Bad Stand-Up Corner

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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby jbobsully11 » Thu Aug 02, 2018 6:07 am

This is an old one that works better if you say it out loud, for the “red/read” ambiguity.

What’s black and white and red all over?
Spoiler: show
A skunk with diaper rash.
  • 3

Crimson847 wrote:In other words, transgender-friendly privacy laws don't molest people, people molest people.

(Presumably, the only way to stop a bad guy with a transgender-friendly privacy law is a good guy with a transgender-friendly privacy law, and thus transgender-friendly privacy law rights need to be enshrined in the Constitution as well)
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby cmsellers » Wed Aug 15, 2018 7:38 am

I saw this one in the YouTube comments of all places.

What is a dinosaur's least-favorite reindeer?
Answer
Comet
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby cmsellers » Fri Aug 24, 2018 8:27 am

Ran across this one in a rather complicated fashion.

Warning: dark humor
A zoophiliac, sadist, a pyromaniac, and a masochist are sitting together trying to figure out what to do.

The zoophiliac says, “We should fuck a cat.”

The sadist says, “We should beat a cat.”

The pyromaniac says, “We should set a cat on fire.”

The masochist says, “Meow.”
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby jbobsully11 » Sat Sep 29, 2018 6:04 am

Here is a Pinterest page full of mostly terrible jokes that mostly pertain to STEM subjects. It won't let me copy pictures or open any of them without creating an account, but I wrote some of my favorites below:
Spoiler: show
I see you have graph paper.

You must be plotting something.
---
Are you cold? Come sit in the corner.

It's 90 degrees.
---
Lazy People Fact
#5812672793

You were too lazy to read that number.
---
Always give 100%*

*unless you're donating blood.
---
6 was afraid of 7 because 7 8 9 but why did 7 eat 9?

Because you're supposed to eat 3 squared meals a day.
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Crimson847 wrote:In other words, transgender-friendly privacy laws don't molest people, people molest people.

(Presumably, the only way to stop a bad guy with a transgender-friendly privacy law is a good guy with a transgender-friendly privacy law, and thus transgender-friendly privacy law rights need to be enshrined in the Constitution as well)
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby iMURDAu » Sat Sep 29, 2018 1:38 pm

So the wife and I were watching the latest CarlSagan42 video in which he plays troll levels on Mario Maker and we heard him drop this gem:

Thanks for the donation "anus tart"....

Oh...

You say it's pronounced "a nu start"
  • 4

“This is going to become a bad meme,” Todd observed.
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby Australia » Sat Sep 29, 2018 11:54 pm

Does he spend all his time quoting Arrested Development? Because I wouldn't mind kissing that man between the cheeks.
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YamI JamesT Eyebrows Edgar Logan Eric Michael Tess Sunny Notch Kate Jamish Lao Carp Moo FaceCitizen Aquila Nisi Qinglong Chaise Nullbert NotCIAagent JackRoad Delta MURDA Bert Czar Ambi JulyJack Adric Marcuse SilverMaple Nudge 52xMax Damiana Doma Pumpkin Toy Fry Andro Carrie Snarky Royal RLG Pikajew Windy skooma Kleiner Java Sellers Piter Gisarmbards Grimstone Recluse Esteban Syrup Krashlia Twistappel MacReady Funkotron mcfooty Pseudoman Creepy Kivutar nerd Ladki Jim Youghurt satan GL Angler
Scari
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby iMURDAu » Fri Oct 05, 2018 12:01 am

Wait, that's not original? He stole that?

If so I will never trust a scientist who plays video games as a side job as a comedy source. For at least until I forget that I said I will never do that.
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“This is going to become a bad meme,” Todd observed.
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby jbobsully11 » Tue Oct 30, 2018 10:26 pm

My mom just told me that, since basically all the teachers at her school are pissed off at the administration, they’re not wearing Halloween costumes in protest. Most of the teachers will just have black pants and orange shirts, but everyone in the math department will have t-shirts that say, “I like tan lines.”
  • 6

Crimson847 wrote:In other words, transgender-friendly privacy laws don't molest people, people molest people.

(Presumably, the only way to stop a bad guy with a transgender-friendly privacy law is a good guy with a transgender-friendly privacy law, and thus transgender-friendly privacy law rights need to be enshrined in the Constitution as well)
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby JamishT » Thu Nov 15, 2018 5:04 am

The other day I heard someone comment on something that had lasted 9 years, saying that was lifetime. They were a kid, so I knew to them it was a majority of their life. I didn't say it out loud, but my next thought was "It was only a lifetime long if you were a student at Sandy Hook."
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JamishT was a heck of a guy,
With a devilish twinkle in his eye.
With his hand-picked flowers,
And his feel-good powers,
He made all the girls blush and sigh.
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby Pedgerow » Sun Nov 25, 2018 8:18 pm

I have a new job, playing the triangle for a reggae band. I just stand there and ting.

I have a transvestite friend who lives in the Greater Manchester area. He has a Wigan address.
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby Pedgerow » Fri Nov 30, 2018 10:13 pm

As promised...

So, there's a world-famous orchestra, beloved among classical music fans everywhere, and they decide to go on a massive world tour. They sell out opera houses and concert halls all over the world. The tour is a huge success. But one day, inexplicably, the orchestra are out checking out the local town, absorbing the local colour and signing a couple of autographs (they really are famous) when suddenly, the conductor of the orchestra just completely flips out. He starts screaming, and pulls out a machine gun and just runs off down the street, firing wildly. It's an appalling killing spree, and he has killed over 50 people by the time some of the other members of the orchestra have managed to chase him down, snatch the gun away from him, and put an end to the bloodbath. Horrified, the other members of the orchestra drag the conductor to the nearest police station, and explain what happened. Naturally, the conductor is placed under arrest, and his trial is scheduled for the following day. There were hundreds of witnesses to this hideous bloodbath; the trial shouldn't take long. And, indeed, it doesn't.

"Your crimes are heinous and abhorrent," the judge tells the murderer (who has since calmed down, it seems), "and I see no alternative but to sentence you to death. You will be taken to a cell, and 30 days from now, you will be executed, by means of electric chair." There are gasps throughout the courtroom, most audibly from the rest of the orchestra, who will of course have to cancel their world tour now and head home, to face shocked relatives and try to explain what happened. But nobody can dispute the sentence: this man is responsible for a massacre, and his guilt is undeniable.

The shooter is taken away, and 30 days later, he is sitting in his cell, awaiting execution. He seems utterly unburdened by guilt over his actions, and makes friendly small talk with the prison guards as they lead him out of the cell for the last time, down the corridor to the execution chamber. They take him into the room, and the killer calmly sits down in the electric chair. The guards strap him in, place the hood over his head, and they're about to flip the switch that will electrocute this obvious psychopath to death when he yells out:

"Wait! Can I have a last request?"

The guards think about it, and decide that given how placid the musical murderer has been over the preceding 30 days, they can probably allow him one final request. After all, it's not like he's going to escape. They take the hood off him, and one guard asks, "What would you like?"

"Well, this might seem weird, but I have always wanted to smoke a giant, foot-long Cuban cigar, and I have never done it. I guess this is my last chance. I saw there is a shop on your main high street which sells specialist cigars; would you be able to go and see if they have one? Please. I'll give you the money."

The guards discuss it among themselves, and one of them pipes up, "Yeah, I know the place he means. My cousin used to work there. I can go and ask them if you'd like, and you can stay here and make sure our criminal doesn't escape." This is a very positive idea, and the guards don't see anything wrong with going to ask, so the guard sets off into town. It's a good few miles into the town centre, so he has to drive, but he gets there in about 20 minutes and heads into the specialist tobacconist. The door jangles with a little bell over the door as the guard goes in.

The shop is very old, and mystical-looking. Wooden statues and decade-old newspapers are dotted all over, and in one corner, the guard spots the shopkeeper, checking over some new merchandise. "Hi," says the guard, "I'm from the prison. You can probably tell from my uniform. We have a prisoner whose last request is to smoke, and I quote, a giant, foot-long Cuban cigar. He says you might have one. Do you?" The shopkeeper smiles cryptically, and looks up from the package he is examining. "Why, what an incredible coincidence," he says. "I have a newly-imported jumbo cigar, exactly one foot long, imported from Cuba, right here. Is the prisoner that mass shooter from the orchestra who were here last month? I love their music; their conductor is a genius. If he is your prisoner who wants the cigar, you may take it for him, no charge."

What luck! The guard thanks the shopkeeper, takes the cigar, and heads back to the prison with it. Our cigar-loving murderer smokes the entire thing, and it is the finest and most exquisite cigar he has ever smoked. After a long, long smoke, he has finished it, and looks at the guards, satisfied. "Okay," he says, "You may now execute me."

The guards pull the switch, but to their amazement, the killer continues to sit there, smiling serenely. The chair, it seems, has malfunctioned. The guards remove the killer from the chair, and because it's getting near home-time for these guards, they take him back to his cell. They can investigate the problem with the chair, and the execution is rescheduled for 30 days later.

Another month passes, and again, our killer is sitting in his cell, reading about classical music like he's Hannibal Lecter or somebody, when the guards come to take him back to the execution chamber. He puts down his book, and walks with them, back to the last room he will ever see. The chair has been repaired, and the guards try a test run before strapping him in. The electricity is flowing fine today, and a priest has been summoned to read the last rites. Just as the guards are about to flip the switch and give the world one less mass murderer, however, he pipes up again from the chair:

"Wait! Don't I get another last request?"

The guards have to discuss this, and ultimately they ask the priest what he thinks. The priest nods silently, agreeing with the prisoner that his previous last request cannot count if it wasn't "last", and so begrudgingly, the guards ask the prisoner what he wants this time.

"Well," he says, "I enjoyed that last cigar so much that I'd kind of like another one. It was a truly incomparable experience, and other than that one thing, I have led a satisfactory life. Could you go and get me another foot-long Cuban cigar?"

The same guard heads back to the same tobacconist as before, and walks into the spooky, old-fashioned shop. The shopkeeper is behind his desk again, and looks up welcomingly. "Yes?" he asks. "It's me again," says the prison guard, by way of introduction. "Do you have another of those foot-long Cuban cigars?" The shopkeeper nods, and reaches under his desk. "Be careful, though- this is my last one."

The guard thanks the wise old shopkeeper, and takes the foot-long Cuban cigar back to the prison. One again, everyone is waiting, and he hands over the cigar to our condemned convict, who smokes the whole thing at a leisurely pace. If anything, this foot-long Cuban cigar is even better than the first. If our killer had any life left ahead of him, the cigar could truly be described as life-changing.

"Thank you very much for that," he says from the electric chair. "If I had any life left ahead of me, that cigar could truly be described as life-changing. But we all have to go some time, and I do deserve it. I am, after all, a guilty murderer. Pull the switch and kill me."

The priest reads the last rites again, because it really does take a long time to smoke a giant, foot-long Cuban cigar, and the guards pull the switch. But again, nothing happens. The only change is that the guards suddenly look very confused, and the killer in the chair twirls the cigar butt in his fingers a couple of times. The chair must have malfunctioned again. They undo the straps, and lead the massacring maestro back to his cell a second time. His execution is rescheduled once more, for 30 days later.

Another 30 days go by, and the gun-toting cigar aficionado is waiting once again in his cell. The guards come and take him back, and this time, they have put a rag in the electric chair to test it. The rag catches fire when the guards test the switch and the voltage races through it. For the first time, the killer looks nervous. They strap him into the chair for the third time, and prepare for the execution. Just as with the last two times, however, the death-dealing Daniel Barenboim calls out at the last possible moment:

"Wait! Don't I get another last request?"

Sigh. Fine then. The guards roll their eyes, and even though they can predict the answer, they ask anyway: what do you want this time?

"I think you know by now. These foot-long Cuban cigars are the epitome of fine living. Had I known what I was missing, perhaps I would never have murdered all those people. Please, if you know where to find another one, I would die happy."

The same guard that went the last two times heads out to the same shop, and asks the same shopkeeper, but it's bad news this time: "Don't you remember? The one I gave you last month was my last one. Foot-long Cuban cigars aren't easy to come by, you know. But you may have one other chance: I know another tobacconist, about fifty miles away, who stocks pretty much anything you could ask for. I'll give you her address, and you can go and ask her." He writes the address on an old tobacco pouch, and hands it to the guard. The guard says thank you, and leaves to track down the well-connected lady tobacconist.

A good while later, in a whole other town, the guard finds the shop. This is a much less creepy building, with white walls and big glass windows, and a neon sign saying, "TRY OUR E-CIGS!" The prison guard feels like he must have been given the wrong address, but he heads inside and explains his predicament to the chirpy dreadlocked woman at the counter. She immediately understands: "Yes; I was told you'd be coming. I do have a foot-long Cuban cigar in the back room. Is it for that murderer who used to conduct the orchestra? I love them. They have a new conductor now, and I have tickets for their next tour. I'm really looking forward to it. Nobody in this town wants foot-long Cuban cigars, so you can have this one for free."

Eternally grateful, the guard heads back to the prison with his third foot-long Cuban cigar. The other prison guards are waiting in the execution chamber, and our baton-waving bullet merchant has been unstrapped. In his place, there is an old shop dummy in the electric chair. There are electricians standing around, and one of them flips the switch to test the chair once again. The dummy immediately shakes, starts glowing, and melts into a pool of molten plastic in the chair, which is quickly cleaned up. This chair definitely works. The visibly-unsettled convict is happy to receive his third foot-long Cuban cigar, which he smokes much faster than the previous two. It calms his nerves, and he settles into the chair with his now-trademark serene smile, and motions to the guards to flip the switch once again.

Nothing happens.

Now, in some places, including the town where this all takes place, there is a rule regarding the death penalty: if you try to kill a prisoner three times, and the execution fails every time, then that is taken as a sign from God that the prisoner is innocent, and must be spared. Never mind the hundreds of witnesses, never mind the machine gun in the evidence locker, never mind the testimony of the rest of the world-famous orchestra who had to cut short their tour when their conductor went on a killing spree: the madman must be set free.

The guards unstrap the killer for the final time, take him back to his cell to get his collection of books that he had been reading over the past three months, and all say their goodbyes. The guard who had been sent out to fetch all the foot-long Cuban cigars has a question, however:

"Okay. We all know you did it, and there are no problems with the electric chair. You're a free man now, and we can't touch you, so you might as well be honest. What is it about foot-long Cuban cigars that means you cannot be electrocuted?"

The orchestral offender looks back over his shoulder as he leaves the prison, and grins, "Oh, the cigars had nothing to do with it. I'm just a very bad conductor."
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby IamNotCreepy » Wed Dec 12, 2018 4:57 pm

That reminds me of this joke, which I am pretty sure has been shared here before.
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby CarrieVS » Wed Dec 12, 2018 5:47 pm

IamNotCreepy wrote:That reminds me of this joke, which I am pretty sure has been shared here before.


The conductor one is a better pun and it isn't restricted to only working in an American accent, though.
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby Pedgerow » Wed Dec 12, 2018 11:29 pm

They're called shaggy-dog stories if you'd like to look up more of them. Chevy Chase could allegedly tell the infamous Aristocrats joke for a full half-hour, which is pretty impressive for a joke I don't even find that funny.
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Re: Bad Stand-Up Corner

Postby Pedgerow » Thu Dec 13, 2018 9:01 pm

Who's the coolest guy in the hospital?
The ultrasound guy.

Who's the second-coolest guy in the hospital?
The hip replacement guy.
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