Daily Joke: Jokes Library

Arthur was enjoying a quiet, peaceful Saturday morning when he looked out his bedroom window and nearly spilled his coffee. Sitting squarely in the middle of his shingled roof was a massive, fully grown, silverback gorilla.

Panicking, Arthur rushed to his phone book, flipped frantically through the yellow pages, and sure enough, right there under ‘G’ was an ad for “Gorilla Removers.” He dialed the number, and a gruff voice answered, promising to be at Arthur’s house in exactly thirty minutes.

True to his word, a beat-up white van pulled into the driveway half an hour later. The gorilla remover stepped out, and Arthur’s jaw practically hit the floor. The man was carrying a towering aluminum ladder, a heavy wooden baseball bat, a pump-action shotgun, and leading a massive, drooling, incredibly mean-looking pit bull on a heavy chain.

Arthur stared at the bizarre arsenal, completely bewildered. “Okay, buddy,” Arthur stammered. “What exactly are you going to do with all that?”

The remover didn’t even blink. He calmly set the gear down on the lawn and laid out his highly specific, step-by-step strategy.

“Well,” the remover explained casually, “first, I’m going to put this ladder up against the roof. Then, I’m going to climb up there and knock the gorilla off with this baseball bat. As soon as the gorilla falls to the ground, the pit bull is highly trained to immediately grab his testicles and not let go.”

Arthur watched in horrified fascination as the remover continued. “Once the dog has him locked down, the gorilla will be subdued enough for me to easily toss him into the cage in the back of the van.”

With the plan fully explained, the remover calmly picked up the pump-action shotgun, racked it with a loud *clack-clack*, and handed it to Arthur.

Arthur took the heavy weapon, his hands shaking slightly. He looked at the shotgun, then up at the remover, and asked, “Wait… what’s the shotgun for?”

The remover looked him dead in the eye and replied:
“If the gorilla knocks me off the roof, shoot the dog.”

Men should understand that as couples grow older, keeping up with work, household chores, and everyday responsibilities can become more tiring. When you notice this happening to your wife, the important thing is to remain patient, supportive, and—above all—tactful.

At least, that’s what Rob believed.

“My name is Rob, and I’d like to share how I’ve handled this delicate situation with my wife, Carol.

A few years ago, I retired. Unfortunately, we still needed additional income and health benefits, so Carol took a full-time job while continuing with some part-time work.

Not long after that, I began noticing that she didn’t seem to have quite as much energy as she used to.

For example, I normally arrive home from the golf club around the same time Carol gets home from work. Even though she knows I’ll be hungry, she often says she needs to sit down and rest for half an hour before preparing dinner.

Naturally, I don’t complain.

I simply tell her, ‘Take all the time you need, sweetheart. Just wake me up when dinner is ready.’

That’s the kind of supportive husband I am.

I usually eat lunch at the golf club, so by evening I’m looking forward to a proper home-cooked meal.

Carol used to clear the table and wash the dishes immediately after dinner. These days, however, the dishes sometimes remain there for hours.

Again, I don’t criticize her.

Instead, I gently remind her every so often that the dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.

Apparently, my encouragement works because she usually manages to finish them before bedtime.

Then there’s the monthly paperwork.

Carol occasionally complains that it’s difficult to pay all the bills during her lunch break at work.

I tell her, ‘Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Spread them out over two or three lunch breaks.’

I even pointed out that skipping lunch occasionally might save her some time—and perhaps help her stay in shape.

I’ve always considered tact one of my greatest strengths.

I’ve also noticed that she takes more breaks while doing chores.

Just last weekend, she was only halfway through mowing the lawn when she stopped to rest.

Did I complain?

Of course not.

I’m a reasonable man.

I suggested that she go inside, make herself a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, put her feet up, and relax for a few minutes.

Then I added, ‘And sweetheart, since you’re already making one, could you bring me a glass too?’

I realize that by now I probably sound like an exceptionally patient husband.

But I’m not looking for praise.

Marriage is about supporting one another through life’s challenges. If just one husband reads my advice and learns to show his aging wife a little more patience, understanding, and tact, then writing this will have been worthwhile.

After all, we’re all here to help one another.”

Unfortunately, Rob’s marriage advice turned out to be his final publication.

Shortly after it appeared, Rob suffered a rather unusual and fatal encounter with his extra-long golf driver.

When investigators arrived, they found the golf club in a position that raised considerably more questions than answers.

A large hammer lying nearby raised a few more.

Carol was eventually arrested and the case went to trial.

Her defense maintained that Rob had somehow managed to accidentally sit on his own golf club.

After hearing the story, the jury returned with its verdict remarkably quickly:

**Not guilty.**

Apparently, they found Carol’s explanation far more believable than Rob’s claim that tact had always been one of his strongest qualities.

A young professor was giving an assignment to a classroom full of adult college students.

It was a long assignment, so she began writing instructions high up on the board.

Suddenly, she heard a chuckle from David in the back row.

She turned around.

“David, would you mind telling the class what’s so funny?”

David tried to stop laughing.

“Sorry, Professor. When you reached up, I caught a glimpse of one of your garters.”

The professor was not amused.

“David, get out of my classroom. I don’t want to see you for the next three classes!”

David gathered his things and left.

The professor turned back to the board. A moment later, she realized she’d forgotten to write the title of the assignment, so she stretched even higher to reach the top.

This time, Billy burst out laughing.

She spun around.

“Billy! And what exactly is so funny?”

Billy reluctantly answered, “Well, Professor… this time I saw both garters.”

Her face turned red.

“That’s enough! Out! I don’t want to see you in this classroom for three weeks!”

Billy quickly grabbed his backpack and disappeared through the door.

Now thoroughly embarrassed and frustrated, the professor turned back toward her desk and accidentally knocked the board eraser onto the floor.

She bent down to pick it up.

Suddenly, there was an enormous burst of laughter from the back of the room.

Before she could even turn around, she noticed Johnny calmly packing his books into his bag and heading for the exit.

“Johnny!” she called. “Where do you think you’re going? I haven’t dismissed you!”

Johnny stopped at the doorway, looked back at her, and sighed.

“Professor, judging by what David and Billy got…

after what I just saw, I think my college career is officially over.”

Mark and Claire had been happily married for ten years, but there was one glaring omission in their lives: children. They hadn’t used birth control for the entirety of their marriage, yet month after month, nothing happened. Growing increasingly worried that they might have a biological issue conceiving, they decided it was time to seek professional help.

Claire, who had been hard of hearing since she was a little girl, volunteered to go to the gynecologist first to see if the problem lay with her.

A few days later, she sat in the sterile, brightly lit examination room, nervously twisting the straps of her handbag. Dr. Evans walked in, holding her chart with a deeply sympathetic, almost sorrowful expression. He sat down across from her, folded his hands, and delivered the diagnosis with the utmost gravity.

“I’m so sorry, Claire,” the doctor said gently, his voice full of clinical concern. “But the problem is with you. You have insufficient passion, and if you ever have a baby, it will be a miracle.”

Claire was absolutely devastated. Tears streamed down her face as she nodded numbly, gathered her things, and drove home in a state of sheer, unadulterated despair.

When Mark walked through the front door that evening, he immediately dropped his briefcase. Claire was sitting on the sofa, sobbing uncontrollably into a tissue.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” he asked, rushing over to comfort her. “What did the doctor say?”

Claire looked up at him, her face red and streaked with tears, and wailed:

“The doctor told me I’ve got a fish up my passage, and if I ever have a baby, it will be a mackerel!”

It was the wedding night, and the newly married couple finally found themselves alone in their honeymoon suite.

The candles were lit, the champagne was poured, and the atmosphere was thick with romance and nervous anticipation. This was to be their very first night together as husband and wife.

As her new husband began to get undressed, the wife noticed something rather peculiar. When he pulled off his trousers, she gasped. His knees were absolutely covered in strange, mangled scars.

“Good heavens, darling!” she exclaimed. “What on earth happened to your knees?”

He looked down sheepishly and explained, “Oh, that’s nothing to worry about. When I was a child, I had kneasels.”

“Kneasels?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “What on earth is that?”

“Kneasels are exactly like measles,” he replied matter-of-factly, “except they only affect the knees.”

She blinked, processing this bizarre medical information, but decided to let it go. He continued to undress, and as he pulled off his socks, she noticed that his toes were equally mangled and scarred.

“And your toes!” she cried. “What happened there?”

“Oh, that,” he said casually. “When I was younger, I had tolio.”

“Tolio?” she asked, her confusion growing. “What on earth is that?”

“Tolio is exactly like polio,” he explained with a shrug, “except it only affects the toes.”

She stared at him, her mind racing as she began to recognise a deeply concerning pattern. As his hands moved toward the waistband of his boxer shorts, she threw her hands up and shouted:

“Don’t tell me  let me guess. Small cox!”