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Just general jokes

Keith&Co.

Keith&Co.

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I'm here...
So, with a new News Cycle, Trump selects a new Chief of Staff. He's touring the White House his first day. He sees a lot of aides and staff members running around the place, calling on phones, shredding documents, arranging meetings.

The Chief has a military background, with a certain fondness for preparation. He collars one of the staffers and starts asking questions.

'Son,' he asked, 'what would you do if someone fell to the floor, having a heart attack?'

'Administration or staff, sir?' was the instant reply.

'Um, okay, let's say, uh, staff. Yeah, someone from your office. One of your buds falls over, grabbing his chest, what would you do?'

The staffer ticks off his steps. 'Call for help for a medical emergency. Call for an aspirin. Loosen his tie and shirt. Make sure his airway is clear. CPR if necessary."

'Okay, yes, good answer. But I have to ask, what would you do if a member of administration fell over?'

The staffer leaned close, looked left and right, and asked, 'Which one?'
 
Trump was on Sean Hannity, complaining about whistleblowers and leakers. Sean told him the thing to watch out for was a new form of portable media, a Whisker. Whiskers are about the size of a thumb drive, but have an aggressive wi-fi capability. Software on a Whisker can access someone’s phone and gain their emails, their access codes, passwords, all sorts of stuff. They are designed for illicit accessing of information for hostile purposes.

He gives Trump three Whiskers so he can show his people.

Trump takes the Whiskers, in their box, and calls his staff into the Oval Office.

“What I have in this box,” he said, “poses a substantial risk to the security of tis office! I want everyone to look into this box and tell me if they’ve ever seen one of them.”

The box goes around the room, comes back to Trump’s desk. NO one reports having seen a Whisker before. But now, there are only two Whiskers in the box.

“Very funny, assholes,” Trump says. “We’re gonna pass the box around again, and I want the missing one back.” Box goes around the room, comes back with one Whisker.

“This is no longer funny,” he grouses. He turns to his SS agent. “Get me a couple of Marines.” Takes up the box. “Now, we’re going to pass this box around the room ONE MORE TIME. And after that, two Marines are going to strip-search everyone, looking for my damned Whiskers.”

Box goes around the room. Back to Trump’s desk. He opens it.

Seven Whiskers are in the box.
 
So Donald Trump decides to run for President. He calls his creditors in Russia and tells them there's no way he is going to pay them back unless they help him get elected. He gets elected.
 
BREAKING NEWS:
Air Force One crashed in the middle of rural America. Panic stricken the Secret Service mobilized and descended on the farm in force. When they got there, the wreckage was clear. The aircraft was totally destroyed with only a burned hulk left smoldering in a tree line that bordered a farm. Secret Service descended upon the smoking hulk but could find no remains of the crew or the President's staff. To their amazement, a lone farmer was plowing a field not too far away as if nothing at all happened. They hurried over to surround the man's tractor.
"Sir," the senior Secret Service agent asked, panting and out of breath.
"Did you see this terrible accident happen?"
"Yep. Sure did." The man muttered unconcernedly.
"Do you realize that is the President of the United States airplane?"
"Yep."
"Were there any survivors?" the agent gasped.
"Nope. They's all kilt straight out." The farmer sighed cutting off his tractor motor. "I done buried them all myself. Took most of the morning."
"The President of the United States is dead?" The agent gulped in disbelief.
"Well," the farmer sighed, obviously wanting to get back to his work. "He kept a-saying he wasn't ... but you know what a liar he is."
 
Some Trump supporters acquired a chimpanzee and intended to dress her up as one of the congresswomen giving Trump a hard time. Before they got to the studio they were going to use for pictures, the ape escaped. It wandered around the country-side for a while, ending up in a tree on a golf course. During a brief thunderstorm that night, lightning struck the tree, killing the chimpanzee. It hung in the branches.
The next day, Trump decided to golf at that course. On the 7th hole, he knocked his ball up into a tree. This dislodged the chimp and the slightly charred body fell to the ground. Trump and his party walked up to the tree and looked down on the corpse.
Trump looked at the ape. Looked at the other players. Looked at the ape. Looked at the foursome.
Finally, he decided, “Well, his legs are too short for a Republican. His arms are too long for a Democrat. And he’s much too hairy for a reporter. Call Giuliani, see if any of his associates are missing.”
 
Keith I am sure some of these are repurposed military jokes, and I'm pretty sure I know that because I've read your originals.
 
bigfield said:
Keith I am sure some of these are repurposed military jokes, and I'm pretty sure I know that because I've read your originals.
Click to expand...
Actually, the original-original punchline for one was a Scottish joke.
"His arms 'r too long fer a Campbell, his legs too short for a MacLean, and he's way too furry fer a Stewart. Call up to the mansion, and see if any o' the gentry's gone missin.'"
 
Got a speeding ticket the other day. Hired Gulliani as my lawyer. He got it down to a manslaughter charge.
 
What do you call a cruise ship filled with politicians sinking in shark infested waters?

A good start.
 
A republican finds a genie in a lamp and gives it to President Trump.
Don takes it into a room, locks the door, and rubs the lamp.
To his surprise, a real genie appears. The genie bows and says, "For releasing me from the lamp, you get three wishes."
"Great! I want-"
"But there are three rules. First, you cannot wish to defeat death. So, no immortality, no one back from the dead, none of that."
"Fine, give me-"
"Second, you cannot force love. No one who doesn't already love you can be made to by wishing."
"Whatever, let's-"
"And third, no wishing for more wishes."
"You done?" The genie nods. "Okay, first, i want this impeachment to go away."
Genie snaps his fingers. "It is done. The Democrats have spent the last three years writing environmental protection laws."
"Crap. Alright, then i want permanent immunity from state prosecutors."
Genie snaps his fingers. "It is done. The states cannot touch you as or after being President, though they can investigate you for wrongdoing. Just no prosecution."
"Shit! Shit. Well, that'll have to do. Anyway, third, i want Ivanka and Melania to trade places."
"Places?" the genie asked. "You mean positions in your administration? Or your businesses? What-"
"I want Melania to be Jared's wife, and-"
Genie holds up one hand. "Hold on, hoss. There are now four rules."
 
A commenter on The Hill said "He's going down faster than Ivanka's panties at a father-daughter dance." I must admit that I laughed out loud, but felt a little bad about it.
 
Variation of an old joke: Melania wakes up in her White House bedroom, throws open the curtains and in the fresh fallen snow someone had written in pee, “Melania sucks”. She calls the FBI to investigate. They are gone several hours and return with good news and bad. They’ve identified the urine, it’s Donald’s, the bad news, it’s Mike Pence’s hand writing.
 
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