The Mammoth Book of Tasteless Jokes (145 page)

Her tits.

How do you know when you’re getting old? Your dreams are dry and your farts are wet.

I was standing at a cashpoint machine when a frail old lady came up to and asked if I wouldn’t mind checking her balance.

So I pushed her over.

An old woman stopped me in the street and asked me to show her how to get to the hospital. So I pushed her under a bus.

What’s blue and screws old ladies? Hypothermia.

What stinks and smells of dog food?

A pensioner’s fart.

A man went to a doctor for a check-up. The doctor told him, “You’re in amazing shape for a sixty-year-old.”

The man replied testily, “Did I say anything about being sixty? Actually I’m seventy-fve.”

“That’s amazing!” replied the doctor. “Do you mind me asking, by the way, how old was your father when he died?”

The patient responded, “Hmmm! Did I say he was dead?”

The doctor was surprised and asked, “How old is he and is he very active?”

The patient replied, “Well, he is ninety-five years old and he still goes skiing three times a year and surfing three times a week during the summer.”

The doctor couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry . . . how old was your grandfather when he died?”

The patient snapped back, “Did I say he was dead?”

The doctor was astonished. “You mean to tell me you are seventy-five years old and both your father and your grandfather are alive? Is your grandfather very active?”

The patient said, “He goes skiing at least once a season and surfing once a week during the summer. Not only that,” said the patient, “my grandfather is 112 years old, and next week he is getting married again.”

The doctor said, “At 112, why in God’s name would your grandfather want to get married?”

The patient glared at the doctor and said, “Did I say he wanted to?”

Statistically, 91 per cent of old people believe that we show less respect to others than we did in the past. Stupid old fuckwits!

Ninety-year-old Ethel was clinically depressed over the recent death of her husband, Frank. She was so despondent that she decided that she didn’t want to go on: she would just kill herself and join him in death. So she took out Frank’s old army pistol and made the decision to shoot herself in the heart, since it was so badly broken in the first place. Fearing that she might just miss the vital organ and become a debilitating burden on someone else, she called the NHS helpline to enquire as to just exactly where the heart would be on a woman. The voice on the other end said, “Your heart is just below your left breast.” Later that night, poor Ethel was admitted to hospital with a gunshot wound to her knee.

One night, as a couple lay in bed, the husband gently taps his wife on the shoulder and starts rubbing her arm. The wife turns over and says, “I’m sorry, darling, I’ve got an appointment with the gynaecologist tomorrow and I want to stay fresh.” The husband, feeling rejected, reluctantly turns over and tries to sleep.

A few minutes later, he rolls back over and taps his wife again. “Er . . . I don’t suppose you’re seeing your dentist tomorrow, are you?”

If the dove is the bird of peace, what is the bird of true love?