Bert and Eddy were good friends, but Eddy's know-it-all attitude sometimes got on Bert's nerves.
Bert told his mate, "Okay, Clever Dick, we'll have a quiz. Just you and me. For every answer you get wrong you give me £10, and when I'm stuck I'll pay you £5. After all, you're the clever one, so I need an edge. Agreed?"
Eddy laughed. "Agreed, Dumbo. I could do with some extra beer money."
"Right," Bert said. "Here goes. If a man digs a ditch twenty times longer than King Kong's left leg when the ape was six months old, given that his right leg was shorter by the circumference of his left wrist, how far along the ditch would the man get, in feet, before he reached the animal's knee?"
"That's a hard one," Eddy conceded, "I don't know." And he handed over £10.
"Neither do I," Bert said, and he gave Eddy £5.

Sally: The twins are wearing me out, Jenny. I'm a wreck by bed-time. You manage fine with your five kids. Nothing seems to rattle you. What's your secret?
Jenny: No secret, Sally. I just bought a play pen.
Sally: So that's all it takes to keep the kids occupied?
Jenny: No, it's not that. I sit in it, then the brats can't get at me.

"Now, about this telephone bill, Mr Et ..."

At Queen Victoria's Golden Jubilee bash the monarch was introduced to an Hawaiian queen who was a great fan of the English royal line.
"We are blood relatives," the islander told Victoria.
The old queen was intrigued. "How could that possibly be?"
The Hawaiian smiled. "My grandfather ate your Captain Cook."

The cruise ship was two days out of port when the cry went up, "Man overboard!"
The captain saw the sharks circling the unfortunate man struggling in the sea, and knew that the rescuers would not reach him in time.
Then he relaxed as the sharks, instead of tearing the man to bits, simply escorted him as he swam to the ship, protecting him from other perils of the sea.
The captain slapped his forehead as he realized, "What am I thinking? That man's a lawyer ... what we're seeing here is professional courtesy."

The world darts champion was practising in his local pub when he was challenged by a stranger.
"Let's see how good you really are, champ. I'll take you on for twenty quid."
The champion smiled at the stranger. "Okay, you're on."
It was no contest; the champ whizzed through three-oh-one in one go.
"A fluke," the stranger said, "Give me a chance to get my money back. Double-or-quits?"
Again the champ triumphed without the stranger launching a flight.
"Right," the stranger declared, "I'm done messing about." He slapped his wallet onto the bar. "There's £350 in there ... I'll stake the lot on one last game."
The champ stroked his chin and deliberated. "I'm not sure if I can risk that much money. I mean ... I haven't seen you play yet, have I?"

It was Miss Jenkins' first social gathering since moving into the village. She sat timidly in the corner while her new-found friends chatted over the teacups.
"I must confess that I'm rather keen on the horses," Mrs Tripp was saying. "Why, last month I had to pawn my wedding ring to cover my losses. If my Bert ever found out ...."
"You wouldn't get me into a betting shop," said Mrs Gump. She lowered her voice. "Now, an off-licence is another matter. I have to admit to a little tipple on the side."
The third wife blushed. "If you had my failing, you'd really have trouble. "I'm ashamed to admit it ... I'm easily led astray. Between just the four of us, you understand, but that's why our last vicar had to leave." She looked at Miss Jenkins. "And what's your vice?"
Miss Jenkins leaned forward and smiled. "Well, I do have a little fault ... I'm a terrible gossip."

An investigative journalist wrote a scathing piece about a large business conglomerate, and ended by concluding, “Half the directors are crooks."
His editor gave him a dressing down, reminding him of this country's libel laws. "Now go away and rewrite that story, and think about the security of your job!"
He thought hard about the security of his job. Then he wrote, "Half of the directors are not crooks."

A young man turned to a psychiatrist for help in curing his shyness. At every session the youth would stretch out on the couch, unable to utter a word, while the psychiatrist sat in his chair
nodding until the hour was up and it was time for his patient to fork over fifty pounds. At the end of the tenth session the young man overcame his shyness enough to ask a question.
"Doctor, do you want a partner?"

The doctor had some surprising news for Mrs Jones.
"Pregnant? But I thought I was past all that, doctor. My Bert will be pleased, I'm sure. He's over seventy, you know. I'll telephone him straight away."
In the call box she lost no time giving her husband the good news. "Bert, you randy old thing. You've got me pregnant."
"My, my. You don't say," Bert mumbled. "And who is that speaking?"

Joe answered an advertisement, `Go cruising for four weeks, £50 all in.' At the docks he was promptly relieved of his money and knocked on the head, awaking the next morning to find himself in a tiny rowing boat out of sight of land. A sad-faced stranger sat opposite him at the oars.
"Caught you out too, did they?" Joe asked.
The stranger nodded gloomily. "No food, no water, and we're leaking."
"Well, cheer up," Joe said. "They can't leave us here for a month. They're just playing a prank on us. They'll pick us up shortly."
The stranger's face got longer. "They didn't last year."

Peregrine was alone in thinking himself a writer. He sent his masterpiece to yet another publisher, the title page bearing the usual phrase, "All characters in this story are fictitious and bear absolutely no resemblance to real people, living or dead."
The publisher rejected the work, adding his own little note to the title page, "You said it."