Joke for the Day


Jun 15, 2006
During a commercial flight a Navy pilot was seated next to a young mother with a baby in her arms.
When the baby began crying during the descent for landing the mother began nursing the infant as discreetly as possible.
The Navy pilot pretended not to notice and, upon debarking, he gallantly offered his assistance to help with the various baby related things.
When the young mother expressed her gratitude, the pilot responded, "Gosh, that's a good looking baby...and he sure was hungry."
Somewhat embarrased, the young mother explained that her pediatrician said nursing would help alleviate the pressure in the baby's ears.
The Navy pilot sadly shook his head, and in true fighter pilot fashion exclaimed, "Darn, and all these years I've been chewing gum."
:yllol: Yep. That just went out to everyone in my email address book. Keep posting the good ones!
When Dan found out he was going to inherit a fortune when his sickly father died, he decided he needed a woman to enjoy it with. So one evening he went to a singles bar where he spotted the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her natural beauty took his breath away. "I may look like just an ordinary man," he said as he walked up to her, "but in just a week or two, my father will die, and I'll inherit 20 million dollars."

Impressed, the woman went home with him that evening and, three days later, she became his stepmother.
He was a ragged looking old man who shuffled into the bar that afternoon. Stinking of whiskey and cigarettes, his hands shook as he took the "Piano Player Wanted" sign from the window and gave it to the bartender. "I'd like to apply for the job," he said. The bar-keep wasn't too sure about this doubtful looking old guy, but it had been awhile since he had a player and business was falling off. "What do you do?" he asked. "I used to be a Navy fighter pilot but my eyes went bad" was the answer. Now, really unsure, the bar-keep decided to give him a try...he really needed more business. "The piano is over there...give it a go." The old man staggered his way over to the piano and several patrons snickered. But, by the time he was into the third bar of music, every voice was silenced. What followed was a rhapsody of sound and music unlike anyone had ever heard in the bar before. When he finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the place. The bartender brought the old guy a beer and said that he sounded really, really good. "What do you call that?" he asked. " It's called 'If that Damned Deck Would Quit Moving, I'm Sure I Could Get Aboard Tonight'." said the old fighter pilot as he took a long pull from the beer. "I got another," ...and he began to play again. What followed was a knee-slappin', hand-clappin' bit of ragtime that had the place jumping. People were coming in from the streets to hear this guy play. After he finished, the old pillot acknowledged the applause and told the crowd that the song was called "Drop Your Panties, Baby, We're Gonna Rock the O'Club Tonight Rag." He then excused himself as he lurched off to the men's room. After thinking a bit, the bartender decided to hire the guy, no matter how bad he looked, or what his songs were called. When the guy came out of the men's room, the bartender went over to tell him he had the job, but noticed that the guy's fly was undone and he was hanging out. He said, "The job is yours, but first I got to ask, do you know your fly is open and you are hanging out? "Know it?" he replied, "Hell, I wrote it!"
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I think George & Gracie just entered the room. Take it away, maestro!


You're killing me. Lord, forgive me, but it's funny.

Five cannibals were employed by the Navy as translators during one of the island campaigns during World War II. When the Commanding Admiral of the task force welcomed the cannibals he said, "You're all part of our team now. We will compensate you well for your services, and you can eat any of the rations that the Sailors are eating. So please don't indulge yourselves by eating a Sailor."

The cannibals promised.

Four weeks later the Admiral returned and said, "You're all working very hard, and I'm very satisfied with all of you. However, one of our Chiefs has disappeared. Do any of you know what happened to him?" The cannibals all shook their heads no.

After the Admiral left, the leader of the cannibals turned to the others and said, "Which of you idiots ate the Chief?" A hand raised hesitantly, to which the leader of the cannibals replied, "You fool! For four weeks we've been eating Ensigns, Lieutenants, Lieutenant Commanders, Commanders, and even one Captain and no one noticed anything, then YOU had to go and eat a Chief!"
Oh, Christ! The canibal one has me ROLLING! :yllol:
An Air Force Fighter Pilot - dressed to kill in his dress blues - went to a bar and ordered a drink. As he sat there sipping his whiskey, a young lady sat down next to him. After she ordered her drink she turned to the captain and asked him, "Are you a real fighter pilot?"

To which he replied, "Well, I fly F-16s every single day of the week, so I guess I am."

After a short while he asked her what she was. She replied, "I am a lesbian. I spend my whole day thinking about women. I get up in the morning thinking of women, when I eat, shower, watch TV - everything makes me think of women."

A short while later she left, and the fighter pilot ordered another drink. A couple sat down next to him and asked, "Are you a real fighter pilot?"

"I always thought I was," he answered, "but I just found out that I'm a lesbian."
An Air Force pilot is zipping along in his mighty F-15 Strike Eagle, singing "Off we go, into the wild blue yonder...."

God is looking down on him and, in a fit of boredom, turns to His assistant angel and says, "Let's do an experiment. I'm bored." He then reaches down into the head of the pilot and removes his brain.

To the shock of the Good Lord, the pilot merely changes his tune: "Be..... all that you can be!"

<cymbal crash>

Thank you! Thank you very much! I'm here all week! Try the veal!

You gotta be a bit on the older side of the scale to appreciate that one. ;)
Somebody call KP2001. I've got a stitch in my side. :help:
Very old bad joke to hide spam:

Having just moved into his new office, a pompous, new AF colonel was sitting at his desk when an airman knocked on the door.
Conscious of his new position, the colonel quickly picked up the phone, told the airman to enter, then said into the phone, "Yes, General, I'll be seeing him this afternoon and I'll pass along your message. In the meantime, thank you for your good wishes, sir." Feeling as though he had sufficiently impressed the young enlisted man, he asked, "What do you want?"

"Nothing important, sir," the airman replied, "I'm just here to hook up your telephone."
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On 23 August 1779, the USS Constitution set sail from Boston, loaded with 475 officers and men, 48,600 gallons of water, 74,000 cannon shot, 115,000 pounds of black powder and 79,000 gallons of rum.

On 6 October, she made Jamaica, took on 826 pounds of flour and 688,300 gallons of rum. Three weeks later, Constitution reached the Azores, where she provisioned with 550 pounds of beef and 300 gallons of Portuguese wine.

On 18 November, she set sail for England where her crew captured and scuttled 12 English merchant vessels and took aboard rum.

By this time, Constitution had run out of shot. Nevertheless, she made her way unarmed up the Firth of Clyde for a night raid. Here, her landing party captured a whiskey distillery, transferred 13,000 gallons aboard and headed for home.

On 20 February 1780, the Constitution arrived in Boston with no cannon shot, no food, no powder, no rum, and no whiskey.

She did, however, still carry her crew of 475 officers and men and 18,600 gallons of water. The math is quite enlightening:
Length of cruise: 181 days
Booze consumption: 1.26 gallons per man per day
(this DOES NOT include the unknown quantity of rum captured from the 12 English merchant vessels in November).

Naval historians note that the reenlistment rate from this cruise was 92%.

Don’t load up with too much water.
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French Military History:

Gallic Wars - Lost. In a war whose ending foreshadows the next 2000 years of French history, France is conquered by of all things, an Italian.

Hundred Years War - Mostly lost, saved at last by female schizophrenic who inadvertently creates The First Rule of French Warfare; "France's armies are victorious only when not led by a Frenchman."

Italian Wars - Lost. France becomes the first and only country to ever lose two wars when fighting Italians.

Wars of Religion - France goes 0-5-4 against the Huguenots

Thirty Years War - France is technically not a participant, but manages to get invaded anyway. Claims a tie on the basis that eventually the other participants started ignoring her.

War of Devolution - Tied. Frenchmen take to wearing red flowerpots as chapeaux.

The Dutch War - Tied

War of the Augsburg League/King William's War/French and Indian War - Lost, but claimed as a tie. Three ties in a row induces deluded Frogophiles the world over to label the period as the height of French military power.

War of the Spanish Succession - Lost. The War also gave the French their first taste of a Marlborough, which they have loved every since.

American Revolution - In a move that will become quite familiar to future Americans, France claims a win even though the English colonists saw far more action. This is later known as "de Gaulle Syndrome", and leads to the Second Rule of French Warfare; "France only wins when America does most of the fighting."

French Revolution - Won, primarily due the fact that the opponent was also French.

The Napoleonic Wars - Lost. Temporary victories (remember the First Rule!) due to leadership of a Corsican, who ended up being no match for a British footwear designer.

The Franco-Prussian War - Lost. Germany first plays the role of drunk Frat boy to France's ugly girl home alone on a Saturday night.

World War I - Tied and on the way to losing, France is saved by the United States. Thousands of French women find out what it's like to not only sleep with a winner, but one who doesn't call her "Fraulein." Sadly, widespread use of condoms by American forces forestalls any improvement in the French bloodline.

World War II - Lost. Conquered French liberated by the United States and Britain just as they finish learning the Horst Wessel Song.

War in Indochina - Lost. French forces plead sickness, take to bed with the Dien Bien Flu

Algerian Rebellion - Lost. Loss marks the first defeat of a western army by a Non-Turkic Muslim force since the Crusades, and produces the First Rule of Muslim Warfare; "We can always beat the French." This rule is identical to the First Rules of the Italians, Russians, Germans, English, Dutch, Spanish, Vietnamese and Esquimaux.

War on Terrorism - France, keeping in mind its recent history, surrenders to Germans and Muslims just to be safe. Attempts to surrender to Vietnamese ambassador fail after he takes refuge in a McDonald's.
This is not a joke but funny anyway, and kind of a backhanded tribute to the military, especially their dedication and lack of pay. For all you Sports Illustrated Rick Reilly fans, this is something I dug out of my files that he wrote ten or so years ago. The Navy guys loved it.

On a Wing and a Prayer by Rick Reilly

Now this message for America's most famous athletes:

Someday you may be invited to fly in the back-seat of one of your country's most powerful fighter jets. Many of you already have -- John Elway, John Stockton, Tiger Woods to name a few. If you get this opportunity, let me urge you, with the greatest sincerity . . .

Move to Guam. Change your name. Fake your own death.
Whatever you do, do not go. I know.

The U.S. Navy invited me to try it. I was thrilled. I was pumped. I was toast!
I should've known when they told me my pilot would be Chip (Biff) King of fighter Squadron 213 at Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia Beach.

Whatever you're thinking a Top Gun named Chip (Biff) King looks like,
triple it. He's about six-foot, tan, ice-blue eyes, wavy surfer hair,
finger-crippling handshake -- the kind of man who wrestles dyspeptic
alligators in his leisure time. If you see this man, run the other way.

Biff King was born to fly. His father, Jack King, was for years the voice of NASA missions. ("T-minus 15 seconds and counting...." Remember?).

Chip would charge neighbourhood kids a quarter each to hear his dad. Jack would wake up from naps surrounded by nine-year-olds waiting for him to say, "We have a liftoff."

Biff was to fly me in an F-14D Tomcat, a ridiculously powerful $60
million weapon with nearly as much thrust as weight, not unlike Colin
I was worried about getting airsick, so the night before the flight I
asked Biff if there was something I should eat the next morning. "Bananas," he said. "For the potassium?" I asked. "No," Biff said, "because they taste about the same coming up as they do going down."

The next morning, out on the tarmac, I had on my flight suit with my name sewn over the left breast. (No call sign -- like Crash or Sticky or Leadfoot - but, still, very cool.) I carried my helmet in the crook of my arm, as Biff had instructed. If ever in my life I had a chance to nail Nicole Kidman, that was it.

A fighter pilot named Psycho gave me a safety briefing and then fastened me into my ejection seat, which, when employed, would "egress" me out of the plane at such a velocity that I would be immediately knocked unconscious from the G-forces. Just as I was thinking about aborting the flight, the canopy closed over me, and Biff gave the ground crew a thumbs-up.

In minutes we were firing nose up at 600 mph. We levelled out and then canopy-rolled over another F-14. Those 20 minutes were the rush of my life.

Unfortunately, the ride lasted 80 minutes. It was like being on the
roller coaster at Six Flags. Only without rails. We did barrel rolls, snap
rolls, loops, yanks and banks. We dived, rose and dived again, sometimes with a vertical velocity of 10,000 feet per minute. We chased another F-14, and it chased us. We broke the speed of sound. Sea was sky and sky was sea.
Flying at 200 feet we did 90-degree turns at 550 mph, creating a G-force of 6.5, which is to say I felt as if 6.5 times my body weight was smashing against me.

This is my favourite part . . .
And I egressed the bananas. I egressed the pizza from the night before.
And the lunch before that. I egressed a box of Milk Duds from the sixth grade. I made Linda Blair look polite. Because of the G's, I was egressing stuff that did not even want to be egressed. I went through not one airsickbag, but two. Biff said I passed out. Twice. I was coated in sweat. At one point, as we were coming in upside down in a banked curve on a mock bombing target and the G's were flattening me like a tortilla and I was in and out of consciousness, I realized I was the first person in history to throw down.

I used to know cool. Cool was Elway throwing a touchdown pass,
or Norman making a five-iron bite. But now I really know cool. Cool is
guys like Biff, men with cast-iron stomachs and Freon nerves. I wouldn't go up there again for Derek Jeter's black book, but I'm glad Biff does every day, and for less a year than a rookie reliever makes in a home stand.

A week later, when the spins finally stopped, Biff called. He said he and the fighter pilots had the perfect call sign for me. Said he'd send it on a patch for my flight suit.

What is it? I asked....

"Two Bags."
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