Tag Archives: groaner

The Twins

onceupunatimegreenA couple in Muskogee, Oklahoma, where the people are all patriots, were blessed with the birth of twins, two identical girls. These twins were born on the 4th of July, and the father, being patriotic, said to his wife, “We will name them Liberty and Justice, after the pledge of allegiance”.

His wife said, “Are you nuts? You can’t have girls going through life with names like Liberty and Justice. We are going to name them regular girl’s names like Mary or Jane”.

Well, the argument went on for about a month, when a compromise was reached. They would each name one of the girls. The man chose Liberty and the wife picked Elizabeth.

As the girls grew, they were so identical, they kept pulling tricks on people who couldn’t tell them apart. Finally, when they were about 18, a young man took an interest in them. He would take one out on a date but he was never sure which one he was with.

He decided he would marry one of them, or both if he could get away with it, but he wasn’t sure which one he would marry, if he could only get one.He went to the girls father and explained his quandary.

“I love your daughters and want to marry one of them, but I can’t tell them apart, so I will leave it up to you”.

“Give me Liberty or give me Beth”


Abe Cohen was a very successful barber whose tonsorial shop happened to be located next store to a bowling alley.

Cohen became enamoured with the sport and was determined to get his score over 200 so he began spending more time bowling than barbering.

He had started a game with 6 consecutive strikes one afternoon when the political boss of the county tracked him down and demanded an immediate shave.

Cohen indignantly pushed him aside, declaring firmly, “A bowling Cohen lathers no boss.”

Stand-Up Comic

A young man walked onto the stage of Australian Idol, on crutches, with a plaster cast from his feet to his hips.

Grant Denyer introduced him as Simon.

‘It’s very brave of you to come out here,’ said Grant. ‘Please tell the audience what happened?

‘Well’ replied Simon, ‘about a year ago, I was driving with my uncle when we had a really bad accident. Unfortunately my uncle was killed outright but I survived. I was trapped in the car for six hours before I was eventually cut free. The doctors had me in surgery for 12 hours but they couldn’t save my legs.’

”That’s terrible. But I see you have legs now. Are they artificial?’ asked Grant.

‘No Grant, while I was in hospital the doctors informed me that my uncle had in fact died, but that his legs were fine and with all the advances in medical science, they could graft the bottom half of his body onto mine. As you can see the operation was successful. I have been having physiotherapy for six months and hope to be walking fully again by the end of the year.

A huge round of applause erupted from the audience and Grant responded with; ‘That’s an unbelievable story. So tonight, who are you going to be?”

‘Tonight, Grant, I am going to be Simon and Halfuncle.’

Gleefully burgled from Phil

All That Glitters

The wild and wooly west was replete with adventure and potential riches. Magical artifacts were reputed to be abundant and highly sought after. One little town, La Poema, near the Superstition Mountains became famous for a particular enchanted pebble that they made available for viewing in the public library.

The locals particularly appreciated the sight of strangers touching the stone and helplessly bursting into verse. For example, a hardtack miner spouted, “Dagnabit, this mangy rabbit, has a bad habit…” before he was able to pull his hand away. An elderly spinster was heard to say, “While playing scrabble, with the local rabble, who like to gabble, I’d like to dabble…”, and then she jerked her hand back before getting even more in trouble. A child with consumption touched the pebble and complained, “Ruin and wrack, spew and hack. Alas, alack. True health I lack, I’m going back, to…” before he was dragged away.

One cowhand observer knew better than to touch the stone. However, his curiosity made him ask the locals, “What is that pebble that makes these people spout all those words that sound so much alike?”

The only possible answer came back, “It’s a rhyme stone, cowboy!”

Perils of Golf

An athletic priest rushed from church one day to keep a golf date. He was halfway down the first fairway, waiting to take his second shot, when he heard the familiar, ”Fore!” and felt a ball hit his back.

The golfer who had hit the drive was quickly at the priest’s side, apologizing profusely. But the priest assured him he was not hurt.

”Thank goodness, Father!” the man exclaimed. ”I’ve been playing this game for 40 years and I can finally tell my friends I’ve hit my first holy one.”

Enough, Already!

When the King of Kale first took his young son out to view their great expanse of vegetables and herbs, the lad was impressed and strode on in awe through the fields that soon would be his own vast ptomaine.
On his father’s return to the castle, the queen asked, “Where is our son?” To which the king replied proudly, “I have left my food-prince in the stand of thyme”.

Last summer, frozen-food companies had trouble finding high-quality vegetables for processing because of the dry weather. As a result, many were culled but few were frozen.

It has just come to light that some residents who live near the Indianapolis Speedway, home of the Indy 500 auto race, plan to file suit over foul-smelling exhaust fumes from the track. They are seeking damages for Indy scent exposure.

Most people know the legend of William Tell, but few realise that he and his family were championship bowlers whose team was sponsored by local merchants. Even now, to be able to claim that the Tells once represented your family business would be of great advertising value. Unfortunately, the old records have been lost and today we can’t be sure for whom the Tells bowl.

A Frozen Tale

Every day a peddler pulled his cart of wool from his home to the village market. It was a long trip. He had to travel around the perimeter of a large lake that was owned by the town tycoon, a modern-day Scrooge.

One day during the winter the lake froze over. The peddler realized that he could cut off two miles from his trip, if he crossed over the lake.

He was spotted halfway across the lake by the tycoon.

The Scrooge came racing out of his mansion and screamed at the peddler, “I’ll be danged if I let anyone pull the wool over my ice!”

Monster Tale

By the 15th century, the Templar Knights had disappeared, but deep in the bowels of the British Museum in a case well sealed and protected lies a strange memorial to their impact on the city of London.

London of the early 12th century was on its way to becoming an impressive city, but its life and its blood was the Thames River. Without the river commerce would grind to a halt as the people of London discovered to their horror in 1216. There was a monster, similar to the one from Loch Ness, living in the Thames River in London. It terrorized the city’s inhabitants.

The first boats seemed simply to have disappeared, but the monster wasted little time in this caution. Soon, many Londoners had seen the gaping maw licked by flames dragging a hapless crew to its death. It was a fire salamander, and in the Autumn of 1216 it was estimated to be 40 feet long with jaws that gaped 10 feet wide.

By the spring of 1217, the monster was no longer a nuisance, it was a deadly plague. No boat could navigate the Thames… no raft was small enough, no ship was large enough to resist the demon of the Thames. Worse, the beast was growing! The latest reports called it 70 feet long with jaws opening 15 feet. Our instinct is to discount this absurd growth, and yet few could impeach its source.

He, our source, enters the story in August of 1217. London had begged, prayed, blasphemed, and killed in desperate attempts to exorcise or appease their curse; to no avail.

On June 14, four men painted themselves with the Devil’s Cross and proclaimed themselves the Dark Priests of the Beast. They built a ship and doused it in oil; then, they sailed it down the river. Dark Priests they may have been, but they died screaming like any other man.

On July 28, London sent three virgins (the youngest not yet 13) down the Thames to the monster. It was thought that this would appease the evil god: the monster’s hunger exceeded even this atrocity.

On August 23, our source received his summons. His given name is lost in his chosen name: Honorus. He was a Templar Knight and possibly a saint. That morning, he was commanded to destroy the beast.

London in fear and desperation had turned to their most jealous weapon, the Templars… warrior monks who fought with the fierce, perhaps fanatic, frenzy of the devout. The city had exhausted all other options; the monks were its last hope, and Honorus was the greatest of the Knights.

The battle was truly a footnote to his preparation… Honorus ventured into the woods upstream from London. He forsook shelter, clothing, food, and sleep for four days, meditating on the coming struggle. When the four days ended, he stalked and killed a stag without weapon or aid. With the skin of the stag he made clothing; from its flesh he regained his strength; and with its entrails, he lashed five logs into a raft fit for his purpose.

Honorus set the raft in motion. He had outfitted himself with the only item he would use in this fight that had not come out of the forest with him. A sword of Spanish steel, blue with the sky, lay in his lap.

Soon, he felt the swell of the water disturb his raft: the monster was coming, yet he sat unmoving.  The beast broke the surface.

No human is perfect; a splinter of the collapsing raft clipped Honorus’ left foot as he leapt into the water. He had timed his jump slightly too late, but no matter, the injury will not be important until after the battle.

The monster was above the water only momentarily; time enough for Honorus to drive his sword between two of its scales. The monster thrashed in pain, turning its exposed flesh from the steaming water.

Honorus was lifted from the water as the beast rolled. He gauged his stroke and leapt, striking the monster’s eye. Angered and half-blinded, the beast threw Honorus into the river and grasped him in its immense jaws.

Honorus swam quickly past the teeth into the monster’s mouth. Inside, the questing tongue scalded his feet as he searched for purchase again, and we shall ignore this injury for now.

Once he had braced himself inside the beast’s mouth, pushing with all his strength against the slowly rising tongue, he took aim. Honorus had time to make only one thrust.

When his journal recalls these events, it attributes Honorus’ “luck” in this battle to aid from the Divine. We do not wish to detract from the glory of God, but surely He will not envy His servant.

Is it coincidence that Honorus’ blade struck true to the brain? Honorus had already studied carefully the anatomy of the salamander a week before he was summoned to fight the beast. Did Honorus not know that the water’s rush against the beast’s exposed flank would cause it such pain?

In his journal, “August 24: And once I am atop the beast and it has rolled from the water, where then to strike?”

Two weeks after Honorus was told to lift the curse of London, the beast was dead. The next day London celebrated Honorus; the town would live because of him. Three days later, gratitude had disappeared.

The body of the beast had lodged itself firmly in the mire less than half a mile downstream of London. Although it was yet intact (perhaps due to its incredible armor), it would surely soon rot. While not so great a terror, the rotting beast would be almost as dangerous as the live beast, attracting disease and scavengers. No ship could move the carcass. The people of London called upon Honorus.

Honorus’ solution was difficult but practical, and he began as soon as he had retrieved his sword. He fasted for two days; then, he ate the cooked meat of the huge salamander and fasted for a third day. When he suffered no ill effects, Honorus began dissecting the beast. With the help of London, Honorus soon had all the usable meat and intestines of the dead beast transformed into sausage.

A bizarre solution it was, but a good one. The sausage was soon discovered to be excellent and to keep easily for very long periods of time. Even more important, the sausage fast became incredibly popular throughout England and much of Europe. It began to reestablish the fame of London’s trade after the Hiatus of the Beast.

Still, Honorus has one final contribution to this history… It became vital that everyone knew from whence the incredible sausage of London came, and thus we return to Honorus’ injuries.

After the battle with the live beast and the crisis of the dead beast, Honorus took time to recover . Six weeks after he was first summoned, he was dressing the injuries on his feet. The problems of London were known to him. As he dipped a strip of paper like gauze into a healing salve, he had a thought.

One week later, each sausage shipped from London carried a fascinating new development: a label. Just as the gauze dried and closed on Honorus’ foot, the parchment around these sausages was attached; and all would know the fame of London from each link she sold.

In the end, despite all his other feats, it was this idea, the product label that survived Honorus. In tribute to this advance, the British Museum houses the only known surviving label from Honorus’ sausages.

And although even the tough gut of the Beast has long since faded to dust, the label may still be read. If our reader could go to the Museum and enter the Medieval wing’s most treasured collection, she could still read, in faint letters, the Label of Honor: …” It Was The Beast Of Thames, It Was The Wurst Of Thames.”

Off the Coast of Newfoundland

Off the coast of Newfoundland, a great many fishermen do their fishing at night.

They navigate solely by the light of the moon, scorning more sophisticated methods.

Of course, from time to time this method fails, and shipwrecks are the result.

The Department of Fisheries was reviewing statistics one day, and was shocked to discover how many shipwrecks there were during night fishing.

When they discovered that the fishermen were navigating by the light of the moon, they promptly installed buoys near all the dangerous shoals and reefs to aid night navigation.

To their surprise, when the statistics came in the following month, the shipwrecks had tripled!

The buoys were removed, and things returned to normal.

The moral of the story… You can’t send a buoy to do a moon’s job!!!

A Nice Cuppa Tea

George loved tea.

He’d always come over for several cups.

He had an insatiable thirst.

He became such a nuisance that we decided to fix him.

To cure him of all desire for tea, we decided to drown him with the stuff.

One day we forced him to drink ten pots of tea.

As he staggered off, we laughed at how clever we had been in putting ten pots in a tea pest.

(For those who were puzzled by the Volvo groaner last week, it was based on the Aqua Velva men’s hair cream catch phrase, “There’s something about an Aqua Velva man”)

Royal Antics

There once was a king who was loved by all of his subjects, especially because of the hunting excursions he arranged and shared with them.

As will happen, the king died and his eldest son took the throne.

Now this new king was an animal lover to the core, and immediately outlawed all forms hunting and fishing.

His subjects accepted this for only a short time before they finally ousted him.

This was a truly a significant event because it’s the first time a reign was ever called on account of the game.

Toyota Salesman (PG)

A businessman was in Japan to make a presentation to the Toyota motor people. Needless to say, this was an especially important deal, and it was imperative that he make the best possible impression. On the morning of the presentation he awoke to find himself passing gas, in large volumes, with the unpleasant characteristic of sounding like “HONDA.” The man was besides himself. Every few minutes “HONDA”, “HONDA”….

Unable to stop this aberrant behavior, and in desperate need to terminate these odious and rather embarrassing emissions, he sought a physician’s aid. After a full examination, the doctor told him that there was nothing inherently wrong with him and that he would just have to wait it out. Being unwilling to accept this state of affairs he visited a second and then a third doctor all of whom told him the same thing. Finally one medic suggested that he visit a dentist. Well, although he could not see how a dentist was going to be of any help, he visited one anyway.

Lo and behold, the dentist said, “Ah, there’s the problem”

“What is it?” the man asked.

“Why you have an abscess,” said the dentist.

“An abscess. How could that be causing my problem?” asked the man.

“That’s easy,” replied the dentist. “Why everyone knows… Abscess makes the fart go Honda.”


Nissan Automobiles were marketed under a different marque. And so these anachronistic events came to pass.

It was a mystery fit only for the great Sherlock Holmes, himself. The day after every full moon, members of a Japanese fraternity would be found dead in the hall on the fourth floor. The victims were crushed and there were signs of skid marks and tire tracks on the floor. Holmes was called into the case. It quickly became apparent that the only student that was not frightened was a young man named Nagawa who quickly became the object of Holmes’s suspicion.

The evening of the next full moon, while peering through the keyhole of Nagawa’s room, they saw that the student was no longer there, and in his place was a Japanese compact car!!!

The next morning Holmes confronted Nagawa. “When the moon is full, you become an automobile, and you run over your fellow students on the fourth floor.”

“But how did you know that?”, gasped Nagawa.

Holmes replied, “Elementary, my were-Datsun!!!”

At this, Nagwa panicked, and ran down the corridor. As he opened the door to escape, he turned into a car again, but as he expanded he became trapped in the doorway. The pressure was so great that he exploded and no trace of him was ever found, again.

But it rained Datsun cogs for days!

Beware the Odes of Arch.

‘Twas the fourteenth of March and Brutus and the boys were discussing their planned political statement for the following day.

Cassius the Anorexic wanted to use Greek fire, which had been recently re-invented. Brutus, however, favored the traditional Roman short-sword as the weapon of choice.

He stood and addressed his co-conspirators, “Friends, Romans and Countrymen, Lend me your ears. I come to parry Caesar, not to braise him!”

( David A. Wallace on alt.callahans.)

Feghoot a la Robinson

Ferdinand Feghoot was a character used by Science Fiction author, Spider Robinson. He was the cause of a large number of groaners. Even Ferdinand Feghoot could be outpunned on occasion – but he always rose to the challenge.

He conducted a crew of new S.A.R.H. (Society for the Aesthetic Rearrangement of History) recruits – all from late twentieth-century Terra – on a training study of Carter’s World, a newly established agricultural colony attempting to support itself by the export of edible nuts. Barely into their second generation, and having yet to show a profit, the colonists were technologically backward. Nevertheless, they showed a surprising ingenuity in the use of their few advantages. It was this resourcefulness that Feghoot was demonstrating to his rookies.

“Look at the perfection with which these streets are graded”, exclaimed one student. “Earth-moving machinery on this scale is strictly high technology stuff. How can they do it?”

“A new alleyway is being constructed, nearby”, said Feghoot. “Let us walk that way while I explain.” As they strolled, he told his students that countless centuries before, the Carter’s World system had been inhabited by a now-vanished race of giants. This very planet had served them for a nursery, and among the many artifacts they had left were thousands of childrens blocks, immense and precision-cut. You simply jack one up onto logs, bring it where you want it, put collapsible jacks underneath, snake out the logs, spread soil more or less evenly beneath, and collapse the jacks.

“I see”, said the student. “It’s not graded road at all; its a simple hammered-earth base.”

“That’s right,” Feghoot went on smoothly. “You just hit the road jack and don’t come back no mo.”

His students registered dismay and anguish.

“Isn’t that right, old-timer?,” Feghoot demanded of an ancient Carterian standing by the mouth of the newly completed alley they had just reached.

“Ahm afraid not, suh”, said the senior citizen, and the students giggled at Feghoots discomfiture. “Oh, we used to do it that way, but it was far too much trouble. It’s the soil heah. You see, the very same soil which produced our famous cashews is so high in clay content that a child could roll out a road of it. Then, we simply use a system of lenses to bake it into hardness. Ahve just completed this alley mahself, and ahm just a retired professor of Sports History, much too old and feeble to handle hydraulic jacks.

“So you see,” he finished, eyes twinkling, “Mah hammered alley is really cashews clay.”

Howls of agony rose from the students, but Feghoot never hesitated. “And he”, he said, turning to his students, “is clearly the gradist.”

This Feghoot is from his ANTINOMY collection (1980 Dell paperback, now permanently out of print). It may be the only triple Feghoot ever written. Enjoy, Cybe.