2500 Jokes to Start 'Em Laughing (3 page)

The Army thinks of everything. They gave me room and board, medical and dental care, a thirty-day vacation, travel, a $10,000 life insurance policy, and the chance to use it.

I went into the Army in 1945 when Selective Service wasn't being too selective. In fact, I had the only draft notice made out to
OCCUPANT
!

One fella even went down to the draft board wearing lipstick. The doctor said, “Do you always wear lipstick?” The guy said, “Always!” The doctor said, “Good. We'll send you to Alaska. You won't get chapped lips!”

I know a guy who put on lipstick, high heels, and carried a purse down to the draft board. It couldn't have worked out worse. The Army took him in and the doctor took him out!

In World War II we spent hours and hours doing all kinds of vital things in the defense of democracy—like policing the lawn. Remember policing the lawn? In those days we had lawns that were policed. Now we don't even have neighborhoods!

As I remember it, we had four deadly enemies—Japan, Germany, Italy, and cigarette butts. Not necessarily in that order.

I used to have nightmares about that lawn. One time I dreamed the Germans flew over and it was awful. They made a direct hit on that lawn. Not with bombs—candy wrappers!

When I went into the Army, we had 12 million men in uniform. It
was terrible. It was so crowded, we were sleeping three to a bed. What made it so terrible, we were starting to enjoy it.

I once knew a general who claimed he lived like an ordinary enlisted man—but it's the first time I ever saw a pup tent with a wine cellar.

We used to have a saying when I was in the Army. If you have a difficult intellectual problem, always ask a sergeant. He'll know a private in his company who can solve it.

If I ever went back into the service, I'd like to fly one of those supersonic jets. It's not that I'm so crazy about flying. I'm just partial to anything that lets you retreat at 1,400 miles an hour!

Now everything is the New Army. The New Army is so permissive, sergeants no longer say, “Eyes right!” They say, “You's right!”

They're trying to run the Army like a business and it won't work. What if war is declared and two million G.I.s call in sick?

Experts say an all-volunteer Army will never work.

Oh, no? What about the Salvation?

But I have to be fair. You know what I liked about the Army? They gave you your own clothes. When I was in the Army they had 12 million men and three sizes.

That's right. Three sizes: too big, too small, and out of stock.

But the Army really takes care of you. You can tell by the clothes you get. I think the whole idea of army clothes is to make the enemy overconfident!… I had a coat that was so long, it came with shoelaces!…

In those days, everything they gave you was olive-drab. Your shirt was olive-drab. Your pants were olive-drab. One day I fainted on the lawn and it took them three days to find me.

But I have to admit one thing. The shoes they gave us were absolutely waterproof. If it rained, not a drop leaked out!

The old Army did strange things. Every time they gave you a pair of shoes you had to smear something on them to make them waterproof. I heard “waterproof” and right away I got worried. I didn't know if I was sailing to Europe or walking!

I had one big problem in the Army. I could never stand the winter uniform. Particularly the pants. I know wool itches but this was like Brillo with cuffs.

I know this sounds strange, but I used to love army food—especially the coffee. I used to drink three cups of this coffee, go down to the local burlesque show, and yell, “Put it on! Put it on!”

Army coffee is always having to say you're sorry.

The Army had a knack for putting the right man in the right job. They drafted a brain surgeon whose hand was so steady he could cut to one millionth of an inch—and the Army really used him. On Sunday, he was the one who cut the roast beef.

We used to have quaint expressions for army food like S.O.S.—Save Our Stomachs. Don't get ahead of me like that.

I spent three weeks in a hospital because of army food. Suffered from a very rare disease—terminal lamb chops!

We had the only outfit where if the sergeant found a bottle on you—it was bicarbonate!

You have no idea what the food was like in the Army. For punishment they gave you seconds!

You had a little hint that the food wouldn't be too good from the basic army place setting—knife, fork, spoon, and cardboard container.

“Dear Mr. [
YOUR NAME
]. I would like to cast your horoscope. Could you tell me what sign you were born under?” “Yes, I was born under the
NO PARKING
sign. Dad said he knew the way to the hospital and Mother believed him.”

I can remember when if a woman wanted to have a baby, the first person she talked to was her husband. Now it's her astrologer.

My wife won't make a move until she checks with her horoscope. Like last night the lights were low, soft music was playing, we each had a glass of champagne. I gave her a nudge and she said, “No.” I said, “What do you mean, no?” She said, “Venus is not in the ascendancy.” I said, “It doesn't have to be. I am!”

My wife really believes these horoscopes. This morning she's reading one of them in bed—suddenly she gives me a terrific rap in the head. I said, “What are you doing?” She said, “That's for next week!”

Personally, I don't believe in astrology. I've only known one person whose life was influenced by the stars—and he was an agent.

If I were an astronaut, I'd be one of the backup pilots. The minute they tried to put me in a spaceship, would I back up!

I'm so chicken, you ain't never gonna see me on the moon until I can get there in something civilized—like an elevator!

I had a terrible nightmare last night. I dreamed our gardener planted a flag on the moon—and it died.

Isn't it amazing? We go all the way to the moon to pick up rocks—and here on Earth we don't even pick up beer bottles!

Autumn is when Mother Nature goes through a change of leaf.

Autumn is when leaves slowly turn from green to brown to gold to litter.

I don't care how beautiful they are, I still say the only man who ever enjoyed falling leaves was Adam.

Do you realize that if Sir Isaac Newton hadn't opened his big mouth, leaves might be falling
up?

Isn't it fantastic how the weather has changed? It's the first time I ever saw lawn mowers with snow tires.

I always get a little sad on the last day the beaches are open before they close for the winter. I suddenly realize my eyes are on their last legs.

Autumn is when every man in America gets dressed up and has that certain air about him—mothballs.

My wife puts mothballs in everything. I mean, I can understand mothballs for sweaters, mothballs for jackets, mothballs for suits—but in jockey shorts?… I put on a pair this morning and by the time I reached the living room I'd invented three new dance steps.

October is when you open your storage closet and find you have a religious wardrobe—Holey! Holey! Holey!

I'm getting a little worried about my winter clothes. Yesterday a moth flew out of our closet, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, “You should be so kind, which way is Weight Watchers?”

We buy everything on time. We haven't even paid for the baby yet. As of last Tuesday we owned two legs and a navel!

It now costs $750 to deliver a baby. This may not seem like much to you but it could ruin a salmon!

I'm really shook up. Last week we had sixty-two dollars' worth of food go bad. The baby-sitter had lockjaw.

It isn't easy being a single fella these days. I've got a mother who wants me to eat and a doctor who wants me to diet.

I try to ration myself. I only think about girls on days that begin with the letter T. Today, Tomorrow, Thursday, Thighday, Thaturday, and Thunday.

If you're forty-two and you're going out with an eighteen-year-old girl, you ask yourself some interesting questions. Like: “What wine goes with peanut butter?”

It's unnerving going out with beautiful but dumb girls. I took one to a concert by Yehudi Menuhin and she leaned over and whispered, “What's he playing?” I said, “The Beethoven Concerto in D Major, Opus 61.” She just stared at me. I said, “A violin.”

I agree with that shampoo commercial on television. Split hair is a real problem, [
SMOOTH BACK YOUR HEAD.
]

Mine split about ten years ago.

I don't know why people call me bald. Just because everybody else has a narrow part!

You don't seem to understand. I am not bald. I just happen to have a Life Saver haircut. There's a hole in the middle.

I happen to be a very good character analyst. Just yesterday I was standing in a bank and a fella came in with a stocking over his head.
Well, just like that I knew he was one of two things—a crook or a very sloppy dresser.

Bank robbers are so relaxed these days. One fella walked into a bank wearing a mask—ran right into a cop. The crook pointed at his mask and said, “Good morning, Officer. I'm on my way to a masquerade ball.” No answer. “I'm studying to be a surgeon?” The cop kept looking at the mask. The crook said, “Would you believe the world's worst case of acne?”

Yesterday a crook held up a bank and told the teller to put $10,000 into a brown paper bag. Well, we can put a stop to that. All we have to do is register brown paper bags.

Have you ever noticed how a bank robber who steals $5,000 gets ten years in jail—and a bank owner who milks it of $5,000,000 gets a suspended sentence? That must be some of that stainless steal you keep hearing about.

The saddest story I ever heard was about a businessman who was on the brink of bankruptcy. Seeking solace, he turned to his copy of the Good Book, opened it at random, and the first thing he saw was Chapter Eleven.

The nice part about selling to a firm that goes bankrupt is, you get the business before, during, and after.

My former business had nothing to do with football but it did wind up in the hands of a receiver.

Banks have a very interesting philosophy. You give them your money to keep—and if you try to borrow it back, they want to know if you're good for it!

My bank is getting a little sneaky. They gave ballpoint pens to all
their depositors. Now they're printing the withdrawal slips on wax paper!

What this country really needs is a bank where you can deposit a toaster and they give you $5,000!

I go to the bank a lot. Last week I got $5,000 as a home improvement loan. I'm sending the kids to college.

I never knew why banks called them “personal loans” until I took one out. I missed three payments and did they get personal!

Isn't that nice? My bank just gave me one of those scenic checkbooks. It has pictures of rolling prairies, soaring mountains, majestic forests, stately rivers, and towering cities. It's like my account—overdrawn.

Even my bank doesn't have confidence in me. I have the only checks in town with three things printed on them—my name, address, and “
INSUFFICIENT FUNDS.
”

Be careful of those calendars the banks give you to help you keep track of your payments. I saw one with sixteen months on it.

Everything is relative. To a banker, prurient interest is 18 percent.

BEFORE A HUGE BANQUET:
Tonight I want you all to forget your problems, relax, and enjoy yourself. After all, isn't it ridiculous how little it takes to upset people? Right now I could say two words that would ruin the evening for every waiter in this room. What are the two words? Separate checks!

INVITATION TO A CONVENTION BANQUET:
Dinner will be served at seven as the orchestra plays “It's Delicious, It's Delightful, It's Deductible!”

OPENING FOR A BANQUET:
It's a pleasure to see you all here tonight—the big shots, the little shots, and those who have just come in from the cocktail hour—the half-shot!

Spring is the time of year when you can always tell a real baseball fan. He has the TV set overhauled, orders six hundred cans of beer, forty pounds of potato chips, three hundred TV dinners, and leaves a call for October.

I really don't know much about baseball. To me, an exhibition game is nine fellas coming out wearing raincoats.

I go out to the ball park maybe two or three dozen times a year. I'm not too thrilled with baseball but I'm crazy about undercooked hot dogs!

Between peanuts, popcorn, Cracker Jacks, and hot dogs, what the seventh inning stretches is you!

I gotta tell you. Yesterday I got a phone call from my Aunt Sophie. She was in a police station. I said, “What happened?” She said, “I'll tell you what happened! I was at Shea Stadium, something dropped into the field seats, and they wouldn't let me keep it!” I said, “A baseball?” She said, “A catcher!”

October is when 50 million marriages are threatened by the eternal triangle—a wife, a husband, and the World Series.

If you're a baseball fan, October is when you discover your wife left you in May.

My wife doesn't like baseball. She can never understand why a pitcher who gets $100,000 a year needs relief.

I know a left fielder who's very upset. He was sold for $80,000—by his wife.

I was watching a game yesterday.

The pitcher was warming up in the bullpen. I know he was warming up—he was reading
Playboy.