Hopping Mad

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After a year in the hospice, columnist Art Buchwald died and his spirit went to Heaven.
However, when he arrived, he still only had one leg.
“Where is my other leg?” asked Art.
“We’re not sure,” said Saint Peter. “We’ve checked the warehouses, but there’s a huge backlog in inventory. Plus, there’s a problem with routing issues these days.”
After a brief discussion, they gave Art a set of canes and told him to come back in six months.
Sure, Art had a set of wings like everyone else, but landings can be a real bitch with just one leg.

How Many Angels?

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The Boss shouted “LUMEN FIT!” and there was light.
After some flickering the light went out again.
The Boss cursed up a blue streak.
“SCALAE FIT!” shouted The Boss, and a ladder appeared.
Three angels grabbed it and went up to the light.
One went up the ladder to grab it and two more turned the ladder to unscrew it from its socket.
A fourth pulled a spare out of inventory, swapped lights with the other angels, and they screwed the new one in.
The Boss smiled. It was much more efficient than needing six angels and a dinner table.

Commando

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A ghost ate my underwear.
That’s right. A ghost ate my underwear.
I cannot imagine my underwear being appetizing to any living or nonliving creature, but I woke up to the sight of a spectral entity eating my underwear.
I was too tired to be scared, so I just came out with it: “Why are you’re eating my underwear?”
“I don’t know,” said the ghost. “Got any more?”
I wanted to ask the ghost what the Afterlife was like, but he finished the last of my boxers and vanished.
So, can you exorcise my underwear drawer for me, Father O’Malley?

1701

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New Year’s at the Blue Line.
Well, for the goyim. Rosh Hoshana wouldn’t be for another nine months.
Across the border, yellow and green flags wave from watchtowers while masked men carry crates of ammunition into homes.
Watching them, soldiers with unloaded rifles and blue helmets sipped coffee and called home on cell phones.
“Wasn’t 1701 supposed to solve all this shit?” asked Lieutenant Tzivni.
In the distance, a muffled explosion echoed in the hills.
“Mine?” asked Tzivni.
“Cluster bomb,” said Goldman.
“Think we’ll get our boys back?” asked Tzivni.
Goldman watched the Bluehelmets nap, and he shook his head.

Israelisms

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As Charley and Carol sit down to record another podcast, another couple sits down in Gaza, puts their headphones on, and they begin to record.
After dispensing with the weather in q’ranic verse, Abdul and Fatima argue over the news of the day.
Well, Abdul talks and Fatima agrees, fearful of the sting of Abdul’s hand.
Oh, and their daughter Yasserina has joined the resistance! Allahu Ackbhar!
Then Fatima thanks everyone (including Mahmoud from Dearborn), wrap things up, and it’s time to upload.
What? The server isn’t connecting?
They forgot to pay their bill, but they still blame the Zionists.

The Passion of the Bullfrog

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In church, Arthur tries to behave.
It’s not easy, though.
He watches a woman in the next pew. She is holding a box, and sweating bullets. A green, webbed foot pokes out of the box, and the woman quickly snaps the lid back down.
“Ribbit,” says the box. “Ribbit ribbit.”
No time to lose!
“Bullfrog!” he shouts, and he grabs for the box. The entire congregation heads for the exits, and the priest ducks behind the pulpit.
For the next five minutes, he stomps the box flat.
When the police finally arrive, he tips his hat and walks out proudly.

The Heeling Power Of Prayer

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A few months ago, Wally lost his arm in a car crash.
The doctors tried to sew it back on, but it turned gangrenous and they had to cut it off again.
Since medicine wouldn’t give him his arm back, he turned to religion.
So Wally prayed for a miracle, but his arm never grew back.
Frustrated, he went to his church and asked his priest.
“Why won’t my arm grow back?” yelled Wally. “I keep praying, but God doesn’t answer.”
“God can’t hear you because you’re doing it wrong,” said the priest. “It takes two hands to pray, stupid.”

Profit And Prophet

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Jerry Bruckheimer finished his pitch.
Sumner Redstone raised an eyebrow and imagined the protests and burning.
“No,” he said “Hell no.”
“But he helps the police solve crimes no one else can,” said Bruckheimer. “And he’s a prophet.”
“We are not doing CSI: Mecca,” said Sumner. “Not after all that cartoon crap in Denmark.”
“Not the same,” said Bruckheimer. “We won’t film his face. We’ll film over his shoulder, or just his shadow over the desk and casefiles.”
“No,” said Sumner.
“And we’ve got Tony Shalhoub signed up for it,” said Bruckheimer.
Sumner leaned forward and smiled. “Tell me more…”

Virgin Mary

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The Three Wise Men took Joseph aside.
“This was a virgin birth?” asked Caspar.
“It sure as hell is,” said Joseph. “That freaky bitch took it up the ass and in the mouth, but never where it counted.”
Balthasar winced. “I’m not sure she’s technically a virgin after that,” he said.
“No, it’s a virgin birth,” said Melchior. “But she’s a dirty slut.”
All three agreed.
They were also tired of screwing their camels, so they asked Joseph if they could gangbang Mary.
“Frankincense? Myrrh? I don’t need that stuff,” he said. “But throw in the Gold, and she’s yours.”

The Tenth Commandment

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Moses waited for the tablets to cool before picking them up.
“Are you going to keep these,” asked God. “or are you going to be a prick and smash them again?”
“My blood sugar was low,” said Moses. “And besides, you had some pretty bad spelling errors on that last pair.”
“It’s not my fault you dumb Jews don’t write down vowels,” said God.
“‘Thou shalt spell Michelle with one L?'” said Moses. “What the hell is that about? Who the fuck is Michele?”
“Hurry up, messenger boy,” said God. “Your people are going nuts again.”
Moses bowed and left.