The Only Book
That Tells You…
about two Irishmen who walked out of a bar (p. 110)
what has four legs and chases cats (p. 7)
the difference between a bitch and a slut (p. 69)
how to clear out an Iraqi bingo game (p. 4)
the most popular man in a nudist colony (p. 26)
the most popular woman in a nudist colony (p. 26)
why Viagra is like Disney World (p. 46)
the one about the Polish kidnappers (p. 40)
…and hundreds more jokes,
riddles, stories, and one-liners
The New York City
Bartender’s
Joke Book
Copyright
WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 2002 by James H. Pritchard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Warner Books, Inc.
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com
First eBook Edition: March 2010
ISBN: 978-0-446-55105-2
Contents
The Only Book That Tells You…
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Begin reading
About the Author
To my Father and Mother,
Jim and Mimi Pritchard, who gave me sunshine
and good humor.
To my wife Lisa, who laughs with me and at me
and soothes life’s shocks.
And
The late William McGlynn
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Betsy Mitchell at Warner Books, who took the ball and handed off to Jaime Levine, who loves jokes and ran for a touchdown.
I would like to thank my sister Linda, who finally “gets” my jokes, my little sister Jennifer, who always laughs at my jokes and my brother Shawn, who always tries to “one-up” me. Thanks kids!
Total thanks to my sons: Matthew, who has my knack for telling stories, and Michael, who has a knack for shortening the stories!
Thanks to Michael C. Hutchinson, who always, without fail, makes me laugh, Harry and Betsy Stout, Tim and Kathleen Remy, Frank and Jane Tourigney, Gregg and Shelly Garner, Larry Aschenbrenner, Eric Aschenbrenner, Joe Safron, Erinn and Kevin Gibbons, Stephanie Pritchard and Takako Pritchard, without all of whom I wouldn’t have anyone to try out my jokes on.
Thanks to the jokesters, who keep me on my toes: Jon Aimone, Jim “The Big One” Barry, Alan Browdy, Dan “Bull” Bullington, Dave Cohen, Anthony Collins, The Doyle, Eric Floyd, Jack Foley, Don Gehan, Greg Getz, Cary Gilbert, Johnny Girouard, Tim Grant, Pete Hendrixson, Pete Iulo, Rob Kuhar, Dave Leonard, John McKerrow, Joe McWilliams, Alan Mervish, “Saturday Night” Dave Muhlfelder, Dave Perrine, Kevin “Duffy” Philzone, Dave Ranghelli, Peter Stark, Michael Saposnic, and Soupy Sales.
Also thanks to: Cliff Mott, Kitty Kelly, OTB Annie, Hal Baum, Andy Ganzi, Jill Gaspar, Kevin O’Keefe, Kevin Gallagan, Keith Arrington, Kenny Taylor, Ron Fowler, Jack Roberts, Brad Gansberg, Luke Ratray, Paul Hovis and Deb Rascoe Hovis, Genji Ridley, John Earl Stevens, Mark Thalmayr, Steve Love, Todd “Little Todd” Engle, Tom “Two Shoes” Schmid, Dave Fogelman, Craig Magee, George Egan, John Littlefield, Jay Bayala, Kent Bearden, Bill and Anna Simmons, Christine Chagnon, Tom and Carol Constantin, Roxanne Ricker, Dave Nichols, Kelly Melson, Tim and Flo Stella, Kurt Coble, Nadine Link, “Stagehand” Scott, Bill at N.B.C., Sam from Houston, Jane from Charlotte, N.C., Kathleen, Frank from England, John from Lake Placid, Ron from England, Jim and Gloria from Scotland, Larry from Seattle, Joe from Croton, N.Y., Ronny McWilliams at Victory Café, Carol-Anne at Rathbone’s Pub, Hugh at O’Lunney’s Pub, Jimmy Glenn at Jimmy’s Corner, Danno at Matt’s Grill, Carmine’s in the theater district and on the upper west side, Michael Ronis at Virgil’s Real BBQ, and to everyone who told me a joke!
Thank you all!
What’s the difference between God
and a bartender?
God never wanted to be a bartender.
ANTHONY, A BARTENDER
Introduction
Bob Hope once said that there are only four jokes, but I don’t know what they are. I do know that every joke ends up being someone’s misfortune, but we laugh anyway. The proverbial banana peel.
The dictionary says that a joke is an amusing story, especially one with a punch line. Someone is usually a punch line. Someone’s misfortune. Someone always gets it in the end. One man’s adversity is another man’s joke. And we laugh.
How old are jokes, anyway? Well, since time began, probably. Adam might have had a joke or two, then Eve came along and she certainly had some jokes for, or about, Adam. Maybe that’s where all the “size” jokes started.
Since I can remember, there have been “God” jokes, “God and Moses” jokes, “Jesus” jokes, “Jesus and Moses” jokes, and so on. Were Jesus and his disciples telling jokes at the Last Supper? “Hey Jesus, did you hear the one about….” says Paul.
Were the Egyptians telling jokes as they wrapped King Tut? The Jews had to be telling jokes as they wandered around the desert for forty years. What else did they have to talk about? “Hey Irving, did you see that interesting rock about five miles back?”
The first recollection of humor, I suppose, was during medieval times. The court jester. He was there to entertain, to make the king laugh, probably to save his own neck.
And all this evolved to burlesque, to Vaudeville, to Bob Hope et al.—and those four jokes.
I found out at a young age that jokes were the “great equalizer.” I’ve avoided a lot of fights by telling jokes. I felt like the court jester, saving my own neck and my nose.
One summer a few years ago, as I was wandering around the desert called Connecticut, on my way to Massachusetts, the Promised Land (because my parents promised me I could swim in their pool!), I had an idea. How many jokes do I know? As I lounged around the pool, steno pad and pen in hand, with Mom waiting on me hand and foot and Dad wondering when I was going back to New York, I wrote down, off the top of my head, mostly punch lines, close to a hundred jokes. That’s when I started “collecting.” I would ask anyone I met for a joke, usually getting “I heard a great one yesterday but I can’t remember it” in reply. So, instead of asking for jokes, I would tell a few, like I always do anyway, and that usually started the ball rolling A joke begets a joke begets a joke.
Now I have a major collection for you to enjoy. Thrill your neighbors, impress your friends, and remember the lecture-circuit credo: “Always open with a joke.”
An old man walks into a bar, sits down, and starts crying. The bartender asks, “What’s wrong?”
The old man looks at the bartender through teary eyes and between sobs says, “I married a beautiful woman two days ago. She’s a natural blonde, twenty-five, intelligent, a marvelous cook, a meticulous housekeeper, extremely sensitive to my wants and needs, very giving, my best friend, and intensely passionate in bed.”
The bartender stares at the old man for a brief moment and says, “But that sounds great! You have what every man wants in a woman, so why are you crying?”
The old man looks at the bartender and says, “I can’t remember where I live!”
What’s the best thing about having
Alzheimer’s disease?
You get to hide your own Easter eggs.
; Two Irish guys are in a New York City bar. They are the only customers. The first Irish guy asks the second Irish guy, “How long have you been in the city?”
The second Irish guy says, “One year.”
The first guy says, “One year?! I’ve been in the city for a year as well. Let’s toast to being in the city for a year!” They both down a shot of Irish whiskey.
The first guy asks, “What part of Ireland are you from?”
The second guy says, “I’m from County Cork.” The first guy says, “I’m from County Cork as well! Let’s drink to Cork!” They both down another shot.
The first guy asks, “What town in Cork are you from?”
The second guy says, “I grew up in the town of Kinsale.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!!” the first guy exclaims. “I grew up in Kinsale as well! Let’s drink to Kinsale!” They both down another shot.
The first guy asks, “On what street did you live?”
The second guy says, “I lived on Carney Street.”
“I can’t fuckin’ believe it!” the first guy says. “I lived on Carney Street as well! Let’s drink to Carney Street!” They both down yet another shot.
All of a sudden the telephone rings and the bartender answers it. “Oh, hello, Boss. No, it’s pretty quiet, except the O’Brian twins are here, drunk again.”
An old man and an old woman have been married for over fifty years. Their children are grown and spread out across the country with families of their own. The old man and old woman are sitting in rocking chairs on their porch watching the sunset as they have done for the past twenty-five years.
All of a sudden, the old woman stands up and backhands the old man. He falls off the rocking chair, gets up, straightens his hair, puts his glasses back on and asks, “What the hell was that for?”
The old woman looks at him and says, “That’s for fifty years of lousy sex!”
The old man says, “Oh,” and sits back down in his rocker.
Less than a minute later the old man stands up and backhands the old woman. She falls out of her rocker, rolls across the porch, and stops at the railing. She gets up, pulls her dress down, makes sure her teeth are secure and asks, “What the hell was that for?”
The old man points his finger at her and says, “That’s for knowing the difference!”
Why don’t women fart as much as men?
They can’t keep their mouths shut long enough
to build up the pressure.
After a few drinks a man wanders out of a pub in Belfast and walks up a deserted alley. All of a sudden a man with a gun steps out of a doorway and asks him, “Are you Catholic or Protestant?”
The man thinks to himself, “If I tell him I’m Catholic and he’s Protestant, I’m a dead man. But if I say I’m Protestant and he’s Catholic, he’ll shoot me for sure.” So he quickly says, “I’m Jewish!”
The man with the gun says, “Well, I must be the luckiest Palestinian in all of Ireland!”
How do you clear out an Iraqi bingo game?
Yell “B-52!”
An old woman is wheeling around the nursing home in her wheelchair. She rolls up to an old man sitting in his own wheelchair, taps him on his arm, and says, “I bet I can guess how old you are.”
“No you can’t,” the old man responds.
“I bet I can guess how old you are.”
“No you can’t, leave me alone.”
“I bet I can guess how old you are.”
“No you can’t, go away.”
“I bet I can guess how old you are.”
“All right, all right!” the old man says, exasperated. “Go ahead, guess how old I am!”
She reaches over and unzips his fly, puts her hand in his pants and jiggles his balls around for a minute, then takes her hand out and says, “You’re eighty-seven years old.”
“That’s right!” the old man says, astounded. “That’s amazing! How did you do that?”
With a wry smile, the old woman says, “You told me yesterday.”
A sex therapist has a theory. He is convinced that people who have sex one or more times a day are the happiest people on the planet. He randomly selects 1, 500 people and invites them to a seminar at the local town hall. There, the therapist walks up to the podium and says, “With a show of hands, how many of you have sex one or more times a day?”
A little more than half of the people quickly raise their hands, and every one of them has a huge grin on their face or they are laughing hysterically.
The therapist smiles, knowing that his theory is holding true. “Now,” he says, “how many of you have sex only once a week?”
A little less than half raise their hands, a thin grin on their faces.
Again the therapist smiles, knowing that his theory is still holding true. Then he says, “How many of you have sex once a month?”
Only a few people lift their hands, and as if they are embarrassed there are no smiles on any of their faces.
The therapist is pleased, knowing that his theory will soon be fact. “I have one more question,” he states. “How many of you have sex only once a year?”
Everyone looks around, noting that no hands are raised, but way in the back of the hall one man is jumping up and down, frantically raising his hand, laughing uncontrollably.
The therapist is shocked. One man has single-handedly disproved his theory!
“Sir,” he exclaims, “you only have sex once a year; why are you so happy?”
The man, hardly able to contain himself, yells, “Today’s the day!”
What has four legs and chases cats?
Mrs. kats and her attorney.
A priest and a construction worker are flying from New York to California. The priest is sitting at the window seat diligently toiling away at the New York Times crossword puzzle while the construction worker is snoozing on the aisle seat. After a while, the priest gently nudges the construction worker, hoping to wake him. The construction worker opens his eyes and says, “Yes, Father, what can I do for you?”
“I wonder if you could help me with this crossword puzzle?” the priest answers, somewhat apologetically.
“Sure, Father,” the construction worker says eagerly. “I’d be glad to.”
“Well,” says the priest sheepishly, “I need a four-letter word that ends in U-N-T that means ‘female relative.’”
“That’s easy, Father,” says the construction worker. “The word you are looking for is A-U-N-T.”
“Oh! That’s right!” the priest says triumphantly. “Do you have an eraser?”
When I fly anywhere, I sleep like a baby. I throw
up and poop in my ants!
Two old ladies are on vacation in Scotland. They visit various little towns, buying souvenirs and meeting the lovely country folk. One day, driving their rented car out in the country, they come upon a scene one would only see in photographs—a beautiful field with one solitary, majestic oak tree with a white stone wall behind it and a Scotsman, wearing the traditional kilt, sleeping at the base of the tree.
The ladies get out of the car to take some pictures. One old lady whispers to the other, “I wonder if what they say is true, that Scotsmen don’t wear anything under their kilts.”
“Let’s find out,” responds the other lady with a wink and a grin.
The two ladies then tiptoe up to the Scotsman by the tree and gently lift up his kilt. Lo and behold, he doesn’t have any underpants on! But he must have been having one helluva dream, if you get my drift.
One old lady opens her purse and extracts a blue ribbon and ties it in a bow around the Scotsman’s penis. They giggle, take a picture, pull his kilt down ever so gently, go back to the car, and drive off.
Half an hour later, the Scotsman wakes up and stretches. He has to pee, so he pulls up his kilt, looks down, sees the ribbon, and exclaims, “Well, I dinna know where ya bin when I was sleepin’ but I’m proud o’ ya… ya won first prize!”
What is Irish foreplay?
“Brace yourself, Erin, here I come!”
What is 5 miles long, has 140, 000 pairs of legs,
and an IQ of 150?
The St. Patrick’s Day Parade.
Did you know that Ted Kennedy spent five
million dollars on his last campaign?
He got most of it back when he returned
the empties.
And speaking of kilts…
It was the summer between the end of high school and the beginning of college. I had the opportunity to visit Scotland, hitchhiking transversely, north to south, east to west, wide-eyed and enthralled at the beauty of the Highlands.
Not far from Edinburgh is the lovely town of Haddington, where I met the McTavish clan. They took me in as if I were one of their own and invited me to their annual party, usually reserved for family and friends—no outsiders.
It was at this party that I had the privilege and honor to wear, for the entire evening, the traditional kilt, with the socks, the shoes, the blouse, and the pouch. I danced some Scottish jigs, sang some Scottish songs, and drank some scotch whiskey. Then I met Maggie! Red of hair and green of eyes, a beauty that would stop all wars!
As if drawn by a huge magnet, we found ourselves outside walking along the glen; the mist was rising, the moon was full, and the sound of the bagpipes could be heard off in the distance.
After a short while, she stopped and looked at me with those beautiful green eyes and said, “You’d like to hold my hand, wouldn’t ya?”
I smiled and said, “Yes, Maggie, I’d love to hold your hand. How could you tell?”
“From the twinkle in your eyes,” she said, smiling.
So we walked along the glen, holding hands—the mist rising, the moon full, and the bagpipes droning in the distance. She stopped me again, looked at me with those beautiful green eyes and said, “You’d like to put your arm around me, now wouldn’t ya?”
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