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A drunk phoned the police to report that thieves had been in his car.

“They’ve stolen the dashboard, the steering wheel, the brake pedal, even the accelerator!” he cried out.

The police were dumbfounded and dispatched an officer to the scene.

Upon arriving, the officers found the drunk muttering, “Never mind,” with a hiccup, “I got in the back seat by mistake.”

The other night I was invited out for a night with the guys. I told my wife that I would be home by midnight… “promise!”
Well, the hours passed quickly and the beer was going down way too easy. At 3am, drunk as a skunk, I headed for home.
Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed three times. Quickly, I realized she’d probably wake up, so I cuckooed another 9 times. I was really proud of myself for having such a rapid, witty solution, even when smashed, to escape a possible conflict.
The next morning my wife asked me what time I got in, and I told her 12 o’clock. She didn’t seem disturbed at all. Got away with that one, I thought! Then she told me we needed a new cuckoo clock. When I asked her why she said, “Well, last night it cuckooed 3 times, then said, ‘oh fuck,’ cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more… then farted.”

A man walked into a bar, sat down, ordered 3 shots of whiskey, drank them, then left. This continued daily for several weeks.

Curious, the bartender asked him one day, “Why do you always order three shots of whiskey?”

The man answered, “Because my two brothers and I always used to have one shot each, and since they’ve both passed on, I’ve continued to order the three shots in their honor.”

The bartender thought that this was a very noble thing to do, and welcomed the man every time he visited the bar.

Two weeks later, the man walked into the bar for his daily visit and ordered two shots of whiskey.

Surprised, the bartender asked him why he only ordered two when had had always been ordering
three.

The man answered, “Oh, I’ve decided to stop drinking.”

A somewhat drunk man feels a bald man’s head and says, “Say, your head feels just like my wife’s ass.”
The bald man feels his own head and says with a grin, “You know, you’re right!”

The preacher was having a heart-to-heart talk with a backslider of his flock, whose drinking of moonshine invariably led to quarreling with his neighbors, and occasional shotgun blasts at some of them.

“Can’t you see, Ben,” intoned the parson, “that not one good thing comes out of this drinking?”

“Well, I sort of disagree there,” replied the backslider. “It makes me miss the folks I shoot at.”



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