Short Funny Jokes |
| Posted: 08 Oct 2009 10:48 AM PDT A Bostonian died, and when he arrived at St. Peter's gate he was asked the usual questions: "What is your name, and where are you from?" The answer was, "Mr. So-and-So, from Boston." "You may come in," said Peter, "but I know you won't like it."  |
| Posted: 08 Oct 2009 10:46 AM PDT NAN—"That young man from Boston is an interesting talker, so far as you can understand what he says; but what a queer dialect he uses." FAN—"That isn't dialect; it's vocabulary. Can't you tell the difference?"  |
| Posted: 08 Oct 2009 10:44 AM PDT A little Boston girl with exquisitely long golden curls and quite an angelic appearance in general, came in from an afternoon walk with her nurse and said to her mother, "Oh, Mamma, a strange woman on the street said to me, 'My, but ain't you got beautiful hair!'" The mother smiled, for the compliment was well merited, but she gasped as the child innocently continued her account: "I said to her, 'I am very glad to have you like my hair, but I am sorry to hear you use the word "ain't"!'"  |
| Posted: 08 Oct 2009 10:31 AM PDT A tourist from the east, visiting an old prospector in his lonely cabin in the hills, commented: "And yet you seem so cheerful and happy." "Yes," replied the one of the pick and shovel. "I spent a week in Boston once, and no matter what happens to me now, it seems good luck in comparison."  |
| Posted: 08 Oct 2009 10:28 AM PDT The insurance agent climbed the steps and rang the bell. "Whom do you wish to see?" asked the careworn person who came to the door. "I want to see the boss of the house," replied the insurance agent. "Are you the boss?" "No," meekly returned the man who came to the door; "I'm only the husband of the boss. Step in, I'll call the boss." The insurance agent took a seat in the hall, and in a short time a tall dignified woman appeared. "So you want to see the boss?" repeated the woman. "Well, just step into the kitchen. This way, please. Bridget, this gentleman desires to see you." "Me th' boss!" exclaimed Bridget, when the insurance agent asked her the question. "Indade Oi'm not! Sure here comes th' boss now." She pointed to a small boy of ten years who was coming toward the house. "Tell me," pleaded the insurance agent, when the lad came into the kitchen, "are you the boss of the house?" "Want to see the boss?" asked the boy. "Well, you just come with me." Wearily the insurance agent climbed up the stairs. He was ushered into a room on the second floor and guided to the crib of a sleeping baby. "There!" exclaimed the boy, "that's the real boss of this house."  |
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