peculiar, deduced that he must have gained an unexpected amount of weight in one shoulder overnight. He made a mental note to investigate this phenomenon later, then left his house and promptly walked east, despite the meeting being due west. Along the way, he became distracted by a rather fascinating cobblestone, which led him to a most remarkable conclusion about planetary motion, which in turn occupied his mind so thoroughly that he stepped into a carriage—not his own—and rode it halfway across town before realizing that he was neither the driver nor the passenger, but had simply been standing on the back step the entire time, clutching his hat and deep in thought. Now hopelessly lost, he tried to retrace his steps but was unable to recall if he had left the house at all, or if he had merely dreamed of doing so. He checked his pocket for a map and found, instead, a note he had written to himself earlier that morning. It read: “Remember the thing!” This was deeply unhelpful. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, however, he recalled something about humor. The nature of humor. The structure of humor. Yes! He was meant to be studying the construction of jokes. If he could only write one, perhaps it would jog his memory. He stopped at the first establishment he came across—a quiet, dimly lit tavern where a bartender was wiping down the counter with the same look of existential resignation one sees in particularly reflective cattle. “Sir,” Abernathy said, removing his hat and promptly setting it ablaze in the nearest candle. “I require a drink, and also a joke.” The bartender, accustomed to peculiar men setting their possessions on fire in his establishment, poured him a whiskey and asked what kind of joke he had in mind. “A knock-knock joke!” the professor declared. “They are simple, structured, and should allow me to reorient myself.” The bartender, having little else to do, nodded. Abernathy straightened his burnt lapel. “Knock-knock.” “Who’s there?” The professor frowned. “I… do not know.” A long silence stretched between them. The bartender, never one to be thrown off, took a sip of his own drink. “Then I can’t let you in.” The professor blinked. “That’s it.” “What’s it?” “The joke. It is the ultimate joke. We are all knocking, are we not? We knock upon the door of knowledge, of understanding, of meaning itself. And yet—” he spread his hands in despair—“we never truly know who is there.” The bartender stared at him. Then, with the steady patience of a man who had been paid too little for too long, he topped off the professor’s drink and said, “Buddy, I just meant you don’t belong here.” The professor finished his whiskey, set his coat on fire for symmetry, and staggered out the door, presumably still knocking. Some say he’s still out there, wandering the world, trying to finish his joke. Others say he found enlightenment in that moment and promptly forgot it. But if you ever hear a knock on your door and nobody’s there, just remember: it might be Professor Abernathy. Or it might be the bartender, making sure you’re not about to set fire to your own coat.

"Mom I had the worst first day at college, I forgot to bring a binder and I fell to pieces."

The leave at dawn and begin wandering deeper and deeper into the woods. After many hours of hunting they eventually realise it is beginning to get dark. Neither one wants to admit it though. After getting so deep into the woods that they are completely lost they eventaully decide that it is getting dark. They begin eandering in another direction trying to escape the forest. After many hours of trying to escape, they eventually agree that they are lost. One of the hunters has the idea of fire shots in the air to ask for help. So he tells the other Hunter the fire three shots in the air or he sets up camp. When they are about to go to bed he asks the other hunter to try one more time. The other hunter says no I can’t. I only have one arrow left.

>!But it is on my bucket list!<

The absent-minded professor sits at his desk, tapping his pen against his notebook. “Alright,” he mutters. “A knock-knock joke. Simple structure. Shouldn’t be hard.” He writes: Knock-knock. He pauses, frowns, and scratches his head. “Wait… Who’s there?” He flips through his notes. Nothing. He checks the bookshelf. No answer. He digs through his desk drawer. Just old lecture slides. Finally, he shrugs and writes: Knock-knock. Who’s there? I… don’t recall. He leans back, satisfied. “Yes. That’ll do.”

Susie: Sure! *Charlie* and *The Chocolate Factory*!

They place a conch shell on the desk, walks out of the classroom, and locks the door from the outside.

“I’m looking for the man who shot my pa”

Two young women athletes on a trip to a competition decided to save money by sharing a hotel room. During the first night, they undressed and slid into the king-sized bed. When one of them snuggled up to the other, she said, “There’s something I need to tell you about me, so let me be frank.” “No,” said the other, “I’d rather not do it that way. Let me be Frank.”

Ann Arbor

You know what? I'm exstatic

(with a southern drawl) Don't matter, he ain't comn'

and they were told by a tribe that each one should go get a fruit and shove it deep inside his ass. the first one got an apple. after he put it, he screamed so they killed him, the second guy got grapes, after he put it he burst out laughing, after they asked him why he was laughing he said i couldn't resist after i saw the third guy with 2 watermelons

Bulldozer

One's a Fedex, the other's an ex-Fed.

So this farmer is going door-to-door selling peaches. His luck hasn’t held up and he’s feeling a little down as he knocks on the door of a beautiful Victorian home. A gorgeous young woman answers, wearing nothing but a thin teddy. She asks the farmer “what may I help you with, fine sir?” The farmer takes a big gulp and says “Ma’am, I’m selling my peaches. Locally grown and organic, from my own family orchard.” “Well, sir, are they as peachy as this?” as she slides her teddy to one side, revealing a magnificent breast. GULP, and a single tear slides down his cheek. “Yes, Ma’am, they are wonderful.” She slides her teddy fully off of her shoulders, revealing her entire chest and asks, “are they as sweet and plump as this?” Tears begin rolling down his cheeks as he replies, “Oh Yes, Yes they are!!” As her lingerie hits the floor, she asks, “and are they fuzzy and juicy as this?” Bawling, tears rolling, teeth chattering, he cries out “YES, Oh God yes!! They are MAGNIFICENT!!” The young woman grabs her meager bit of clothing to cover herself, screaming at the farmer, “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU FREAKING OUT??” The poor farmer, reduced to sobs and sniffles, looks up from his tortured demeanor, and tells her, “The spring storms took my barn, the floods took my crops! The drought of summer dried up my wells and took my animals!! And pneumonia stole my wife…”. As she begins to say how sorry she is, he continues to”AND NOW…I’m going to get fucked out of my peaches!!”

Depends.

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