plarq
Crazy forever
Actually Bill and Hilary Clinton came from Arkansas.
#~~ The HEhe HAha Joke Thread ~~#
- Thread starter Abaddon
- Start date
- Status
Gaius Octavius
Deity
- Joined
- Jul 28, 2006
- Messages
- 4,016
Post deleted.
Mauritania
Warlord
How many message board posters does it take to change a light bulb?
1,240
1 to change the light bulb and to post that the light bulb has been changed;
14 to share similar experiences of changing light bulbs and how the light bulb could have been changed differently;
7 to caution about the dangers of changing light bulbs;
27 to point out spelling/grammar errors in posts about changing light bulbs;
53 to flame the spell checkers;
41 to correct spelling/grammar of the flames;
6 to argue over whether it's "lightbulb" or "light bulb";
6 to condemn those 6 as anal-retentive;
156 to write to the site administrator about the light bulb discussion and its inappropriateness to this board;
109 to post that this board is not about light bulbs and to please take this thread to the litebulb board;
203 to demand that cross posting to grammar-l, spelling-l and illuminati-l about changing light bulbs be stopped;
111 to defend the posting to this board saying that we all use light bulbs and therefore the posts *are* relevant to this board;
306 to debate which method of changing light bulbs is superior, where to buy the best light bulbs, what brand of light bulbs work best for this technique and what brands are faulty;
27 to post URL's where one can see examples of different light bulbs;
14 to post that the URL's were posted incorrectly and the post the corrected URL's;
3 to post about links they found from the URL's that are relevant to this board which makes light bulbs relevant to this board;
33 to link all posts to date, then quote them including all headers and footers and then add "Me too";
12 to post to the board that they are logging off because they cannot handle the light bulb controversy;
19 to quote the "Me too's" to say "Me three";
4 to suggest that posters request the light bulb FAQ;
44 to ask what is "FAQ";
5 to BUMP up the post because we all still change lightbulbs;
17 to say "Didn't we already go through this on Usenet?"
22 to ask "What's Usenet?"
1 to count all the messages to make sure there are 1,240 members involved
_________________________________________________________________
In his book "Sled Driver: Flying the World's Fastest Jet", SR-71/Blackbird pilot Brian Shul writes: I'll always remember a certain radio exchange that occurred one day as Walt (my back-seater) and I were screaming across Southern California 13 miles high. We were monitoring various radio transmissions from other aircraft as we entered Los Angeles airspace.
Though they didn't really control us, they did monitor our movement across their scope. I heard a Cessna ask for a readout of its ground speed. "90 knots" Center replied. Moments later a Twin Beech inquired the same. "120 knots," Center answered.
We weren't the only ones proud of our ground speed that day...almost instantly an F-18 smugly transmitted, "Uh, Center, Dusty 52 requests ground speed readout."
There was a slight pause then the response, "525 knots on the ground, Dusty." Another silent pause. As I was thinking to myself how ripe a situation this was, I heard a familiar click of a radio transmission coming from my back-seater. It was at that precise moment I realized Walt and I had become a real crew for we were both thinking in unison.
"Center, Aspen 20, you got a ground speed readout for us?" There was a longer than normal pause... "Aspen, I show 1,742 knots." No further inquiries were heard on that frequency.
In similar vein (airport not stated), an SR-71 crew were listening in on a similar "match this" contest. A Cessna asked to clear to 4000 ft, a corporate jet requested clearance to 12,000, an airliner to 18,000, etc. Finally the SR-71 called ATC.
SR-71: "Request clearance to 80,000 ft"
Tower: "Just how in hell do you plan to get up there?"
SR-71: "Uh Tower, I'm descending to 80,000".
_________________________________________________________________
or the supposed conversation between a BA pilot and the notoriously difficult to deal with air traffic control at Fankfurt airport...
Speedbird 206: 'Frankfurt control, Speedbird 206! we're clear of active runway.'
Frankfurt Control: 'Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven.'
The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.
Frankfurt Control: 'Speedbird, why have you stopped?
Speedbird 206: 'Stand by, Ground, I'm looking up our gate location
now.'
Frankfurt Control(with quite arrogant impatience): 'Speedbird 206, do you not know where you are going? have you not been to Frankfurt before?'
Speedbird 206 (coolly): "Well yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark, and I didn't land.'
____________________________________________________________
Some American pilots were receiving a briefing concerning a bombing run on a German city.
"You will fly in at 2000 feet and drop your bombs. On your return you will be awarded 'Purple Heart medals"
"Sir, what medal can we expect if we go in at 1000 feet?"
"Well, if you go in at 1000 feet you will be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honour".
"Well, what medal will we get if we go in at 500 feet?"
"For f***s sake don't go in that low. You'll get tangled up with the f***ing RAF!"
1,240
1 to change the light bulb and to post that the light bulb has been changed;
14 to share similar experiences of changing light bulbs and how the light bulb could have been changed differently;
7 to caution about the dangers of changing light bulbs;
27 to point out spelling/grammar errors in posts about changing light bulbs;
53 to flame the spell checkers;
41 to correct spelling/grammar of the flames;
6 to argue over whether it's "lightbulb" or "light bulb";
6 to condemn those 6 as anal-retentive;
156 to write to the site administrator about the light bulb discussion and its inappropriateness to this board;
109 to post that this board is not about light bulbs and to please take this thread to the litebulb board;
203 to demand that cross posting to grammar-l, spelling-l and illuminati-l about changing light bulbs be stopped;
111 to defend the posting to this board saying that we all use light bulbs and therefore the posts *are* relevant to this board;
306 to debate which method of changing light bulbs is superior, where to buy the best light bulbs, what brand of light bulbs work best for this technique and what brands are faulty;
27 to post URL's where one can see examples of different light bulbs;
14 to post that the URL's were posted incorrectly and the post the corrected URL's;
3 to post about links they found from the URL's that are relevant to this board which makes light bulbs relevant to this board;
33 to link all posts to date, then quote them including all headers and footers and then add "Me too";
12 to post to the board that they are logging off because they cannot handle the light bulb controversy;
19 to quote the "Me too's" to say "Me three";
4 to suggest that posters request the light bulb FAQ;
44 to ask what is "FAQ";
5 to BUMP up the post because we all still change lightbulbs;
17 to say "Didn't we already go through this on Usenet?"
22 to ask "What's Usenet?"
1 to count all the messages to make sure there are 1,240 members involved
_________________________________________________________________
In his book "Sled Driver: Flying the World's Fastest Jet", SR-71/Blackbird pilot Brian Shul writes: I'll always remember a certain radio exchange that occurred one day as Walt (my back-seater) and I were screaming across Southern California 13 miles high. We were monitoring various radio transmissions from other aircraft as we entered Los Angeles airspace.
Though they didn't really control us, they did monitor our movement across their scope. I heard a Cessna ask for a readout of its ground speed. "90 knots" Center replied. Moments later a Twin Beech inquired the same. "120 knots," Center answered.
We weren't the only ones proud of our ground speed that day...almost instantly an F-18 smugly transmitted, "Uh, Center, Dusty 52 requests ground speed readout."
There was a slight pause then the response, "525 knots on the ground, Dusty." Another silent pause. As I was thinking to myself how ripe a situation this was, I heard a familiar click of a radio transmission coming from my back-seater. It was at that precise moment I realized Walt and I had become a real crew for we were both thinking in unison.
"Center, Aspen 20, you got a ground speed readout for us?" There was a longer than normal pause... "Aspen, I show 1,742 knots." No further inquiries were heard on that frequency.
In similar vein (airport not stated), an SR-71 crew were listening in on a similar "match this" contest. A Cessna asked to clear to 4000 ft, a corporate jet requested clearance to 12,000, an airliner to 18,000, etc. Finally the SR-71 called ATC.
SR-71: "Request clearance to 80,000 ft"
Tower: "Just how in hell do you plan to get up there?"
SR-71: "Uh Tower, I'm descending to 80,000".
_________________________________________________________________
or the supposed conversation between a BA pilot and the notoriously difficult to deal with air traffic control at Fankfurt airport...
Speedbird 206: 'Frankfurt control, Speedbird 206! we're clear of active runway.'
Frankfurt Control: 'Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven.'
The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.
Frankfurt Control: 'Speedbird, why have you stopped?
Speedbird 206: 'Stand by, Ground, I'm looking up our gate location
now.'
Frankfurt Control(with quite arrogant impatience): 'Speedbird 206, do you not know where you are going? have you not been to Frankfurt before?'
Speedbird 206 (coolly): "Well yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark, and I didn't land.'
____________________________________________________________
Some American pilots were receiving a briefing concerning a bombing run on a German city.
"You will fly in at 2000 feet and drop your bombs. On your return you will be awarded 'Purple Heart medals"
"Sir, what medal can we expect if we go in at 1000 feet?"
"Well, if you go in at 1000 feet you will be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honour".
"Well, what medal will we get if we go in at 500 feet?"
"For f***s sake don't go in that low. You'll get tangled up with the f***ing RAF!"
Love
Deity
@Mauritania...
Mauritania
Warlord
How many message board posters does it take to write a message board joke about changing lightbulbs?
1 to post the original joke
1 to adapt the original joke for a more forumcentric audience
4 to ask why the joke was changed?
7 to comment that it made no difference
54 post new jokes which are quickly ignored as they do not add to the discussion.
10 to post that the posts were hilarious and that they should be kept coming.
12 to post "isn't it about time we stopped this"
1 mod to post that isn't it about time we all learnt to get along.
365 to debate the whole British humour vs. American humor issue
135 to debate the whole Lightbulb vs. Chicken crossing the road vs. man in a bar issue.
1 to say that is all getting a bit heavy and starts a new joke thread where lightbulb jokes are banned.
6 to remain to discuss the anti-lightbulb sentiment of the new jokes thread
Another mod to threaten to close the thread if the topic does'nt go back on topic.
6 18-way games of civilization will be played to settle the matter on the battlefield
1 to post the original joke
1 to adapt the original joke for a more forumcentric audience
4 to ask why the joke was changed?
7 to comment that it made no difference
54 post new jokes which are quickly ignored as they do not add to the discussion.
10 to post that the posts were hilarious and that they should be kept coming.
12 to post "isn't it about time we stopped this"
1 mod to post that isn't it about time we all learnt to get along.
365 to debate the whole British humour vs. American humor issue
135 to debate the whole Lightbulb vs. Chicken crossing the road vs. man in a bar issue.
1 to say that is all getting a bit heavy and starts a new joke thread where lightbulb jokes are banned.
6 to remain to discuss the anti-lightbulb sentiment of the new jokes thread
Another mod to threaten to close the thread if the topic does'nt go back on topic.
6 18-way games of civilization will be played to settle the matter on the battlefield
Catharsis
catch u on the flip scythe
You forgot the one poster who starts talking about Poland.
And the 5 who start complaining about President Bush.
Mise
isle of lucy
And the 2 (3?) who add metajokes?
cubsfan6506
Got u
And me to say how much religion sucks.
We got a dozen other posters who can do that just as well, though.
Love
Deity
And 2 - 3 finns who say that they shall screw the lightbulb the opposite way...
Mauritania
Warlord
5 -6 to conclude the whole thing is the work of UFOs, aliens, black governments and clandestine operations...
or is that just me?
or is that just me?
They ONLY do that in Australia
classical_hero
In whom I trust
I have one from work.
A colleague was wondering why the monitor said "No Power source detected." He did not realise that the monitor was on but the computer was not turned on.
WerBackIII
Jar of the Rotting Brain
How many Dragons you need to ligh a candle?
2 - 1 to breath fire and 1 to breath water
2 - 1 to breath fire and 1 to breath water
Catharsis
catch u on the flip scythe
There was a little boy by the name of Billy. Billy was an ordinary little boy who did ordinary little boy things, like playing, eating, bathing, destroying things, and going to school. One day, when Billy went down to the bus stop to meet the bus to go to school, he found all of his friends huddled around in a little group, talking about the Purple Wombat.
Being a little boy, Billy was curious. So he asked them, "What's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the children exclaimed disgustedly. For the rest of the morning, they would not go near Billy, always standing far away and staring at him. Then the bus came. Billy, confused, got on the bus along with the rest of the children.
"Hey, Mister Bus Driver!" one of the chldren shouted. "Billy doesn't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
The bus driver turned around abruptly. "You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" he said in disbelief. He ordered Billy to sit in the very back of the bus, all by himself.
Eventually, they got to school, and Billy got off the bus and went to class. Class proceeded normally; the students did the pledge of allegiance and worked on their multiplication tables for a while. Then the teacher led them into a unit on geography. Billy was not really paying attention, but he heard the teacher mention something about the Purple Wombat.
Billy's hand shot up, and, when the teacher called on him, Billy asked, "Teacher, what's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the teacher cried in alarm, "Get yourself to the principal's office right now, young man. No, no buts -- march!"
So Billy headed down the long, dark, frightening hallway to the principal's office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and timidly entered the room behind it. There, at a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a hulking man, balding, with a thin mustache. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. He was enough to frighten little boys like Billy who had been sent to his office almost to tears.
"Well, Billy," he began slowly. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Mr. Principal, I just don't know what's going on today. Everyone's been acting weird, and they're all treating me really badly. Like teacher just sent me to you and stuff."
"Now, Billy, I'm here to help you. I'm the princi-Pal, after all. Heh heh. Can you tell me why everyone's acting so strangely?"
"It's because I don't know what some stupid Purple Wombat is."
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is? That's it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended."
The principal threw Billy out of his office and told him to go home. Billy, crying, began the long walk home. When he got there, his mother was standing in the doorway waiting for him.
"Billy!" she called, sobbing, "I was so worried about you! What happened?"
"Mom," Billy cried, "Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal's office and the principal suspended me, all because I don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" Billy's mother shrieked. "Go to your room this minute. Go! Just wait until your father gets home!"
So Billy marched up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on the bed, crying. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and some doors shutting. His father was home. He could hear his parents talking downstairs but didn't know what they were saying. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and his door opened.
"Billy," his father began in that lecturing-father tone, "Your mother says you've been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you've done?"
"Dad, I haven't done anything! I just don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"You...don't know what the Purple Wombat is. Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. And forget about dinner!"
Billy's father slammed the door and stormed off. Billy collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way -- lying there, crying, wishing he would wake up.
Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said: "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat, Billy."
Billy sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but he could not.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Find me, Billy."
It was coming from out the window. So Billy got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out on to the roof.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat."
Billy jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road. He got to the edge of a wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Follow me, Billy."
The voice was coming from inside the wood. It was very dark and very frightening, but Billy didn't care. He had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. So, bravely, he entered the wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Keep going, Billy."
Billy kept going into the wood. He could hardly see anything, and he kept falling down and walking into things and hurting himself. But he kept going, driven by a need to find this enigma that kept calling his name.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. This way, Billy."
Eventually, Billy emerged from the wood. He was on the shore of the town lake.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. I'm out here, Billy."
It was coming from out across the lake. Billy got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. Since he was only a small boy, it was very difficult. But he had to find out what the Purple Wombat was.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Row, Billy."
The voice was coming from across the lake. Billy doubled his effort, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: "Billy, I am the Purple Wombat. I'm up here, Billy."
It was coming from directly above him. Billy stopped rowing and stood up to look for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Billy didn't know how to swim, so he drowned.
Moral: Don't stand up in a boat.
Being a little boy, Billy was curious. So he asked them, "What's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the children exclaimed disgustedly. For the rest of the morning, they would not go near Billy, always standing far away and staring at him. Then the bus came. Billy, confused, got on the bus along with the rest of the children.
"Hey, Mister Bus Driver!" one of the chldren shouted. "Billy doesn't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
The bus driver turned around abruptly. "You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" he said in disbelief. He ordered Billy to sit in the very back of the bus, all by himself.
Eventually, they got to school, and Billy got off the bus and went to class. Class proceeded normally; the students did the pledge of allegiance and worked on their multiplication tables for a while. Then the teacher led them into a unit on geography. Billy was not really paying attention, but he heard the teacher mention something about the Purple Wombat.
Billy's hand shot up, and, when the teacher called on him, Billy asked, "Teacher, what's the Purple Wombat?"
"You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" the teacher cried in alarm, "Get yourself to the principal's office right now, young man. No, no buts -- march!"
So Billy headed down the long, dark, frightening hallway to the principal's office. He slowly opened the large, heavy door, and timidly entered the room behind it. There, at a large, imposing desk, sat the principal. The principal was a hulking man, balding, with a thin mustache. He spoke in a deep baritone voice. He was enough to frighten little boys like Billy who had been sent to his office almost to tears.
"Well, Billy," he began slowly. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Mr. Principal, I just don't know what's going on today. Everyone's been acting weird, and they're all treating me really badly. Like teacher just sent me to you and stuff."
"Now, Billy, I'm here to help you. I'm the princi-Pal, after all. Heh heh. Can you tell me why everyone's acting so strangely?"
"It's because I don't know what some stupid Purple Wombat is."
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is? That's it. I am calling your mother, young man. Consider yourself suspended."
The principal threw Billy out of his office and told him to go home. Billy, crying, began the long walk home. When he got there, his mother was standing in the doorway waiting for him.
"Billy!" she called, sobbing, "I was so worried about you! What happened?"
"Mom," Billy cried, "Everyone was being mean to me and I had to sit in the back of the bus all by myself and the teacher sent me to the principal's office and the principal suspended me, all because I don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"What? You don't know what the Purple Wombat is?" Billy's mother shrieked. "Go to your room this minute. Go! Just wait until your father gets home!"
So Billy marched up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed on the bed, crying. After some amount of time, he heard a car pull in and some doors shutting. His father was home. He could hear his parents talking downstairs but didn't know what they were saying. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and his door opened.
"Billy," his father began in that lecturing-father tone, "Your mother says you've been acting badly lately. Would you like to tell me what you've done?"
"Dad, I haven't done anything! I just don't know what the Purple Wombat is!"
"You...don't know what the Purple Wombat is. Well, in that case, you can just stay in this room all night, mister. And forget about dinner!"
Billy's father slammed the door and stormed off. Billy collapsed on his bed, crying his eyes out. He spent the next several hours that way -- lying there, crying, wishing he would wake up.
Then, in the middle of the night, he heard a voice. It said: "Billy. I am the Purple Wombat, Billy."
Billy sat up with a start. He looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice, but he could not.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Find me, Billy."
It was coming from out the window. So Billy got up, put his shoes on, opened the window, and climbed out on to the roof.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat."
Billy jumped down off the roof and followed the voice down the road. He got to the edge of a wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Follow me, Billy."
The voice was coming from inside the wood. It was very dark and very frightening, but Billy didn't care. He had to find out what the Purple Wombat was. So, bravely, he entered the wood.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Keep going, Billy."
Billy kept going into the wood. He could hardly see anything, and he kept falling down and walking into things and hurting himself. But he kept going, driven by a need to find this enigma that kept calling his name.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. This way, Billy."
Eventually, Billy emerged from the wood. He was on the shore of the town lake.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. I'm out here, Billy."
It was coming from out across the lake. Billy got one of the small rowboats from the dock, untied it, and rowed out. Since he was only a small boy, it was very difficult. But he had to find out what the Purple Wombat was.
"Billy. I am the Purple Wombat. Row, Billy."
The voice was coming from across the lake. Billy doubled his effort, and the boat began to move a little faster. When he was about half way across the lake, he heard: "Billy, I am the Purple Wombat. I'm up here, Billy."
It was coming from directly above him. Billy stopped rowing and stood up to look for it. The boat tipped over, dumping him in the lake. Billy didn't know how to swim, so he drowned.
Moral: Don't stand up in a boat.
Ambidexter
Edjumacated Idjit
A little girl asks her Dad: "Where does poo come from?"
The father feeling a little perturbed that his 5 year old daughter is already asking difficult questions thinks for a moment and says: "Well you know we just ate breakfast?"
"Yes," answers the girl.
"Well the food goes into our tummies and our bodies take out all the good stuff, and then whatever is left over comes out of our bottoms when we go to the toilet, and that is poo."
The little girl looks shocked and stares at him with a watery eyes in stunned silence for a few seconds, then asks: "So where does Tigger come from?"
The father feeling a little perturbed that his 5 year old daughter is already asking difficult questions thinks for a moment and says: "Well you know we just ate breakfast?"
"Yes," answers the girl.
"Well the food goes into our tummies and our bodies take out all the good stuff, and then whatever is left over comes out of our bottoms when we go to the toilet, and that is poo."
The little girl looks shocked and stares at him with a watery eyes in stunned silence for a few seconds, then asks: "So where does Tigger come from?"
Mise
isle of lucy
It's cos she spelt Pooh wrong. Silly girl.
uat2d
ಠ_ಠ
this might have been post here, this might don't make sense and this might be considered a "dirty joke", but if you are brave enough to see it, there it is:
Spoiler :
or is it good 
?- Status
