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Author
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Topic: Mr. Coot Jokes
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Bob Maar
(Maar stands for Maartini)
Posts: 28608
From: New York City & Newport, RI
Registered: Feb 2001
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posted 10-31-2003 07:09 AM
Rated PG ![[Smile]](smile.gif) Mr. Coot's Toilet Humor
"Ways to Annoy Your Public Bathroom Stallmate"
1. Stick your open palm under the stall and ask your neighbor, "May I borrow a highlighter?"
2. Say, "Uh oh, I knew I shouldn't put my lips on that."
3. Cheer and clap loudly every time somebody breaks the silence with a bodily function noise.
4. Say, "Hmmm, I've never seen that color before."
5. Drop a marble and say, "Oh shit! My glass eye!"
6. Say, "Damn, this water is cold."
7. Grunt and strain real loud for 30 seconds and then drop a
cantaloupe into the toilet bowl from a high place, then and sigh
loudly.
8. Say, "Now how did that get there?"
9. Say, "Humus. Reminds me of humus."
10. Fill up a large flask with Mountain Dew. Squirt it erratically under the stall walls while yelling, "Whoa! Easy boy!"
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Bob Maar
(Maar stands for Maartini)
Posts: 28608
From: New York City & Newport, RI
Registered: Feb 2001
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posted 11-10-2003 10:35 AM
Rated G In Mr. Coot's Honor
What did the alien say to the gardener?
Take me to your weeder.
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Three men were fishing in the Gulf of Mexico when one of them pulled in a huge fish. But as soon as it was in the boat, the fish shook the hook out of its mouth and changed into an angry, bearded man wearing a crown and brandishing a three-pronged spear.
"Who are you, sir?" quavered one of the fishermen.
"I am Neptune, god of the sea, and I am going to put a curse on you! Before you get home, your boat will spring a dozen leaks -- nay, make that a dozen and a half, for good measure!"
With a nasty laugh, Neptune dived over the side and disappeared. The fishermen's boat got so many holes they had to swim ashore, and from that day to this, they have never forgotten Neptune's eighteen hole gulf curse.
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What do you call dirt?
Dirty.
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Where did the Martian put his teacup?
On his flying saucer.
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What do you call a cute little animal you keep in your automobile?
A carpet.
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What do you get when you cross an elephant with a jar of peanut butter?
An elephant that sticks to the roof of your mouth.
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What do you say to an alien with two heads?
Hello. Hello.
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A sibyl, a haruspex, and a rhabdomantist walked into a bar. The sibyl said, "There's going to be this big flood, and it's going to be terrible." And the haruspex was looking at this dead animal, and he said, "Yeah, it's going to rain hard and wipe everything out, and it's going to do all kinds of damage." And the rhabdomantist said, "That's terrible! Why...I'd be out of a job!"
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Bob Maar
(Maar stands for Maartini)
Posts: 28608
From: New York City & Newport, RI
Registered: Feb 2001
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posted 03-17-2006 03:22 PM
Rated R
A big city lawyer went duck hunting in rural North Dakota.
He shot and dropped a bird, but it fell into a farmer's field on the other side of a fence.
As the lawyer climbed over the fence, an elderly farmer drove up on his tractor and asked him what he was doing.
The litigator responded, "I shot a duck and it fell in this field, and now I'm going to retrieve it."
The old farmer replied, "This is my property, and you are not coming over here."
The indignant lawyer said, "I am one of the best trial attorneys in the United States and if you don't let me get that duck, I'll sue you and take everything you own!"
The old farmer smiled and said, "Apparently, you don't know how we settle disputes in North Dakota. We settle small disagreements like this with the "Three Kick Rule.'"
The lawyer asked, "What is the Three Kick Rule?"
The farmer replied, "Well, because the dispute occurs on my land, first I kick you three times and then you kick me three times, and so on back and forth until someone gives up."
The attorney quickly thought about the proposed contest and decided that he could easily take the old codger.
He agreed to abide by the local custom.
The old farmer slowly climbed down from the tractor and walked up to the attorney.
His first kick planted the toe of his heavy steel-toed work boot into the lawyer's groin and dropped him to his knees.
His second kick to the midriff sent the lawyer's last meal gushing from his mouth.
The lawyer was on all fours when the farmer's third kick to his rear end sent him face-first into a fresh cow pie.
The lawyer summoned every bit of his will and managed to get onto his feet.
Wiping his face with the arm of his jacket, he said, "Okay, you old coot. Now it's my turn."
The old farmer smiled and said, "Naw, I give up. You can have the duck." ![[Big Grin]](biggrin.gif)
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Bob Maar
(Maar stands for Maartini)
Posts: 28608
From: New York City & Newport, RI
Registered: Feb 2001
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posted 03-17-2006 03:27 PM
Rated G
Herbert Root
15 Duckham Mansions
Mallard's Walk, London, SW10
28th February, 1984
Dear Mr. Scott,
I attended your club to hear John Zaradin on Tuesday night and observed a tall, thin, haggard, cadaverous and shabbily dressed individual apparently chained to the bar for the entire evening. Mrs. Coot thought he had a most haunted eyes she has ever seen. It didn't appear that the vast amount of alcoholic beverages he poured down his gullet improved his frame of mind. On the contrary, he appeared to become increasingly morose as the evening went on.
It appeared that this individual is well known to yourself and your partner Mr. Pete King, the latter plying this unfortunate fellow with crude abuse on several occasions, which I thought unreasonable as this chap didn't seem to be doing Mr. King any harm. (I must, by the way, complain about the volume of Mr. King's abuse, this reaching the ears of Mrs. Coot, who took exception, although, I have to admit, I was surprised she knew the meaning of your partner's expletives).
Since drink seems to be this person's main pleasure - albeit taken sadly - I enclose a pound as my contribution towards a half pint of lager for him. Mrs. Coot and I would like to know who he is. He looked downtrodden enough to be a journalist or the like.
Yours sincerely,
Herbert Coot
Ronnie Scott
Ronnie Scott's Club
47 Frith Street, W1
1st March, 1984
Dear Mr. Coot,
Thank you for your letter of 28th February. The person you observed must have been Jim Godbolt, editor of our house magazine, a copy of which I enclose - sorry about the spelling errors. The truth is we can't afford a top line man. Yes, it's a fact that life affords him little pleasure.
Regarding the pound contribution to the cost of half of lager (I can see you're quite a wag in your own little way) for Mr. Godbolt, Mr. King and I don't wish to encourage his unfortunate addiction and I thought this oncer would be better employed if placed on an absolute cert called Hooray Henry running at Newbury, the valuable information being passed to me by Nino, my barber, when I was having my daily trim, and Nino is the Soho expert on gee-gees. I hope you won't mind. Naturally, I will cut you in on the winnings. Fair's fair.
Yours sincerely,
Ronnie Scott
PS. Unfortunately, the going at Newbury wasn't suited to Hooray Henry and it didn't get a place. In fact, it came in last. I'm letting you know this rather then it be thought that I'm taking you on, especially as you have been so generous with the quids, and may you continue to be so in the future.
Herbert Coot
15 Duckham Mansions
Mallard's Walk, SW10
24th January, 1984
Dear Mr. Scott,
I am writing to register my objection about the nature, not to mention the length, of your jokes. Mrs. Coot has led a secluded life and, frankly, I prefer to keep it that way. This may sound unacceptably Victorian in this permissive age (the spirit of which you are doing your damnedest to promote with morally dubious jokes) but I don't really feel that an evening's entertainment should be ruined by the aftermath of my being pressed by Mrs. Coot for an explanation of the following gags:
The prudish girl who eats her banana sideways;
The antipodean lady called Roxy Beaujolais who does tricks with wallabies;
The waitress who thought Moby Dick was a venereal disease.
Regarding your query in your letter of April 12th if I have any more pounds to spare - as I have made my pile in fumigated feathers and can't bear to see anyone skint, here's another pound, but let that do you for the time being.
Yours sincerely
Herbert Coot
Herbert Coot
15 Duckham Mansions
Mallard's Walk, SW10
8th February, 1984
Dear Mr. Scott,
I am sorry you have not replied to my letter of 24th January regarding the dubious nature of your jokes. I still think the Roly Polys a better interval bet and a lot more wholesome with it, too. However, I am now writing about another matter. I visited your club to see Lou Donaldson and what with the dimness of the lighting and the colour of his skin, I didn't actually see that much of him - just a blurred outline. This is not on account of my eyesight, which is quite good for a man of my age, but the combination of Stygian gloom and Donaldson's pigmentation was such that had I seen him walking down Putney High Street the following morning, I wouldn't have recognised him.
If you have to keep the lights so dimmed because you owe the London Electricity Board money, here's a pound.
Yours sincerely,
Herbert Coot
Ronnie Scott
Ronnie Scott's Club
47 Frith Street, W1
10th February, 1984
Dear Mr. Coot,
Many thanks for your letters and my apologies for not replying sooner. My secretary, Bonny Blair, doesn't always feel like typing and I have to wait until the mood takes her, which isn't very often. There is nothing I can do about this as I, with every other employer in the land, am bound by the various acts relating to Sexual Equality and Racial Discrimination, although Miss Blair is white. At least, I think so. It's difficult to tell with the lighting we've got here.
Regarding our lighting; we are running a night club, not a floodlit football match. About my jokes; I would be happy to explain them to Mrs. Coot in the nicest possible way. Perhaps she would care to visit me at my flat. (Address in enclosed, sealed, envelope). Not before noon, though. I don't finish at the club until early in the morning, and it's a known fact that I am unable to distinguish shapes until about 2pm.
Many thanks for the pound - I am most grateful. I hope the day will soon come when I can do you a favour. In the meantime, if you would like to cut out my signature on this letter and past it in your autograph book - be my guest. It's the least I can do.
Yours sincerely,
Ronnie Scott
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