Monday, June 11, 2007

Monday Libations

I was culling through my collection of jokes and discovered that there was an inordinate amount of jokes about drinking. There were enough to make one very long post - or one post for every day for a week. Thus is born, Libations Week. Let's begin with Monday's offerings:


A Mexican, an Iraqi, and a redneck girl are in the same bar.

When the Mexican finishes his beer, he throws his glass in the air, pulls out his pistol, and shoots the glass to pieces. He says, "In Mexico our glasses are so cheap we don't need to drink with the same one twice."

The Iraqi, obviously impressed by this, drinks his beer, throws into the air, pulls out his AK-47, and shoots the glass to pieces. He says, "In Iraq we have so much sand to make glasses that we don't need to drink with the same one twice either."

The redneck girl, cool as a cucumber, picks up her beer, downs it in one gulp, throws the glass into the air, whips out her .45, and shoots the Mexican and the Iraqi. Catching her glass, setting it on the bar, and calling for a refill, she says, "In America we have so many illegal Mexicans and Arabs that we don't have to drink with the same ones twice."

God Bless America ! -(a tip of the hat to Earl)


Two farmers, Joe and Bob, lived as neighbors, but didn't like each other much. In 1989, there was a period of -30 degree centigrade cold and Bob and Joe had nothing to do because of it. So they bet a bottle of vodka who can sit out on the window ledge the longest with a bare ass.

After two hours Bob's wife came home and asked Bob, "What are you doing?"

Bob explained and she said, "Come on... you will only freeze your ass off."

Bob refused as he wanted to win the bet.

Then his wife got an idea. "Let's change places when Joe is looking the other way."

Bob's wife put on the same kind of pullover and cap and traded places with Bob.

Half an hour later Joe's wife came home and asked him, "What are you doing?"

Joe told her and said, "I am determined to win the bottle!"

"You are crazy. Come on in."

"Certainly not, I am already on the winning side. Bob lost his balls half an hour ago!"


Late one Saturday night, after a long and difficult day of visiting hospitals, nursing homes and elderly members of the congregation, a Southern Baptist preacher was making his weary way home. As he traveled the hilly, curving country road, he overtook a car. The slow moving car was weaving from one side of the road to the other in a most disturbing manner. Being familiar with most residents of the area he recognized the car as belonging to a member of his congregation.

"Oh no," said the preacher to himself, "Frank Johnson has fallen off the wagon again. The way that car is weaving, he must be really plastered. I better pull up beside him and get him to stop before he hurts himself."

Putting thought to action, the preacher pulled along side Frank's car just in time for the next swerve to run him off the road. Over the shoulder, down a steep bank, the preacher's car rolled over twice and came to rest against a large pine tree. Not completely senseless to the world, Frank stopped his car and staggered back to a point above the preacher's car.

Fortunately, the preacher had been using a seat belt. That and the relatively slow speed had prevented any injury. When Frank saw someone struggling out of the wrecked car, he yelled, "Who the hell are you?"

The preacher yelled back, "Frank Johnson, don't you talk to me like that."

"My God preacher, that you?"

"Yes Frank, it is, and I'll thank you not to take the Lord's name in vain. It's already bad enough that you're drunk."

"You OK preacher?"

"Yes Frank, fortunately the Lord was with me."

"You better let him ride with me. Way you drive, you gonna kill him."


The big game hunter walked into the bar and bragged to everyone about his skills as a hunter. The man was undoubtedly a good shot and no one could dispute that. But then he said that they could blindfold him and he would recognize any animal's skin from its feel, and if he could locate the bullet hole he would even tell them what caliber rifle was used to shoot it.

This was a bit too much for the other customers, and soon a heated argument was going on. Then the hunter said that he was willing to prove it if they would put up the drinks, and the bet was on. They blindfolded him carefully and took him to his first animal skin. After feeling it for a few moments, he announced, "Springbok." Then he felt for the bullet hole and declared, "And shot with a .22 rifle."

The others could not believe it (he was right of course) and the argument was even hotter than before. When some started to suggest that he must have peeped, he said that he was prepared to do it again. He would put up all the drinks they had bought before against them buying another round for him. So they blindfolded him again, very thoroughly this time, and they brought a skin that someone happened to have in the trunk of his car. He took a bit longer this time and then said, "Kalahari Lion," and fingering the bullet hole, said, "and the rifle was a .308" and he was right again.

This of course was like throwing fat on the fire, and he had to prove his skills, over and over again, every time against a round of drinks. Finally he staggered home, bombed out of his mind, and went to sleep.

The next morning he got up and saw in the mirror that he had one hell of a shiner. So he said to his wife, "Listen I know I was drunk last night, but not too drunk to know that I did not fight anyone in that bar. So where did I get this black eye?"

And his wife replied angrily, "From me, of course!"

"But what did I do?" he asked.

She replied, "You got into bed and put your hand down inside my panties. Then you fiddled around a bit and announced in a loud triumphant tone, "Skunk, killed with an ax!"



Peter said...

Sounds like a hell of a week comin' up Mike.

The Chick said...

The first one was too true, the last one was too funny.

Nankin said...

Great post. I'd laugh except my broken ribs hurt too much for that.

Christina said...

skunk...killed with an axe...


Hale McKay said...

Aw, Nankin, so sorry to hear about the broken rib. I know what you mean, I broke a rib a couple of summers ago. It's so true that laughing hurts, as does coughing and the hiccups.

Hope you heal soon.

OldHorsetailSnake said...

Excuse ME, but I am not (repeat NOT) stealing the final joke in a nice (?) series.

Miss Cellania said...

I used that first joke once, but it was a Coloradan, who said there were too many Californians and Texans. Ha! Loved the preacher joke.