Tag: dirty

Beehive

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Flossie has a beehive hairdo.
It’s got actual bees in it, too.
Whenever she needs honey, she fogs her head with a smoker, waits a minute, and then pulls out a honeycomb to scrape.
Then she sticks it back in her hair and walks around until the smoke clears.
The bees wake up, and all is back to normal.
How does she wash her hair?
How does she sleep?
How does she have sex?
Yeah, try myself, but I’m not beating that hornet’s nest?
No. Really. There’s a hornet’s nest down there.
Not even with a beekeeper’s gimp suit, man.

The Three Wise Men

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After the Three Wise Men dropped off their gifts for the Baby Jesus, they headed to a brothel for some whoring.
“Did you have to give them all the gold,” said the one who had brought myrrh.
“Do I look stupid?” said the gold-bearer. “I’m a wise man, just like you, but I don’t reek of herbs and funerary resins.”
“Maybe a little,” said the third one.
All three enjoyed a bath together with some of the finest ass Jerusalem had to offer, fucking anything with a price tag on it.
Then they got on their camels and went home.

Santa’s Menorah

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The elves wanted to explore diversity and different cultures, so Santa bought a menorah and lit the candles.
“Aren’t you supposed to sing something?” asked Blitzen.
“Shit if I know,” said Santa. “This writing looks like an army of chocolate-covered ants fucking.”
Santa put all nine candles in, the elves sang Christmas carols, and they all went back to work.
“Do you smell smoke?” said Twinkletoes.
Sure enough, the workshop was on fire.
The flames spread to the reindeer barn, the elf dormitory, and Santa’s house.
“Everybody gets wood burning kits,” declared Santa.
And they all froze their asses off.

Regifting

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Santa slides down the chimney, opens his sack, and puts the presents under the tree.
Then he picks up the presents sitting by the fireplace and stuffs those into his sack.
Back up the chimney, into the sleigh, and the helper-elf double-checks the inventory and flight plans.
“I know that business is bad, Boss, but did you have to add regifting to your services?” asked Twinky.
“Shut up,” said Santa, watching the GPS flash a new destination. The time display next to it flashes an unjolly red. “Fucking eBay.”
He cracks his whip, and the eight miserable reindeer take flight.

Thong

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Professor Hastings began his Nobel Prize acceptance speech with a softly whispered “My thong is on backwards.”
I was all downhill from there.
Before Hastings could be subdued, he had stripped off his clothes and was dancing on the podium.
“What category did he win again?” asked a security guard.
“Chemistry, no doubt,” said a hostess, only just now realizing that it was Hastings that had offered to uncork and pour the champagne for the attendees.
Her throat felt warm. Her vision blurred.
And, like everyone else in the room, she started to worry that her thong was on backwards.

High-Five

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Grampa only had one last bit of advice for me before he died: “Never high-five a pirate.”
Then, he died.
Grampa was always good for stupid, useless advice.
According to him, you should never cook sea urchins on a Thursday. As if I’d cook them on any day of the week? They’re disgusting!
He also said that Van Gogh was smart. Cutting off your ear to impress a chick is a lot smarter than cutting off his balls like Picasso did.
“But Picasso never castrated himself,” I said.
Grampa just lit his pipe, blew a cloud of smoke, and winked.

The Diploma

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Okay, so I hit it off with this chick at a bar, we’re both drunk as hell, and she says come back to my place.
So, we do.
I don’t know how we got there, but we got there.
We both took our clothes off, and… we…
Agree we’ll do it in the morning. Just too damn drunk.
I wake up eight hours later, and…
What the hell is her name?
I look around, and her medical degree is over the bed.
Aha!
She wakes up, I say her name, and…
She goes by her middle name.
Oops.
I lose.

Fourth Pig

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You’ve heard about the Three Little Pigs, right?
They made their houses out of straw, wood, and brick.
There was another pig. A cousin, who was in The Big House, made of stone and iron bars.
When he heard what happened to his cousins, he broke out.
“What the fuck is going on here?” he asked the cowering pigs. “Did you spend all of my money on these stupid houses?”
The three pigs nodded.
The fourth pig made his house out of bacon, ham, and pork chops.
Nobody, not even the Big Bad Wolf dares to fuck with that psycho.

Sold

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That’s a mighty fine looking baby you have there.
How much will you sell that baby for?
You don’t do drugs. You don’t drink. You seem healthy enough and so does the baby.
There’s no way you can afford that baby, no matter how healthy it is. All babies get sick, need diapers… all that stuff.
It’s not easy setting a price, and nobody likes an auction for a baby, even if for a healthy one.
The market rate is fifty dollars a pound, precooked weight, but this one looks like seventy-five dollars.
Try eighty, and leave the diaper on.

Cloak And Dagger

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All she wore was a cloak and a dagger.
And nothing else.
The CIA Recruiting Officer shook his head and pointed at the door.
“What’s wrong?” the rejected candidate said with a whine.
“It’s not literally cloak-and-dagger,” said the officer. “It’s just a saying.”
“Fine,” she said. She put down the dagger and took off the cloak. “What kind of job can I get with this?”
The officer checked a telephone directory and dialed.
After a few minutes, he smiled and unfolded a map.
“The White House is marked with a red X,” he said. “Ask for Bill. Good luck.”