Policeman jokes - jokes about policemen (1111 to 1125)

A Very Bad Day

T...

A Very Bad Day

There was this guy at a bar, just looking at his drink. He stays like that for half of an hour.

Then, this big trouble-making truck driver steps next to him, takes the drink from the guy, and just drinks it all down. The poor man starts crying. The truck driver says, "Come on man, I was just joking. Here, I'll buy you another drink. I just can't stand to see a man cry."

"No, it's not that. This day is the worst of my life. First, I fall asleep, and I go late to my office. My boss, outrageous, fires me. When I leave the building, to my car, I found out it was stolen. The police said that they can do nothing. I get a cab to return home, and when I leave it, I remember I left my wallet and credit cards there. The cab driver just drives away."

"I go home, and when I get there, I find my wife in bed with the gardener. I leave home, and come to this bar. And just when I was thinking about putting an end to my life, you show up and drink my poison."

Police arrested two men, one f...

Police arrested two men, one for drinking battery acid, the other for eating fireworks. They charged one and let the other one off.

Snowboarding Lesson

Snowboarding Lessons

When you're 47 years old, you sometimes hear a small voice inside you that says: "Just because you've reached middle age, that doesn't mean you shouldn't take on new challenges and seek new adventures. You get only one ride on this crazy carousel we call life, and by golly you should make the most of it."

This is the voice of Satan.

I know this because recently, on a mountain in Idaho, I listened to this voice, and as a result my body feels as though it has been used as a trampoline by the Budweiser Clydesdales.

I am currently on an all-painkiller diet. "I'll have a black coffee and 250 Advil tablets" is a typical breakfast order for me these days.

This is because I went snowboarding.

For those of you who, for whatever reason, such as a will to live, do not participate in downhill winter sports, I should explain that snowboarding is an activity that is popular with people who do not feel that regular skiing is lethal enough.

These are of course young people, fearless people, people with 100 percent synthetic bodies who can hurtle down a mountainside at 50 miles per hour and knock down mature trees with their faces and then spring to their feet and go, "Cool."

People like my son. He wanted to try snowboarding, and I thought it would be good to learn with him, because we can no longer ski together.

We have a fundamental difference in technique: He skis via the Downhill Method, in which you ski down the hill; whereas I ski via the Breath-Catching Method, in which you stand sideways on the hill, looking as athletic as possible without actually moving muscles (this could cause you to start sliding down the hill).

If anybody asks if you're OK, you say, "I'm just catching my breath!" in a tone of voice that suggests that at any moment you're going to swoop rapidly down the slope; whereas in fact you're planning to stay right where you are, rigid as a statue, until the spring thaw.

At night, when the Downhillers have all gone home, we Breath-Catchers will still be up there, clinging to the mountainside, chewing on our parkas for sustenance.

So I thought I'd take a stab at snowboarding, which is quite different from skiing.

In skiing, you wear a total of two skis, or approximately one per foot, so you can sort of maintain your balance by moving your feet, plus you have poles that you can stab people with if they make fun of you at close range.

Whereas with snowboarding, all you get is one board, which is shaped like a giant tongue depressor and manufactured by the Institute of Extremely Slippery Things. Both of your feet are strapped firmly to this board, so that if you start to fall, you can't stick a foot out and catch yourself. You crash to the ground like a tree and lie there while skiers swoop past and deliberately spray snow on you.

Skiers hate snowboarders. It's a generational thing. Skiers are (and here I am generalizing) middle-aged Republicans wearing designer space suits; snowboarders are defiant young rebels wearing deliberately drab clothing that is baggy enough to cover the snowboarder plus a major appliance. Skiers like to glide down the slopes in a series of graceful arcs; snowboarders like to attack the mountain, slashing, spinning, tumbling, going backward, blasting through snowdrifts, leaping off cliffs, getting their noses pierced in midair, etc.

Skiers view snowboarders as a menace; snowboarders view skiers as Elmer Fudd.

I took my snowboarding lesson in a small group led by a friend of mine named Brad Pearson, who also once talked me into jumping from a tall tree while attached only to a thin rope.

Brad took us up on a slope that offered ideal snow conditions for the novice who's going to fall a lot: Approximately seven flakes of powder on top of an 18-foot-thick base of reinforced concrete.

You could not dent this snow with a jackhammer. (I later learned, however, that you COULD dent it with the back of your head.)

We learned snowboarding via a two step method:

Step One: Watching Brad do something.

Step Two: Trying to do it ourselves.

I was pretty good at Step One. The problem with Step Two was that you had to stand up on your snowboard, which turns out to be a violation of at least five important laws of physics.

I'd struggle to my feet, and I'd be wavering there and then the Physics Police would drop a huge chunk of gravity on me, and WHAM my body would hit the concrete snow, sometimes bouncing as much as a foot.

"Keep your knees bent!" Brad would yell, helpfully.

Have you noticed that whatever sport you're trying to learn, some earnest person is always telling you to keep your knees bent? As if that would solve anything. I wanted to shout back, "Forget my Knees! Do Something About these Gravity Chunks!"

Needless to say my son had no trouble at all. None. In minutes he was cruising happily down the mountain; you could actually see his clothing getting baggier. I, on the other hand, spent most of my time lying on my back, groaning, while space-suited Republicans swooped past and sprayed snow on me.

If I hadn't gotten out of there, they'd have completely covered me; I now realize that the small hills you see on ski slopes are formed around the bodies of 47-year-olds who tried to learn snowboarding.

So I think, when my body heals, I'll go back to skiing. Maybe sometime you'll see me out on the slopes, catching my breath. Please throw me some food.

Trust

A defense attorney was cross-examining a police officer during a felony trial --it went like this:

Q: Officer, did you see my client fleeing the scene?

A: No sir, but I subsequently observed a person matching the description of the offender running several blocks away.

Q: Officer, who provided this description?

A: The officer who responded to the scene.

Q: A fellow officer provided the description of this so-called offender. Do you trust your fellow officers?

A: Yes sir, with my life.

Q: WITH YOUR LIFE? Let me ask you this then officer--do you have a locker room in the police station--a room where you change your clothes in preparation for your daily duties?

A: Yes sir, we do.

Q: And do you have a locker in that room?

A: Yes sir, I do.

Q: And do you have a lock on your locker?

A: Yes sir.

Q: Now why is it, officer, IF YOU TRUST YOUR FELLOW OFFICERS WITH YOUR LIFE, that you find it necessary to lock your locker in a room you share with those officers?

A: You see sir, we share the building with a court complex, and sometimes defense attorneys have been known to walk through that room.

College Student Q and A
College Student Q and A

Q: What does the average Mississippi State player get on his SATs?

A: Drool.


Q: What do you get when you put 32 Arkansas cheerleaders in one room?

A: A full set of teeth.


Q: How do you get a Georgia graduate off your porch?

A: Pay him for the pizza.


Q: Why do the Auburn cheerleaders wear bibs?

A: To keep the tobacco juice off their uniforms.


Q: Why is the Vandy football team like a possum?

A: Because they play dead at home, and get killed on the road.


Q: What are the longest three years of a Florida football player's life?

A: His freshman year.


Q: How many Ole Miss freshmen does it take to change a light bulb?

A: None . . . That's a sophomore course at Mississippi.


Q: Where was O.J. headed in the white Bronco?

A: Lexington, Kentucky . . . He knew that the police would never look there for a Heisman Trophy winner.


Q: Why did Tennessee choose orange as their team color?

A: They can wear it to the game on Saturday, hunting on Sunday, and picking up trash along the highways the rest of the week.

#joke #policeman #fruit #orange #food #pizza #drinks #juice #sport #football #hunting

A Zoo Story

A guy found a sheep and showed him to a policeman.
The policeman said, "Take that sheep to the zoo, now."
Next day the policeman sees the man with the sheep again.
The policeman stops the guy and says, "What on earth are you doing with that sheep?"
The guy says, "What is there to do? Yesterday I took him to the zoo and now I''m taking him to the movies."

Two men got out of their cars ...

Two men got out of their cars after they crashed at a junction.

License Renewal

...

License Renewal

A woman named Emily renewing her driver's license at the Transport office was asked by the clerk to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. "What I mean is," explained the clerk, "do you have a job, or are you just a "?". "Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a Mum."

"We don't list 'Mum' as an occupation.. 'housewife' covers it," said the clerk emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our local police station. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar." "What is your occupation?" she probed.

What made me say it, I do not know... The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations." The clerk paused, pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire!

"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?" Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing programme of research, (what mother doesn't), in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out).

I'm working for my Masters, (the whole bloody family), and already have four credits, (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the girl's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

When I got home, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 10, 7, and 3. Upstairs, I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby), in the child-development programme, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt I had triumphed over bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another Mum."

Motherhood.....What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door.

Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research Associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations" and great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"? I think so! I also think it makes Aunts "Associate Research Assistants".

Before his daring escape from ...

Before his daring escape from prison, an infamous criminal had been photographed from four different angles. The FBI sent copies of the pictures to police chiefs all across the land, with orders to notify Washington the moment an arrest was made.

The next day, the Bureau received a faxed reply from the ambitious sheriff of a small Southern town: "PICTURES RECEIVED. ALL FOUR SHOT DEAD WHILE RESISTING ARREST."

A drunk at the bar...

A man walks into the front door of a bar. He is obviously drunk and staggers up to the bar, seats himself on a stool and, with a belch, asks the bartender for a drink. The bartender politely informs the man that it appears he has already had plenty to drink and that he could not be served additional liquor. The bartender offers to call a cab for him.

The drunk is briefly surprised, then softly scoffs, grumbles, climbs down from the bar stool and staggers out the front door. A few minutes later, the same drunk stumbles in the side door of the bar. He wobbles up to the bar and hollers for a drink. The bartender comes over and - still politely if not more firmly - refuses service to the man and again offers to call a cab. The drunk looks at the bartender for a moment angrily, curses, and shows himself out the side door, all the while grumbling and shaking his head.

A few minutes later, the same drunk bursts in through the back door of the bar. He plops himself up on a bar stool, gathers his wits, and belligerently orders a drink. The bartender comes over and emphatically reminds the man that he is drunk and will be served no drinks. He then tells him that he can either call a cab or the police immediately.

The surprised drunk looks at the bartender and in hopeless anguish cries, "Man! How many bars do you work at?"

Irish DUI

Late one Friday in Dublin, a policeman spotted a man driving very erratically. He pulled the man over and asked him if he had been drinking that evening.

''Aye, so I have. 'Tis Friday, you know, so me and the lads stopped by the pub where I had six or seven pints. And then there was something called 'Happy Hour' and they served these mar-gar-itos which are quite good. I had four or five o' those. Then I had to drive me friend Mike home and o' course I had to go in for a couple of Guinness -- couldn't be rude, ye know. Then I stopped on the way home to get another bottle for later...'' And the man fumbled around in his coat until he located his bottle of whiskey, which he held up for inspection. The officer sighed, and said, ''Sir, I'm afraid I'll need you to step out of the car and take a breathalyzer test.''

''Why? Don't ye believe me?''

Two tons of human hair was sto...

Two tons of human hair was stolen from a wig factory.

Living in a Material Wor...

Living in a Material World

One day, there was this lawyer who had just bought a new car, and he was eager to show it off to his colleagues, when all of a sudden an eighteen wheeler came out of nowhere and took of the driver's side door with him standing right there.

"NOOO!" he screamed, because he knew that no matter how good a mechanic tried to fix it, it never would be the same.

Finally, a cop came by, and the lawyer ran up to him yelling. "MY JAGUAR DOOR WAS JUST RUINED BY SOME FOOLISH DRIVER!!!" he exclaimed.

"Your a lawyer aren't you?" asked the policeman. "Yes, I am, but what does this have to do with my car?!?!" the lawyer asked.

"HA! Your lawyers are always so materialistic. All you care about is your possessions. I bet you didn't even notice that your left arm is missing did you?" the cop said.

The lawyer looked down at his side and exclaimed "MY ROLEX!"

Under a tack ....

Driving to work, a gentleman had to swerve to avoid a box that fell out of the truck in front of him. Seconds later, a policeman pulled him over for reckless driving. Fortunately, another office had seen the carton in the road. The policemen stopped traffic and recovered the box. It was found to contain large upholstery tacks.

"I'm sorry, Sir," the first trooper told the driver, "but I am still going to have to write you a ticket."

Amazed, the driver demanded to know the reason.

The trooper replied . . . "Tacks evasion."

Lightbulb Joke Collection 25

Q: How many Arians does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Just the one. You want to make something of it, eh?


Q: How many congressmen does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Five hundred and thirty-five, but only if the following conditions are met: The light bulb will not be changed in an election year. A committee will study the light-bulb situation for at least a year. Taxes will have to be raised. A fair and proportionate number of the light-bulb changers will be from minority groups. No Social Security funds will be used to change the bulb. Each state and congressional district will share in the benefits of changing the light bulb. The blame for the failure of the present bulb will be assigned to the other party. The new bulb will be twice as bright as the old bulb. Because the new bulb is twice as bright as the old bulb, it will cost 130 times as much. A Blue Ribbon Panel will investigate the light-bulb failures and issue a mega-page report to the congress. A fact-finding trip to all countries known to produce light bulbs will be made by most congressmen and their wives. The CIA will investigate the Russian light-bulb-changing system. Details of the Russian light-bulb-changing system will be sold to the Chinese by an American naval officer. The surgeon general will issue a report about the perils of over-bright light bulbs. A program to supply light bulbs to those who cannot afford them will be introduced by Tip O'Neill. President Reagan will give a speech extolling the virtues of kerosene lanterns. Tip O'Neall will initiate a program of free kerosene for the needy. And finally, each and every congressman will send every one of his constituents a newsletter describing how he managed to get the light bulb changed almost single-handedly.


Q: How many Hobbits does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: 1 to complain that the lightbulb isn't working, 5 to hold a meeting to decide what to do about it, 20 to form an expedition to the fabled Lightbulb Mines of Mythrill, 30 to throw a going-away party, 1 to ask Gandalf for directions, 1 to sell into slavery when the directions aren't stuck to, and they end up in entirely the wrong part of the country, and ready cash runs low, 5 get lost through natural wastage (bandits, murderers, monsters, etc,) 1 to be thrown to the Dragon that guards the Lightbulb hoarde, 1 to be thrown to the dragon to cover the retreat, 2 to carry the box of lightbulbs, 5 to find a large, sword-wielding barbarian to escort them home with the lightbulbs, another 30 to throw a safe-return party, 5 to get rid of the barbarian, who in typical style, got drunk at the party, 5 to find an Elf in the neighbourhood tall enough to change the lightbulb, one elf, and 5 to compose ballads of derring-do, heroism, sacrifice and lightbulbs. A grand total of 118.


Q: How many Contract Bridge players does it take to change a Light Bulb?

A: Five. One to change it; their partner to stare at them in complete confusion; one opposing player to ask the partner what they think the changer means by this; the other opponent to complain to the tournament director that there was a deliberate hesitation before the light bulb was changed; and the tournament director to agree and have the old bulb put back in.


Q: How many people does it take to throw away a one WATT bulb??

A: Five. A Black, a Jew, two women, and a cripple...

Note: Topical to the resignation of Interior secretary James Watt in 1983


Q: How many CND supporters does it take to change a light bulb?

A: None. They won't, because:


Q: How many cabbage patch dolls does it take to change a light bulb?

A: The question is irrelevant since you couldn't find the dolls even if you knew how many.

Note: Topical to 1983 and the difficulty of obtaining cabbage patch dolls


Q: How many astronomers does it take to change a light bulb?

A: None, astronomers prefer the dark.