Whatever jokes

An old man and his daughter go to the doctor for his monthly checkup. During examination, the doctor asks how his nightly incontinence is.

"It's fine," says the old man. "I just get up and go to the bathroom, and God turns on the light for me."

The doctor finishes up the examination, and then calls in the daughter to tell her about the God-light thing.

"Oh, my God!" says the daughter. "He's been using the fridge again!"

Two Americans decide to open a bungee-jumping business in Mexico.

They set up on the square of a small village. Bob jumps, bounces at the end of the cord, and flies back up by the platform. Jeff isn't able to catch his friend, but he notices he has a few cuts and scratches.

Bob falls again, bounces, and comes back up. This time, he is bruised and bleeding. Again, Jeff misses him. The third time it happens, Bob comes back pretty messed up - he's got a couple of broken bones and is almost unconscious. Luckily, Jeff finally catches him and says, "Holy cow, what happened? Was the cord too long?"

Bob looks confused and says, "No, the cord was fine... but what the heck is a pinata?"

There was once a Scotsman and an Englishman who lived next door to each other. The Scotsman owned a hen and each morning would look in his garden and pick up one of his hen's eggs for breakfast. One day he looked into his garden and saw that the hen had laid an egg in the Englishman's garden. He was about to go next door when he saw the Englishman pick up the egg. The Scotsman ran up to the Englishman and told him that the egg belonged to him because he owned the hen. The Englishman disagreed because the egg was laid on his property.
"In my family," the Scotsman said, "we normally solve disputes by the following actions: I kick you in the balls and time how long it takes you to get back up. Then you kick me in the balls and time how long it takes for me to get up. Whoever gets up quicker wins the egg." The Englishman agreed to this and so the Scotsman found his heaviest pair of boots kicked the Englishman as hard as he could in the balls. The Englishman fell to the floor clutching his nuts and howled in agony for 30 minutes. Eventually the Englishman stood up and said, "Now it's my turn to kick you."
"Keep the goddamn egg."

Hallo? Is this Giganta? Giganta Crotchetta?

Oh, grand! It's Bond.

James Bond? O07?

Shaken not stirred? Tuxedo? The trunk-sized jet pack? We had a run in with an Austrian terrorist with the overdeveloped reptilian brain and a predilection for man-eating octopi launching bazookas?

Well, contacting you took quite a bit of doing actually. You see, first I tried Giganta Crotchetta. I must have looked in every phone directory that MI-6 could hack into. Then I figured out that Giganta might be a code name. I mean, who has the name Giganta Crotchetta? Rather silly, when you think about it?

Yes, yes I suppose you do like it. Anyway, I recalled that I kept one of your garments – your knickers actually. And there it was. "Honey Rider" is a much prettier and commonplace name. You should use that.

Ah, yes. The, uh... point. Well, it seems that... well, there's no delicate way to put this. I have a rather nasty case of syphilis. And, um, I'm calling all my sexual partners to let them know that they should go get tested.

Uh-huh. Right. I know it was ten years ago. But the syphilis is rather unusual.

Well, it has gonorrhea.

Yes, my syphilis has gonorrhea.

And the gonorrhea has lice. And the lice have some undiscovered disease that's kind of between hemorrhagic fever and the mumps. It's a virulent mutant strand developed by Dr. No-Means-Yes during Mission: "The Russian Spy Who Loved To Thunderball Me."

Yes, I know I said I had a condom. But you see all the condoms I had were made by Q, and apparently, the condoms weren't meant to be condoms -- they were designed to be used as a pocket parachute. Good man. If you need to have your stapler work as a gun, he's your boy. Anyway, you didn't notice because while we were passionately embraced, your tongue accidentally trigged my knockout gas tooth and you, um, drifted off to sleep. But trust me, you enjoyed yourself. They all do.

Anyway, with all the rather bizarre ailments my, um, bizarre ailments have, the doctors have advised me to contact everyone in my sexual history about my condition. No small feat, I assure you. If you saw the list, you'd think I'd been having sex with my fellow spies for 50 years!

Well, this is what the doctors suggest. Right now, I am in a remote island facility. Actually there's no facility. Just an island. And me. But they'e building one as soon as they can find enough hazmat suits. Anyway, a helicopter is going to pick you up and bring you to the island where we can be treated in isolation.

Chin up! Look at it this way: it'll give us a chance to get caught up. And maybe once some of the redness goes down, along with some of the greenness and the larvae, we can do some REAL reminiscing.

"Oh, James." What's that supposed to mean?