Friar's Club Encyclopedia of Jokes

by Barry Dougherty

  A lady who took a cab from Beverly Hills to Malibu discovered that she had forgotten her purse. When she got out of the car, she said to the cab driver, “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money with me.” And she lifted her dress and she said, “Will this do?”

  The cab driver turned around and sighed, “Gee, lady, don’t you have anything smaller?”

  —NORM CROSBY

  Levin was a notorious tightwad, and alleviated his few twinges of conscience by giving a quarter to the miserable-looking woman who sold bagels from a pushcart on the corner near his office. He never bought a bagel, having already breakfasted, but he always put a quarter into her grimy palm and felt himself a virtuous man.

  This went on for months, until one day the bagel seller tugged at his immaculate cuff. “Mister, Mister, I gotta tell ya some-thin’.”

  “Ah,” acknowledged Levin with a gracious smile, “I suppose you wish to know why I give you a quarter every day but never take the bagel?”

  “Nah, that’s yer business,” she snorted. “My business is tellin’ ya the price’s gone up to thirty-five cents.”

  I was selling tickets at the movie house when I got a phone call. This woman said, “How much is a ticket?”

  I said, “Four dollars.”

  She said, “How much for children?”

  I said, “Same price, four dollars.”

  She said, “The airlines charge half fare for children.”

  I said, “You come to the movie—put the kids on a plane.”

  —ALAN GALE

  There was once a mobster who employed an accountant who was deaf and mute. He was satisfied with the guy’s work until one year when he decided to double-check the books and found that he was short two million dollars. So he sent out a couple of goons to bring the guy in to his office. An hour or so later the cowering accountant arrived, accompanied by his brother, who could speak sign language. “You tell that son of a bitch I want to know where my two million bucks is at,” boomed the mobster.

  After a quick exchange with his brother, the translator reported that the accountant knew nothing about it.

  The boss stood up, pulled out a gun, and came around the desk to hold it against the accountant’s neck. “You tell this son of a bitch that if he doesn’t tell me where the dough is, I’m going to blow his brains out—after I have the boys work him over.”

  This was duly translated to the quaking accountant, who gestured frantically to his brother, explaining that the money was stashed in three shoe boxes in his closet. “So whaddid he say?” interrupted the gangster impatiently.

  The translator turned and replied, “He says you haven’t got the balls to blow his brains out.”

  The fellow was joined at the bar by a voluptuous woman who soon made her talents and charms abundantly clear. “I’ll make your dreams come true,” she whispered, “for a hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” the guy pointed out, admiring the cleavage set forth under his nose.

  “I’m worth it,” she assured him breathily. “For a hundred and fifty dollars, I’ll act out your wildest, hottest fantasy. In fact, I can make any three words come true. Just dream them up, baby.”

  “Any three words? For a hundred and fifty dollars?” The man’s voice grew husky as the woman’s hand crept further and further up his inner thigh.

  She nodded, reaching the other hand up to caress the back of his neck while he considered the offer. Finally he leaned back with a big smile and announced, “Okay, it’s a deal!” He leaned over and whispered, “Paint my house.”

  One and one is two, and two and two are four, and five will get you ten if you know how to work it.

  —MAE WEST

  A verbal contract isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.

  —LOUIS B. MAYER

  A big-time negotiator was out fishing one day when he caught a strange-looking fish. He reeled the fish in, unhooked it, and threw it on the ground next to him. The fish started writhing in agony and, to the negotiator’s surprise, said, “Please throw me back into the lake and I’ll grant you three wishes.”

  “Any three wishes, huh?” the negotiator mused as visions of expensive fast cars and equally expensive and even faster women paraded through his head. “Fish,” he finally exclaimed, “give me five wishes and I’ll throw you back.”

  “Sorry,” the fish answered while struggling for breath, “only three wishes.”

  The negotiator’s pride was at stake and after giving the matter some thought he announced, “What do you take me for? A sucker? I’ll settle for four wishes.”

  “Only three,” the fish murmured weakly.

  Fuming, the man debated the pros and cons of accepting the three wishes or continuing to bargain for that one extra wish. Finally, the negotiator decided it wasn’t worth looking a gift fish in the mouth and said, “All right fish, you win, three wishes.”

  Unfortunately, the fish was dead.

  New York

  Crime in New York is getting worse. I was there the other week. The Statue of Liberty had both hands up.

  —JAY LENO

  Being a New Yorker is never having to say you’re sorry.

  —LILY TOMLIN

  If I had to live in New York City, I’m sure my life would be wider—but not so long.

  —GEORGE M. COHAN

  New York is a city where everyone mutinies but no one deserts.

  —HARRY HERSHFIELD

  Any time four New Yorkers get into a cab without arguing, a bank robbery has just taken place.

  —JOHNNY CARSON

  When you leave New York, you’re camping out.

  —JACKIE GLEASON

  The National Council on Psychic Research has officially designated this to be true: The experience of changing planes in New York now officially counts as a near-death experience.

  —DAVID LETTERMAN

  Ask yourself why the New York subway system, alone of all the mass transit systems of the world, has maps inside rather than outside the trains. It’s to force you to get on the wrong train in order to find out where you’re going. . . . You decipher the map to discover that the first step in reaching your destination is to get off the wrong train at the next stop.

  —CALVIN TRILLIN

  How many New Yorkers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

  None ’o yo’ fuckin’ business!

  The two friends ran into each other on a street in New York’s garment district.

  “I’m so sorry about the fire you had in your shop yesterday, is there anything I can do?”

  “For God’s sake shut up. The fire isn’t until tomorrow.”

  In yet another effort to clean up New York City, the mayor urged the City Council to pass legislation that would require alternate side of the street urination.

  —DENNIS MILLER

  How does a single woman in New York get rid of cockroaches? She asks them for a commitment.

  A woman from Texas and a woman from New York meet at a party. The woman from Texas says to the woman from New York, “Hi! “Where y’all from?”

  The woman from New York replies, “Where I come from we don’t end our sentences with prepositions. . . .”

  So the woman from Texas says, “Fine! Where y’all from, bitch?”

  I was sitting on the subway and a man came over, he said, “Are you reading the paper?”

  I said, “Yes,” stood up, turned the page, and sat down again.

  —DAVID BRENNER

  O

  Occupations

  One of the sideshows at a circus featured a strong man who squeezed an orange until it appeared to be completely dry. When he finished, the strong man’s manager challenged anybody in the audience to come forward and try to get one last drop out of the supercompressed piece of fruit. To make the offer a bit more enticing, the manager offered a thousand dollars to anyone who successfully eked out even one tiny drop of juice.

  A weight lifter with bulging muscles bounced up onto the st
age, grabbed the orange from the manager, and pressed it with all his might. Nothing came out. Next a big, burly construction worker sauntered up and took the orange from the exhausted weight lifter. After ten minutes of intense squeezing and a lot of grimacing, the construction worker finally admitted defeat.

  “No other takers?” the manager asked with a satisfied sneer.

  “May I try?” responded a short, skinny bespectacled man from the back row.

  The manager couldn’t keep a straight face as he and the rest of the crowd watched as the stranger made his way up to the front. Suddenly, the laughter stopped when, to everyone’s amazement, the little guy picked up the orange and squeezed a puddle of juice onto the floor. Flabbergasted, the manager sputtered, “How the heck did you do that?”

  “I’m an accountant.”

  A consultant is a man who knows 147 ways to make love, but doesn’t know any women.

  A stockbroker catches his wife in bed with another man.

  He says to her, “What’s going on?”

  She says, “Believe it or not, John, I’ve gone public!”

  —HENNY YOUNGMAN

  Three college roommates got together regularly over the years, even though their professional lives differed widely. One had become an attorney, one a professor of Italian literature, and the third, a zoologist. When they next met, they were pretty gloomy, and it turned out that each had been told by his physician that he had only six weeks to live. Understandably, the conversation turned to the way in which each intended to live out his last days.

  “I’m going to Tanzania,” said the zoologist. “I’ve always wanted to see the rare mountain gorilla in its native habitat.”

  “Italy for me. I want to see where Dante was born, to be buried near the great man. And you?” asked the professor, turning to the third friend. “What would you like to see?”

  “Another doctor,” said the lawyer.

  The company accountant had occasion to go on a business trip with one of the vice presidents. “Look,” exclaimed his companion, gazing out the window of the train, “a flock of sheep—they’ve just been shorn.”

  Looking out to see for himself, the accountant noted, “On this side, at least.”

  I won’t eat anything that has intelligence, but I would gladly eat a network executive or a politician.

  —MARTY FELDMAN

  What’s the definition of an actuary?

  Someone who wanted to be an accountant, but didn’t have the personality.

  The Fallons had a tomcat that insisted on going out every night to prowl around and chase after cats in heat. And week after week he’d return bloody and battered, ears torn, fur shredded. Finally, his owners had had enough, and took him to the vet to be neutered.

  The cat lay low for a week or two, so the Fallons were delighted when one night the cat got dressed in black tie and tails, just as in the old days, and headed out the door. They were even more surprised when he was home by midnight without a spot or scratch on him. Crowding around and stroking him, they asked, “How’d you do it, old boy?”

  “Easy,” responded the cat, slicking back his whiskers. “Now I’m a consultant.”

  The high-school kid loved fast cars, and was thrilled to land a summer job with the local Alfa Romeo service center. “Gee, Mr. Vespucci,” he gushed, grabbing a wrench, “I can’t wait to learn all the ins and outs of fixing up these babies.”

  So he was startled when Mr. Vespucci told him to put down his tools and listen up. “The first thing you gotta learn how to do,” he instructed the kid, “is to open the hood, stand back, and shake your head very, very sadly.”

  Anatoly was watching the May Day parade in Moscow with his friend Yevgeny. He beamed with patriotic fervor as a hundred ultra-modern tanks rumbled through Red Square, flushed with pride as crack battalions bristling with Kalashnikov rifles marched by in precise formation, then scratched his head in puzzlement: the next group to pass by consisted of ten men in rumpled gray business suits.

  Finally he tugged on Yevgeny’s arm. “I understand the tanks, the soldiers, the guns and missiles. But what’s with those ten men?”

  “Those, my friend, are economists,” explained his friend. “Have you any idea how dangerous ten economists can be?”

  I go to the world’s wealthiest accountant. I’ll tell you how rich he is: he takes his vacation in March.

  Harry is at a banquet and keeps complaining that his false teeth are hurting him. The guy sitting to his left reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of dentures. He hands them to Harry and says, “Try these.”

  Harry tries them, and says, “Thanks anyway, but they’re too tight.”

  The guy pulls out another set and hands them to Harry. They fit perfectly, so Harry wears them for the entire night.

  At the end of the banquet, Harry hands them back to the guy and says, “They fit me perfectly. Are you a dentist?”

  The guy says, “No. An undertaker.”

  What does it mean when the flag at the Post Office is flying at half mast?

  They’re hiring.

  Why can’t Avon ladies walk fast?

  Their lipstick.

  How many mystery writers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

  Two, one to screw it almost all the way in and the other to give it a surprising twist at the end.

  Old Age

  Whitney woke up in the middle of the night and cried until his mother came in to see what was the matter. “I have to make pee pee,” wailed the little boy.

  “All right,” said his mother, “I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

  “No,” insisted Whitney, “I want Grandma.”

  “Don’t be silly, I can do the same thing as Grandma,” said his mother firmly.

  “Huh-uh. Her hands shake.”

  I’m now at the age where I’ve got to prove that I’m just as good as I never was.

  —REX HARRISON (ATTRIBUTED)

  Just as the elderly woman was turning her Mercedes into a parking space at the mall, she was edged out by a red Firebird. “You’ve got to be young and fast,” jeered the teenaged driver as he jumped out from behind the wheel.

  The woman reversed, revved her engine, and rammed the Firebird. As the Mercedes reversed and headed for his car again, the teenager turned and gaped, then ran over and banged on the woman’s window. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he screeched.

  She smiled sweetly and explained, “You’ve got to be old and rich.”

  Sam wasn’t happy about putting his dad in the state nursing home, but it was all he could afford—until a lucky investment paid off. The first thing he did with his newfound wealth was to move his father to the best nursing home available.

  The old man was astounded by the luxury of his new surroundings. On the first day, as he was sitting in front of the television, he started to list to his right side. Instantly, a nurse ran over and tactfully straightened him out. Over lunch he started to lean a bit to the left, but within a few seconds a nurse gently pushed him upright again.

  That night his son called. “How’re you doing, Pop?” he asked eagerly.

  “Oh, Sam, it’s a wonderful place,” said the father. “I’ve got my own color TV, the food is cooked by a French chef, the gardens look like Versailles, you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Dad, it sounds perfect.”

  “There’s one problem with the place, though, Sammy,” the father whispered. “They won’t let you fart.”

  The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.

  —LUCILLE BALL

  It’s a good thing you didn’t wait any longer to have this dinner. We’re at a peculiar age. The other night Jack and I went to see a porno picture—and we fell asleep.”

  —GEORGE BURNS, AT SEVENTY-SIX, ABOUT JACK BENNY

  Two old men meet while tottering around the park on their morning constitutional.

  “Irving, how are you?” asks one, patting his friend on the arm. />
  “Terrible, terrible,” mutters Irving. “Memory’s going. For instance, I can’t remember whether it was you or your brother who died.”

  I can tell I’m getting older. I’m starting to use “old people” clichés. The other day I actually told someone I slept like a baby. Like I woke up hungry every two hours with a mess in my pants.

  —JACK GALLAGHER

  An elderly man with a hearing problem suddenly lost his hearing completely. Concerned, he went to the doctor, who looked in his ear, picked up a pair of forceps, and extracted a suppository.

  “Here’s the trouble,” the doctor announced, showing it to him.

  The old man replied, “Now I know what I did with my hearing aid!”

  Did you hear about the fifty-year-old hooker?

  She sat down on a bar stool and fell all the way to the floor.

  Grandpaw was sitting on the front porch talking to his grandson about growing old. “Why Teddy,” he wheezed, “I remember goin’ courting in the old buggy. On the way home I’d have to put my dong under a spoke in the buggy wheel to keep from peeing in my face, imagine that.”

  “Yeah, Grandpa? Go on,” urged Teddy.

  “Well, at seventy-five, things are a bit different. Now I have to rest it on one of the spokes to keep from peeing on my feet.”

  He’s so old, his blood type was discontinued.

  —BILL DANA

  We’re old enough to remember, George [Burns], Jack [Benny], and I, when hot pants was a condition. We recall that when there was no pill, the best method of birth control was a rusty zipper.

  —ART LINKLETTER

  Andrew was a dutiful son who accompanied his dad to his regular checkups with the urologist. “And how’s your urine flow, Mr. Gunderson?” asked the doctor when they were seated in his office.

  “Fine, just fine, Doctor, and God helps,” quavered Gunderson cheerfully. “He turns the light on when I start, turns it off when I stop, and I don’t have to do a thing.”

  “Oh, no,” groaned the son as the puzzled urologist looked over at him. “Dad’s peeing in the refrigerator again.”

  “Excuse me, Doctor,” said the nurse, “but why is that old man sticking out his tongue and holding up his middle finger?”