Latest Jokes

OK, we all know that 666 is the Number of the Beast.

But did you know that:

$665.95 - Retail price of the Beast
$699.25 - Price of the Beast plus 5% sales tax
$769.95 - Price of the Beast with all accessories and replacement soul
$656.66 - Walmart price of the Beast
6, uh... what was that number again? - Number of the Blonde Beast
00666 - Zip code of the Beast
1-900-666-0666 - Live Beasts! One-on-one pacts! Call Now! Only $6.66/minute. Over 18 only please.
Route 666 - Highway of the Beast
666 F - Oven temperature for roast Beast
666k - Retirement plan of the Beast
6.66 % - 5 year CD interest rate at First Beast National Bank, $666 minimum deposit.
i66686 - CPU of the Beast
666i - BMW of the Beast
DSM-666 - Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of the Beast
668 - Next-door neighbor of the Beast

You met him in prison.
During your initial consultation he tries to sell you Amway.
He tells you that his last good case was a "Budweiser."
When the prosecutors see who your lawyer is, they high-five each other.
He picks the jury by playing "duck-duck-goose."
During the trial you catch him playing his Gameboy.
He asks a hostile witness to "pull my finger."
A prison guard is shaving your head.
Every couple of minutes he yells, "I call Jack Daniels to the stand!" and
proceeds to drink a shot.
He frequently gives juror No. 4 the finger.
He places a large "No Refunds" sign on the defense table.
He begins closing arguments with, "As Ally McBeal once said . . ."
He keeps citing the legal case of Godzilla v. Mothra.
Just before trial starts he whispers, "The judge is the one with the
little hammer, right?"
Just before he says "Your Honor," he makes those little quotation marks in
the air with his fingers.
The sign in front of his law office reads "Practicing Law Since 2:25."
Whenever his objection is overruled, he tells the judge, "Whatever."
He giggles every time he hears the word "briefs."

The students in my third-grade class were bombarding me with questions about my newly pierced ears.

"Does the hole go all the way through?" "Yes."

"Did it hurt?" "Just a little."

"Did they stick a needle through your ears?" "No, they used a special gun."

Silence followed, and then one solemn voice called out, "How far away did they stand?"

Bob stood over his tee shot for what seemed an eternity. He waggled, looked up, looked down, waggled again, but didn't start his back swing.

Finally his exasperated partner asked, "what the hell is taking so long?"

"My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse," Bob explained. "I want to make a perfect shot."

"Good lord!" his companion exclaimed. "You don't have a snowball's chance in hell of hitting her from here."