Barroom jokes

Two cowboys walk into a roadhouse to wash the trail dust from their throats. They stand at the bar, drinking their beers and talking quietly about cattle prices. Suddenly a woman at a table behind them, who had been eating a sandwich, begins to cough. After a minute or so it becomes apparent that she is in real distress, and the cowboys turn to look at her. "Kin ya swaller?" asks one of the cowboys. No, signals the woman, desperately shaking her head. "Kin ya breathe?" asks the other. The woman, beginning to turn a bitblue, shakes her head. "No" again. The first cowboy walks over to her, lifts up the back of her skirt, yanks down her knickers, and slowly runs his tongue up and down the woman's behind. This shocks the woman to a violent spasm, the obstruction flies out of her mouth, and she begins to breathe again. The cowboy slowly walks back over to the bar and proudly takes a drink of his beer. His partner says in admiraton, "Ya know, I'd heard of that there Hind Lick Maneuver, but I ain't never seen nobody do it."

A duck walks into a bar and asks the bar tender, "Got any 'gwapes'?", and the bartender replies, "No, sorry I don't sell grapes here." So the duck leaves and goes home to rest and the next day he walks into the same bar and asks the bar tender, "Got any gwapes?" The bartender replies, "No, sorry I don't sell grape here." The duck leaves and goes home to rest and the next day, he goes back to the bar and asks the bartender, "Got any gwapes?" The bartender angrily replies, "I don't want to have to tell you again, I don't sell grapes here and if you ask me again I will nail your beek to the counter of the bar!" The duck leaves and goes home to rest. The next day the duck goes to the bar and asks, "Got any nails?" The bartender looks at him and screams, "No, we don't have any nails!" The duck then asks, "Got any gwapes?"

The Reverend John Fuzz was pastor of a small congregation in a little Pennsylvania town. One day, he was walking down Main Street and he happened to notice a female member of his congregation sitting in the town bar, drinking beer. The reverend thought this was sinful and not something a member of his congregation should do. He walked through the open door of the bar and sat down next to the woman.

"Mrs. Fitzgerald," the reverend said sternly. "This is no place for a member of my congregation. Why don't you let me take you home?"

"Sure," she said with a slur, obviously very drunk. When Mrs. Fitzgerald stood up from the bar, she began to
weave back and forth. The reverend realized that she had had too much to drink and he grabbed hold of her arms to steady her. When he did, they both lost their balance and tumbled to the floor. After rolling around for a few seconds, the reverend wound up lying on top of Mrs. Fitzgerald, her skirt hiked up to her waist.

The bartender looked over the bar and said, "Here, here, buddy, we won't have any of that carrying on in this bar."

The reverend looked up at the bartender and said, "But you don't understand, I'm Pastor Fuzz."

The bartender nodded, "Well if you're that far into the game, you may as well finish!"

Marge was in bed with a man (not her husband). All of a sudden, they heard a noise downstairs. "Oh, my God, your husband is home! What am I going to do?"

"Just stay in bed with me. He's probably so drunk, he ain't gonna notice you here with me." The fear of getting caught trying to escape was more powerful than the thought of getting caught in bed with Marge, so he trusted her advice. Sure enough, Marge's husband came crawling into bed and as he pulled the covers over him, he pulled the blankets, exposing six feet.

"Honey!" he yelled. "What the hell is going on? I see six feet at the end of the bed!"

"Dear, you're so drunk, you can't count. If you don't believe me, count them again."

The husband got out of bed, and counted. "One, two, three, four... By gosh, you're right, dear!"