The Mammoth Book of Tasteless Jokes

by E. Henry Thripshaw

The seven-year-old says, “I think it’s about time we started swearing.” The younger brother nods his head in approval. The seven-year-old says, “When we go downstairs for breakfast, I’m going to swear first, then you swear after me, okay?”

  “Okay,” nods the four-year-old.

  Their mother walks into the kitchen and asks the seven-year-old what he wants for breakfast. “Oh shit, mum, I don’t know, I suppose I’ll have some sugar puffs.”

  His mother gives him a sharp smack across the head, knocking him out of his chair and across the kitchen foor. He gets up and runs upstairs, crying his eyes out. She looks at the four-year-old and asked with a stern voice, “And what do YOU want for breakfast, young man?”

  “I don’t know,” he blubbers, “but it won’t be fucking sugar puffs.”

  I was at my grandmother’s house and she doesn’t like swearing. I said “crap” and she told me to put 20p in the swear box. Unfortunately, I only had a pound coin and she didn’t have any change. I threw in the pound and said, “Bollocks, take it all, you thieving whore.”

  I met this girl at a pub last night, we hit it off and she invited me back to hers for a night of sex. She asked me if I was into anything kinky and I said yes. So she slipped into a spandex cat suit with nipple-tassels, got her whip out of the cupboard and stuck a lubricated vibrator up her arse. Finally, she got me to handcuff her to the bed. Then she looked up to me and said, “Okay, now fuck me!” I made my excuses and left - there’s no need for that kind of language.

  Bill’s elderly uncle died, and in the will the uncle left him his much-prized African Grey parrot. This parrot was fully grown, with a very bad attitude and a very salty vocabulary. Every other word was an expletive, to Bill’s frequent embarrassment. Bill tried hard to change the potty-mouthed bird’s attitude. He was polite, he was careful not to swear in front of it, he even played soothing, classical music – in fact, just about anything he could think of to try and set a good example. Nothing worked. In sheer frustration he swore at the parrot, but the parrot just came back at him with more abuse, only this time it was ten times worse. He shook the parrot, but the bird just got angrier and more foul-mouthed.

  Finally, in a moment of desperation, Bill put the parrot in the freezer to teach it a lesson. For a couple of minutes he heard the bird squawking, kicking and screaming abuse. Then, suddenly, all was quiet. Bill was frightened that he might have killed his dead uncle’s prized parrot and quickly opened the freezer door. The chastened parrot quickly hopped out of the freezer and back into his cage, and said: “I am truly sorry that I might have offended you with my foul language and uncivil behaviour. I most humbly beseech your forgiveness. I will now, from this day, endeavour to behave correctly and promise that such an outburst of bad behaviour will never happen again.”

  Bill was completely fabbergasted at the bird’s display of contrition. He was just about to ask what had caused such a dramatic change when the parrot interrupted: “May I ask, what did the chicken do?”

  PROSTITUTES

  Three prostitutes make a bet on who has the biggest vagina. They take their clothes off and start fingering themselves and each other. They can’t agree, however, which lady has the largest snatch. After a few minutes, one of the prossers has an idea. She squats on a glass top table so they measure the slimy deposit she leaves behind. The second one then squats on the table and then they measure the slimy outline she leaves, which is even bigger.

  The third one squats on the table. When she stands back up, the first prostitute says, “You didn’t leave an outline.”

  She laughis, “Just smell the rim!”

  I shagged a hooker last night. Big mistake. It’s going to make the scrum very awkward on Saturday.

  A prostitute goes to the doctor complaining of morning sickness. The doctor says, “Congratulations! Do you know who the father is?”

  “Put it this way,” replied the prostitute, “if you ate a tin of beans would you know which one made you fart?”

  A prostitute was visiting her doctor for a regular check-up. “Any problems you should be telling me about?” the doctor asked.

  “Well, I have noticed just lately that if I get even the tiniest cut, it seems to bleed for hours,” she replied. “Do you think I might be a haemophiliac?”

  The doctor answered, “Haemophilia is a genetic disorder and it is more often found in men but it is possible for a woman to be a haemophiliac. Tell me, how much do you lose when you have your period?”

  After thinking for a moment, the hooker replied, “About £300 on a bad night.”

  Why did Google invent Streetview?

  So kerb crawlers can view their meat before they pay for it.

  What do you call a prostitute with no arms or legs?

  Cash and carry.

  What’s the best thing about having a sister who’s a prostitute?

  The family discount.

  Did you hear about the prostitute who took up bondage? She was a bit strapped for cash.

  A man on his way home from the pub decides to take a short cut through an unlit park. A woman approaches him and offers to fuck his brains out for £5.

  He thinks to himself that this is a chance too good to miss, so hands over the £5. She leads him into a bush and they get under way. A policeman passes by, hears them at it and notices the bush shaking. He shines his torch on the pair and asks the man what he’s doing. The man replies calmly, “I’m just having sex with my wife, officer. Do you mind?”

  The officer responds, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize it was your wife.”

  The man replies, “That’s quite all right, officer. Until you shone your torch on her face, neither did I.”

  A man is walking through Mayfair when a stunning London prostitute catches his eye. He strikes up a conversation and eventually plucks up the courage to ask, “How much?”

  The prosser replies, “It starts at £500 for a hand job.”

  The man gasps: “£500? For a hand job! You have got to be kidding me, no hand job is worth that kind of money!”

  The tart replies, “Do you see that block of apartments on the corner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you see the block of apartments next to it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And beyond that, do you see that third block?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” says the prostitute, smiling coyly, “I own those. And, I own them because I give a hand job that’s worth £500.”

  The man thinks, “What the hell? You only live once. I’ll give it a try.” They retire to a nearby hotel. A short time later, one very satisfied punter is sitting on the bed realizing he has just experienced the hand job of a lifetime, worth every bit of £500. He is so amazed, he says, “I suppose a blow job is £1,000?”

  The hooker replies, “Actually, £1,500.”

  “No one is ever going to pay that for a blow job!”

  She replies, “Step over here to the window, big boy. Do you see that casino just across the street? I own that casino outright. And I own it because I give a blow job that’s worth every penny of £1,500.”

  The guy, basking in the afterglow of that terrifc hand job, says, “Sign me up.”

  Ten minutes later, he is sitting on the bed truly amazed. He can scarcely believe it, but he feels he truly got his money’s worth. He decides to dip into the retirement savings for one glorious and unforgettable experience. He asks the prosser, “How much for some pussy?”

  The hooker says, “Come over here to the window, I want to show you something. Do you see how the whole West End of London is laid out before us, all those luxury fats, gambling palaces and fancy restaurants?”

  “Bugger!” the man says, in awe. “You own the whole West End?”

  “No,” the prostitute replies, “but I would if I had a vagina.”

  What do you call a Norwegian prostitute?

  A Fjord Escort.

  What do you call a prostitute in a wheel chair?

  Park an
d ride.

  Judging by the itching and the rash, I think I may be allergic to prostitutes.

  Four generations of the same family of prostitutes are talking in the kitchen. The daughter prostitute says, “I got £50 for a blow job today.”

  The mother prostitute says, “In my day, it was £5.”

  The grandmother prostitute says, “In my day, it was 50p.”

  The great-grandmother prostitute says, “Well, in my day, we were just glad for the warm drink.”

  What do you get if you cross a prostitute with an elephant?

  A whore who fucks you for peanuts and remembers you forever.

  I slept with one of those high-class tarts the other week. I’m not very happy though. The bitch gave me lobsters.

  What do you call a prostitute on amphetamines?

  A speed hump.

  PSYCHIATRISTS

  A hot air balloonist is lost. He sees a man in a field below, so he shouts down, “Excuse me, can you tell me where I am and where I’m heading?”

  “Sure. You are at 36 degrees 2 minutes and 14 seconds north, 96 degrees 3 minutes and 19 seconds east. You’re at an altitude of 762 metres above sea level and right now you’re hovering, but you were on a vector of 240 degrees at 12 metres per second.”

  “Thanks very much,” says the balloonist. “By the way, do you by any chance suffer from Asperger’s Syndrome?”

  “I do indeed. How did you know that?”

  “Because everything you said is true, but there was much more information than I needed and you gave me the information in a way that was of no use to me at all.”

  “I see. Are you a psychiatrist?”

  “I am, but how on earth did you know that??”

  “You don’t know where you are, you haven’t a clue where you’re going, you got where you are by blowing hot air, you put labels on people after asking a few questions and you’re in exactly the same spot you were a couple of minutes ago, but now somehow it’s my fucking fault!”

  A man goes to the psychiatrist and says, “Doctor, sometimes I think I’m a teepee, and other times I think I’m a wigwam. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Ah, yes,” the doctor replies, “You’re too tense.”

  A black woman goes to see the psychiatrist about her low self-esteem. She looks tired, overweight and generally unhealthy. After tearfully explaining her predicament, the shrink says, “Ah, yes, would you mind lying on the foor under the window?” She does as he asks. “Now over next to the door. Okay, now under the bookshelves. Thank you.”

  He then busies himself with writing some notes. The patient waits patiently for him to say something, but, finally exasperated, interrupts him and asks if he has anything he can offer her.

  “No,” he replies, “you need to see your GP about your poor diet.”

  “So, what was all that stuff you had me do, lying on the foor?”

  “Oh, I’m having a new brown leather sofa delivered next week and I was wondering where to put it.”

  After fifteen years of being in therapy, my psychiatrist said something that actually brought tears to my eyes: “No hablo Ingles.”

  A patient went to see a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist gave him a Rorschach-type test – he shows a patient a circle with a dot inside it. He then asks him: “What do you see?”

  The patient replied: “Two people are having sex in the middle of the circular room.”

  The psychiatrist then shows the patient another picture of a square with a dot inside it.

  “What do you see?”

  “Two people are having sex in the square room.”

  The psychiatrist shows the patient one more picture of a triangle with a dot outside it.

  “What do you see now?”

  “What are you doc, some kind of fucking pervert?”

  A psychiatrist goes to work and finds his colleague sitting at his desk, smiling to himself and shaking his head. “What’s so funny?” his fellow psychiatrist enquires.

  “You know, I thought I’d been completely analysed, but yesterday I experienced the most embarrassing Freudian slip!”

  “Good Lord!” says his friend. “Do tell me more.”

  “Well, I was queuing at the train station ticket office and couldn’t help but notice that the girl behind the counter has a massive pair of tits. It was just about impossible to take my eyes off them. Anyway, when I got to the window, instead of asking for a ticket to Tooting I asked her for a ticket to TITTING. She blushed, I blushed, I got my ticket and scarpered.”

  The bloke laughis and says, “Oh dear! That’s very amusing!”

  The following day, the other psychiatrist is sitting at his desk smiling to himself when his workmate walks in and asks, “Okay, what’s tickled you?”

  The first psychiatrist replies, “I had one of your Freudian slips last night. I was sitting at the dining table with my wife and I meant to say, “Please pass the mustard.” But what I actually said was, “FUCK OFF, YOU FAT BITCH, YOU’VE RUINED MY LIFE!”

  A man went to see a psychiatrist wearing only a pair of underpants made from bubble wrap. The shrink observed him for a while and said: “Well, I can clearly see your nuts.”

  A man walks into a bar and orders a beer. He drinks the beer than stands on the bar, drops his pants and pisses all over the place. The barman freaks out. “You dirty bastard! How dare you come into my bar and piss everywhere! I’ll beat the shit out of you . . .”

  The man begins sobbing. “I’m sorry! It’s ruining my life. I can’t sleep. I do it every time I have a drink! It’s worrying me to death, please don’t hit me.”

  The barman stops threatening him and takes pity. “Look, I have a brother who is a psychiatrist. Here’s his card, why don’t you see him?” The customer hugs the barman, shakes his hand and leaves.

  A few monthis later the same man walks into the bar and orders a beer. The barman recognizes him immediately and says, “Hang on, weren’t you that guy who . . .”

  “Yes,” says the customer, “and I took your advice and went to see your brother. I have to say he’s brilliant. I am completely cured.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” says the barman. “This beer is on the house.”

  So the man drinks the beer, stands on the bar, drops his trousers and pisses on the bar.

  “You twat! I thought you said you were cured!”

  “I am. It doesn’t bother me any more.”

  QUASIMODO

  Quasimodo the hunchback returns home after a hard day’s bell ringing to find Esmeralda standing in the kitchen holding a wok. “Fantastic,” he says, “Chinese tonight, love?”

  “No, love,” she replies. “I’m ironing your shirt.”

  Quasimodo comes down from his bell tower after many years and skulks in the shadows of the Notre Dame’s town square. He sees an attractive young woman pass by and thinks to himself, “I’ve been up in that bell tower for too long. I could do with a good shag.”

  So off he goes to the nearest whorehouse in a back street and says to the madam on the door, “I’ve been up in that bell tower for many years and I could do with a proper good shag.”

  The madam says, “Well, you’ve come to the right place, the black lady through the door to the right is fifteen francs.”

  “The thing is,” says Quasimodo, “I’m afraid I’m only good for a ten-franc fuck.”

  “Okay, for ten francs you get the white lady through the door to the left.”

  Quasimodo pays his ten francs, goes through the left door and comes out again moments later, completely satisfied.

  Several years later, after being up in the bell tower on his own again, Quasimodo comes down through the shadows in to the town centre. “You know what?” he thought to himself, “I could do with a proper good shag and this time I have fifteen francs.” So off he goes to the same whorehouse he went to several years earlier.

  On his way there he sees a young boy, hideously disfigured with a hunch on his back, dragging one of his feet behind h
im. Quasimodo goes to the boy and says to him, “Excuse me, young man, how old are you?”

  “I’m almost five years old, sir,” replies the boy, as he looks Quasimodo up and down. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir,” says the young boy, “is it possible you could be my father?”

  “I suppose so, it was around five years ago that I last came down from my bell tower.”

  “How could you do this to me, father? Look at me: I’m hideously ugly, I have a useless leg, I have a hunchback and all the people point and shout names at me. How could you bring such a creature into the world?”

  “Well, think yourself lucky, son. If I had another five francs you would have been black.”

  RABBIS

  A man is troubled by the thorny question of whether or not sex on the Sabbath was a sin. He is not sure if sex is work or play. So he goes to the priest and asks for his opinion on this theological question.

  After consulting the Bible, the priest says, “My son, after an exhaustive search, I am positive that sex is work and is therefore not permitted on Sundays.”

  The man thinks: “Fair enough. But then, what does a priest know about sex?” So he goes to a minister, who, after all, is a married man and more experienced in this matter, for a second opinion. Having queried the minister he receives the same reply. Sex is work and therefore not for the Sabbath.

  All the same, he is not entirely happy with the reply, so he seeks out the local rabbi. The rabbi ponders the question, then announces, “My son, sex is definitely work.”

  The man replies, “Rabbi, how can everyone be so sure it is work?”

  The rabbi replies, “Sex is work, which is why my wife won’t do it, which is why the maid has to.”

  A priest and a rabbi find themselves sitting next to each other on a train. They get chatting and the priest asks if the rabbi, in his youth, had ever tried bacon. He coyly admits that, yes, he once did. But, the rabbi then asks, before getting his vocation, did the priest ever have sex? The priest murmurs that yes, he once did.