An old man went into the sperm bank and says to the nurse, “Miss, I want to make a contribution.”
The nurse laughs and says, “Get out of here, old man!”
He says, “Please, nurse I can do it.”
Cocking one eyebrow, she hands him a jar and says, “Go in that room. You have 15 minutes.”
Exactly 15 minutes later, he comes back with an empty jar.
He hands it to the nurse and says, “Nurse, I twisted and I pulled, but I just couldn’t get the lid off the jar.”
I had finally persuaded my girlfriend to sleep in my bed with me. It is a queen size with what I thought was lots of room. Her dog Daisy would be joining us and my dog Louie. It did not work out.
Louie would not give up his normal pillow area position. He had a nightmare and kicked my girlfriend in the head. Daisy likes to snuggle, but if you move she growls and snaps at you. With the dogs sleeping between us, there was no chance for hanky-panky. When she fell asleep, there was a snore too loud to ignore. The next day she said she preferred her own bed, and I totally agreed.
My niece/web editor asks me almost everyday, how’s the writing going, got anything good to post?
But, I haven’t felt like writing lately–I sit and stare at my pens and tablets, and then I go see what my new roommate is up to.
From going vegetarian, I’ve lost so much weight that my scale doesn’t know what to say. When I step on, it used to tell me “One at a time, please,” but now it asks, “Stephen? Is that you?” I never thought I would miss its fat jokes.
What do you do to keep writing when you don’t feel like you have anything good to say?  How do you get back into writing when you’ve gotten out of your routine?
A man went to see a psychiatrist.
He was totally naked and totally wrapped in Saran Wrap.
The psychiatrist looked him over and said, “I can clearly see your nuts.”
We have been painting, moving furniture, and going to coffee cafes where my old friend–now roommate likes to sip frozen coffee and work on her cross stich. She is particular about how to paint and her taste is different from mine. She has tons of little knick-knacky stuff which must have come from yard sales. She loves yard sales. She is here to help me, so I just sort of shake my head and swallow my tongue. She is a breath of fresh air, and my dog Louie is happy to have some good company as well.
I am sorry to say that making whoopie has not been a part of my life for far too long. My new roommate, a former girlfriend from twenty years back is over sixty, but she has retained her girlish figure.
I am no spring chicken either.
At the suggestion of a friend, I am going to offer her a massage with hot oils.
As they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I am ready to get back in the saddle again.
A priest says to the rabbi, “You don’t eat bacon?”
The rabbi says, “No, it’s against my religion.”
The rabbi says to the priest, “You don’t make love to women?”
The priest says, “No, that is against my religion.”
The rabbi says, “You should try it– it’s better than bacon.”
One winter many years ago, I put a noose around my neck and stepped off a chair.
My weight snapped the thin rope almost immediately, but not before the pipe it was tied to pulled out of the ceiling and sprung a leak. Somehow I had scraped my wrist. A bead of blood came out of the scratch, and I put a Band-Aid on it–with antiseptic.
Boy! Did that sting!
As winter approaches, my good mood deteriorates and here I am again thinking, get the rope out.
But, I know from experience– I can’t do it.
I’m chicken, and I can’t afford the plumbing bill.
Spring will return. Carry on.
My dog, Louie, was on his third bowel movement at the park. A woman was watching us, so I got behind Louie and blocked her view, giving Louie some privacy. But, there was just a small fart and no dookie– a kind of misfire much like when I go.
“Aren’t you going to pick it up?” yelled the lady from one hundred feet away.
I walked towards my car, and she yelled again, “Pick it up, you jerk! You ruin the park for the rest of us.”
When I was younger, I would get angry and insult the wrong people, lost good jobs, and got in all sorts of trouble. I looked at that lady and yelled,
“Fuck you, you old hag, mind your own business.”
Somehow, I briefly felt younger. She said she was calling the police, and I yelled,
“I don’t care if you call Obama.”
I got in my car and backed up as she walked towards my car, writing down my tag number. It flashed through my mind to back the car up over her. But, that sort of behavior is way behind me.
I am a wise old man now, so I drove forward and headed home.
The Joking Life 