More from the Joke of the Week Archive:

A truck driver in a huge tractor trailer was barrelling south down the Garden State Parkway. As he reached the Union Toll Plaza, he realized his brakes had given out and that he was unable to slow down or stop. Quickly, he swerved towards the shoulder of the road and, in a split-second decision, ended up thrusting his rig through a vacant red-lighted toll booth near the shoulder of the parkway.
Fortunately, even though the unmanned booth was shattered to pieces, the impact was effective enough in slowing the truck down so that the driver could coast to a complete stop alongside the GSP's shoulder. The uninjured driver called in the accident and awaited for the state troopers and rescue squads to arrive. In the meantime, a Parkway repair crew showed up, poured an odd-looking white substance over the roadway, and proceeded to soak the smashed toll booth's wood, glass, and fiberglas components in the mystery solution.
Having toll booth repair down to a science, the road crew had it reassembled in about a half-an-hour. The bewildered trucker asked the crew's foreman what this white substance was. the foreman replied, "It's Toll-Gate Boothpaste."

[thanks to my pal Wally DePew in Arizona for sharing this story with me].

Q: Why are roach clips called "roach clips?"
A: Because the term "pot holder" had already been taken.

Classical music radio personality Harry Fleetwood died recently (Jan. 2004) at the age of 86. For over forty years, Harry had been a fixture on various New York City stations such as WQXR, WNCN,
WBAI, and WNBC. In addition to this, Mr. Fleetwood was a regular attendee at the annual Friends of Old-Time Radio (FOTR) convention here in New Jersey. One time about a dozen years ago, Harry told the following story during a panel celebrating classical music on the radio. At best this story is apocryphal, but it still makes for a great joke.

A young announcer had just graduated from announcing school and through some sort of twist of fate found himself a job on a classical music radio station in spite of the fact that he possessed no real knowledge about classical music or opera. The station's management decided that "the kid" truly had a raw talent and that he could be groomed into becoming a dynamic air personality. Therefore, it was planned he could "learn as he went."
One day, the enthusiastic newcomer back-announced a recording, "That was selections from 'The Barber of Seville' by Rossini-Raspighi." After his shift, the station's program director called him aside and explained to him that "The Barber of Seville" was, indeed written by Rossini, but that Raspighi was a famous interpreter of Rossini's oeuvre. The young opera jockey listened attentively as his superior instructed him that the true way to treat such a hyphenation in future would be to say "written by Rossini and arranged by Raspighi."
The next day came the announcement, "That was 'The Flight of the Bumblebee," written by Rimskyand arranged by Korsakov."

When I was 18-19, I was a D.J. on WAVP, a local cable-radio station in nearby Bloomfield NJ [it was broadcast on one of the print-out info channels over Suburban Cablevision]. At one particular staff meeting, the owner announced that in an attempt to bring in extra cash, he'd be leasing some of the station's air-time to religious broadcasts. I interpolated, "Do we really want to do this? We're the 'Rock of Cable New Jersey'--not the 'Rock of Ages!'"

Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw, and Hugh Downs are walking down Madison Avenue and pass by a florist shop. As they walk by, the store's Korean proprietor runs out in a panic carrying a fire extinguisher. In broken English, he tells the three newsmen that a small fire had just broken out in the backroom & that his English wasn't good enough for him to read the instructions for the extinguisher's usage. Messrs. Rather and Brokaw couldn't exactly remember how fire extinguishers worked and were equally confused. At this point, Mr. Downs grabbed the fire extinguisher, pulled the pin, and quickly put out the fire before any real real damage could occur...proving once and for all, that Hugh--and only Hugh--can prevent florist fires!

While consulting his doctor, a man admitted "Doctor, I don't know what to
do. My wife thinks she's a Double Bacon Whopper with Cheese!"
The doctor commanded, "Take her to a psychiatrist."
"O.K." responded the patient, "Have it your way!"

A man said to his family physician, "Doctor, doctor, you gotta help me! My
wife thinks she's the Washington Monument!"
"Why don't you take her to a psychiatrist," the doctor suggested.
"I would," responded the patient, "but nobody has a couch that long."

Q: Where did George Washington keep this armies?
A: Up his sleevies, of course.

Q: What did one Grateful dead fan say to the other when the drugs finally
wore off?
A: "Hey! This music sucks!"

A dyslexic walks into a bra...

Law enforcement authorities in London arrested a school-teacher suspected
of being a terrorist belonging to a new group Al Gebra, being that he was
found in possession of slide rules, compasses, protractors, and other "weapons of math instruction."

Q: What is 6-6-8?
A: The neighbour of "The Beast."

We used to have a local flavoured joke. Please indulge me all you non-New
Jerseyans. Thanks.
Q: If there were a big fire in southwestern Essex County, would Mill-burn?
A: No. Maple-wood.

Lately, I've seen B.B. King doing TV commercials for diabetic testing
supplies. About 15 year ago, I remember him doing ads for Kentucky Fried
Chicken. Do you perhaps think that if he wasn't beholden to KFC, then he might
not be doing ads relating to diabetes today? Just a thought.

Q: What do you call the day that follows two rainy days in Northen New Jersey?
A: A Monday.

"How many Frenchmen does it take to defend Paris?"
"Nobody knows! It's never been done!"

An American tourist found himself in a Dublin bar on Saint Patrick's Day.
The local populace were having a great time celebrating the national holiday.
In honour of Ireland's patron saint, everybody in the bar was given a chance
to sing a song, raise a toast, or tell a story appropriate for the occasion.
At one point, the bartender asked the American man, "Well, Yank, what
have ye got for us?"
"I really don't know the words to any Irish songs," he sheepishly
"That's O.K.," encouraged the innkeeper, "any festive song'll do.."
"In that case," the American responded, "I'd like to sing this 'orange'
All of a sudden, he heard a voice shouting, "An Orange song! Let's get
him!" Not realizing that the term "Orange" in Ireland is indicative of
Protestant/loyalist partisanship, the hapless tourist found himself being
pummelled mercilessly by the half-drunk bar habitues. Folks were ganging up on
him, taking swings, breaking bottles over his head...
Finally, the bartender put a stop to the bloodshed and called off the
unruly mob. The American was lying in a heap on the floor with a broken arm,
bruises, cuts,and a loss of blood.
"Well, Yank," the bartender triumphantly admonished, "would you like to
sing your 'Orange' song now?"
Barely above a whisper, the defeated American warbled, "TANGERINE...she
is all they say..."

Here's the story about how Darryl Hall and John Oates got the inspiration
for one of their biggest hits:
In the 1970s before Hall & Oates were able to sell out stadiums, they were
fixtures on the college campus circuit. At one college the afternoon of the
day of a big show, they were invited to be interviewed on the college radio
Like most college radio stations of the day, rock music was the primary
cornerstone of this one particular station's programming; however, there wer
also isolated blocks of time dedicated to jazz, ethnic, Christian, folk,
reggae, and classical music represented at this ecletic campus.
The air personality hosting Hall & Oates had such a successful interview,
the D.J. wanted to scrap his regular bill of fare, and devote the entire show
to Hall & Oates and their music. The jock then spun the 45 version of "Sara
No longer needing the stack of other artists' LPs he had already
"picked", the jock then asked Daryll Hall if he would be kind enough to
deposit this same stack in the sorting bin of the record library down the
corrridor. Mr. Hall obliged.
When he got to the door of the library, Daryll collided with the station's
classical music maven, who, as fate would have it, was also carrying a stack
of LPs. There were records all over the floor. Underneath a copy of KISS's
album "Hotter Than Hell" lay a copy of Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia
Symphony conducting Franz Liszt's "Second Hungarian Rhapsody," which prompted
the classical music nerd to remark...
"HEY! YOUR KISS IS ON MY LISZT!..."[ the best things in life!]

Q: What did the Zen Buddhist say as he was receiving shock-treatment?

Q: How many manic-depressive persons does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A: to obligingly screw it in, and the other to break it and slash
his wrists with it.

With recent charges against the Who's Pete Townshend alleging his visiting
child-pornography web-sites, does this give new meaning to his old song "The
Kids Are All Right"?

Q: What's the difference between a cocoanut and a Scotsman?
A: You can get a drink out of a cocoanut!

There's a new advocacy group called DAM...
...Mothers Against Dyslexia.

"Did you hear the joke about the 288 eggs?"
"It's two gross!"
[written by Ian James]

John Entwistle just died....WHO'S NEXT?

A man consults a psychiatrist and begins to tell him his problem.
"Doctor, I don't know what's the matter with me. I'll be making love to my
wife, and I find myself singing 'Why-why-why, Delilah?' and her name is
Wanda...I'll be walking my dog, all the time singing 'What's new, pussycat?'
and I don't even like cats....Whenever I'm driving in the country, it's all
about the 'Green,green grass of home,' and I never lived in the country. I
don't understand why I keep breaking into these songs!"
"Well," the head-shrinker counsels his patient, "you have what we in the
profession, call 'Tom Jones Syndrome.'"
"Tom Jones Syndrome?" the couch-jockey muses. "Is that bad?"
"Let me put it this way," the doctor assures him, "IT'S NOT UNUSUAL!"

While recently reading about the Han Dynasty, who ruled ancient China, it
occurred to me that maybe the whole history of China has been a Han-to-Mao
[Special thanks to Suzanne Toren, the "First Lady of Talking Books"]

How soon they forget!
Last week I saw Pokemon videos on sale in a 99-cents shop in New York City. My original take on the whole Pokemon phenomenon of a few years back was: "With trends like these, who needs anime!"

Recently, the man who wrote "The Hokey-Pokey" died; however, the undertakers had trouble burying him being that they "put his left foot in, and took his left foot out..."
(courtesy of Robert Newman, emcee for the annual Cincinnati Old-Time Radio & Nostalgia Convention...and that's what it's all about).

Q: Why didn't the skeleton cross the road?
A: He didn't have the guts.

The following joke was told me by a good friend of mine who died at
age 67 on Tuesday, March 19th, 2002. DAVE WARREN, of Cincinnati,was, at
various times in his life, a school teacher, a high school football coach, a
commercial artist, an actor, and an all-around raconteur. Above all, Dave was
a gentle soul whom I met through the Old-Time Radio (OTR) hobby. In addition
to having artwork prominently displayed--an oil painting of President Ulysses
S.Grant that Dave painted hangs in the Grant Birthplace in Ohio--Dave's other
great legacy would have to be the founding of The Dave Warren Players, an
assemblage of OTR enthusiasts who have presented re-creations of scripts from
radio's Golden Age at various OTR conventions around the USA. A gifted comic
performer, Dave possessed the uncanny ability to cast the right actor (some of
them amateurs) in the right part that went far beyond assessing the
performer's talent for vocal mimickry.
With profound esteem and utmost respect, the following joke is
presented in loving memory of the indomitable and incomparable Dave Warren:
with deepest condolences extended to his family, especially his widow Lois.
It seems that the state of Ohio decided that too many unskilled
labourers from the neighbouring Commonwealth of Kentucky were taking too many
jobs away from native Ohioans. To stem this tide, authorities set up a
checkpoint on the Cincinnati side of the Ohio River and dispatched state
troopers to patrol the Roebling Bridge that connected the two states
along Interstate 75.
The troopers at the checkpoint station began to stop cars at random and
inquire into motorists' motives in driving into the Buckeye State. The first
car stopped belonged to a medical school graduate who, on request, presented
his credentials, and explained that he was driving to an awaiting internship
at a large Cleveland Hospital. Deciding medicine was a respectable field, the
cops waved the young doctor through.
In similar fashion, the troopers stopped a second motorist. Upon
learning that the driver was an accomplished architect, the troopers,
likewise, waved him through, determining that architecture was also a worthy
A third motorist explained he was driving into Ohio to seek employment
and that he was a pilot. Figuring there was always a need for pilots, the
state police waved him through.
The troopers stop the very next car. "License and registration, please,"
instructed the senior trooper, "And state your business in seeking entry into
"I'm looking for work," responded the hapless Kentuckian.
"What kind of work do you do?"
"I cut kindling.
"Oh, no!" the state trooper remonstrated, "No more hillbillies coming
in here and taking all the jobs!"
"What do ypu mean by 'hillbillies'?" the motorist protested, "You just
done let my brother in the car ahead of me come through!"
"--Because your brother said he was a pilot!"
"That's right...and he can't 'pile-it' less'n I cut it!"
We're all going to miss you, Dave.

Q: Why was Houdini buried in Brooklyn?

Q: What's the best part about dating a homeless girl?
A: After the date you can drop her off anywhere.

This isn't really a joke; it's more of an anecdote - but it really happened!
Many years ago, I took a trip to Philadelphia to see Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell. For a souvenir, I bought a little cast iron Liberty Bell.
When I got home, I showed it to my mother and started ringing it. I exclaimed, "Look mom! A Liberty Bell!"
"Why would you buy one of those for?", she asked, "It's broken!"