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Tribal TV News Service:

Struthio camelus

A man walks into a restaurant with a full-grown ostrich behind him.

The waitress asks them for their orders.

The man says, "Hamburger, fries and a coke." He turns to the ostrich, "What's yours?"

"I'll have the same," says the ostrich.

A short time later the waitress returns with the order. "That'll be $9.40 please."

The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out the exact change for payment.

The next day, the man and the ostrich come again and the man says, "Hamburger, fries and a coke."

The ostrich says, "I'll have the same."

Again the man reaches into his pocket and pays with exact change.

This continues through the week. Finally, it's Saturday night and the two enter again.

"The usual?" inquires the waitress.

"No, this is Saturday night so I'll have the ribeye, rare, baked potato with the works and the green salad with Roquefort," says the man.

"Same," says the ostrich.

Shortly the waitress brings the order and says, "That'll be $32.62."

"Put a ten dollar tip on the bill, willya?"

"Why thank you, Sir!" she blurts, then she amends the check.

"So what's the total then," says the man.

*42.62?"

Once again the man pulls the exact change out of his pocket and places it on the table.

The waitress cannot contain her curiosity any longer.

"Excuse me, sir. How do you manage to come up with the exact change in your pocket every time?"

"Well," says the man, "several years ago I was cleaning the attic and found an old lamp. When I rubbed it, a Genie appeared and offered me two wishes. My first wish was that if I ever had to pay for anything, I would just put my hand in my pocket and the right amount of money would always be there."

"That's brilliant!" says the waitress. "Most people would ask for a million dollars or something, but you'll always be as rich as you want for as long as you live!"

"That's right. Whether it's a gallon of milk or a Rolls Royce, the exact money is always there."

The waitress asks, "What's with the ostrich then?"

The man sighs, pauses.... "My second wish was for a tall chick with a big ass and long legs who agreed with everything I said."

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OBL's Burial At Sea! New Details!

JOCOP News Service
May 8, 2011

Bin Laden Given Religious Funeral Prior to Sea Burial

Osama bin Laden was given a religious funeral prior to his burial at sea, senior military officials told Al-Jazeera.

Religious rites were conducted on the deck of the aircraft carrier USS Carl Vinson at about 1:10 a.m. Monday in the Persian Gulf. In accordance with Islamic practice, bin Laden was washed and wrapped in a white sheet before being buried at sea at 2 a.m. local time, senior U.S. military and intelligence officials said.

"Then", according to one unnamed officer, "in accordance with US Navy SEAL practice, the team pissed on him, put a hot pork sandwich in his mouth, stuck a kosher hot dog up his ass and pushed the motherfucker overboard with the rest of the garbage."

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Not So OK Corral

A cowboy appeared before St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. "Have you ever done anything of particular merit?" St. Peter asked.

"Well, I can think of one thing," the cowboy offered. "On a trip to the Black Hills out in South Dakota , I came upon a gang of bikers who were threatening a young woman. I told them to leave her alone but they wouldn't listen."

"So I approached the largest and most heavily tattooed biker and punched him in the mouth. Then I kicked his bike over, ripped out his nose ring and threw it on the ground."

"Then I told them: 'Now you sonsabitches back off or I'll kick the living shit out of each and every one of you.'"

St. Peter was impressed: "And when did this happen?"

"About three minutes ago."

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Sarah Palin Nude

Two little kids are in a hospital, lying on gurneys next to each other outside the operating room. The first kid leans over and asks, "What are you in for?"

The second kid says, "I'm in here to get my tonsils out and I'm nervous as a whore in church."

The first kid says, "No problem, dawg. I had that done when I was four. They put you to sleep and when you wake up they give you all the ice cream you can eat. Nothing to it."

The second kid then inquires: "What are you in here for then?"

The first kid says, "Circumcision."

The second kid says, "You gotta be shittin' me! Good luck with that one, pal. I had it done when I was born and couldn't walk for a fuckin' year."

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Blow Smoke Up Your Ass: The Truth At Last

First Do No Harm

An obscure Congressman wakes up in the hospital bandaged from head to foot. The doctor enters and says, "Aha! I see you've regained consciousness, Senator. That's excellent. Now, you probably won't remember, but you were in a head-on collision with a trailer tractor driven by a Democrat on the Santa Monica freeway. Don't worry--you're going to be alright, you'll walk again, you may even play the violin again, even though you couldn't before...."

"But something else happened...and I'm trying to break this to you gently, your excellency. But the fact is, your willy was severed in the wreck. And we were unable to find it."

The patient lets out a groan of existential despair that continues for a full minute while one Congressional intern after another flashes before his eyes like a bad Power-Point presentation on Demerol. But the physician simply waits until the people's representative regains his self-control; and then continues: "Naturally, as a member of Congress you've got so much insurance coverage, we frankly don't quite know how to piss it all away. Yet. Let me rephrase that--'pissing it all away' may be an unfortunate locution in this context.... In any case, the good news is that we are now in a position to make our new incredibly overpriced nanotechnological procedure available to you to build you a new love tricep that will work as well as your old one did--only better! But the problem is, the procedure is implemented on an inch-by-inch basis only. No fractions. Just inches."

At this, the solon revives a bit, then definitely perks up.

"So", says the physician, "it's for you to decide how many inches you want. But it's something you'll need to discuss with your wife. I mean, if you had a five-inch tallywhacker before and you go for the nine-inch, the wife might be a bit put off. On the other hand, if you had a nine-inch pile-driver before and you go for the five-inch now, she might be rather disappointed. So, professionally speaking and with an eye out for possible malpractice action at any given moment, it's an important decision that you and your wife should seriously talk over."

"Yes, I see what you mean, doctor. I'll talk it over with my lovely Francine and get back to you."

The next afternoon, the sawbones re-enters the deluxe, no expense spared single room and says, "Well, feeling slightly better today, are we? So--did you have a chance to discuss the matter we went over yesterday with the little woman?"

"I have," says the patient.

"And she has helped you in making the decision?"

"Yes she has," replies the legislator in the body cast.

"And what have you decided, then?" the doctor inquires.

"We're gonna go with the new 12-bedroom bungalow in Brentwood."

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Take That. In Remembrance of Me.

An otherwise fine, upstanding chain-smoking alcoholic geriatric falls prey to the usual Myocardial Infarction and requires immediate heart-bypass surgery.

He awakens in the ICU to find himself in the care of nuns at Our Lady of the Evening Hospital.

As he lays there exhausted, a nun approaches and, in the spirit of Love and Forgiveness inherent to her creed, inquires kindly: "Do you have health insurance?"

"Not yet," replies the ancient reprobate. "I got kicked outta Medicare for fraud in connection with an allegedly unnecessary hysterectomy. Health insurance that's normal everywhere else came 60 years late to this country and won't cover me for another four years. God Bless America."

"Hrrrumph," grunts the nun. "Do you have any money in the bank?"

"No. Do you?"

The nun perseveres: "Do you have any relatives who could assist with paying off this very expensive procedure?"

He says, "Just one. I outlived all the rest, drinking, smoking, running after women. I just have the one spinster sister left. She's a nun."

Apoplectic, the bride of Christ raises her voice unto heaven and shrieks: "NUNS ARE NOT SPINSTERS, SIR! NUNS ARE MARRIED TO GOD!"

"Fine," replies the ancient reprobate. "Send the bill to my brother-in-law."

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Love Story

An escaped con on the lam breaks into a suburban house to look for money and guns. The mortgage on the house is 200k underwater so, unbeknownst to the escapee, he is actually just looking for guns....or a good time.

Inside the master bedroom, he finds the man and wife asleep on their Slumberville mattress which they'll finish paying off in 2015 in the unlikely event either one is still employed.

He orders the husband out of the bed and ties him to a chair.

After that, while tying the wife's arms to the bedposts, the convict hops up, straddles her and sticking his filthy face into her neck, seems to be whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

Then he gets up and proceeds into the bathroom.

While he's in the john, the husband whispers over to his wife: "Listen! This guy's an escaped convict. Look at his clothes! He's probably spent a lot of time in jail and hasn't seen a woman in years. I saw how he kissed your neck. If he wants sex, don't resist, don't complain...do whatever he tells you! Satisfy him no matter how much he nauseates you! This guy is obviously very dangerous. If he gets angry, he'll kill us both!"

"Be strong," he concludes. "I love you no matter what, honey!'

The wife takes this in for a few moments. Then she says: "He wasn't kissing my neck, Bill. He was whispering in my ear. He told me he's gay, incredibly horny, thinks you're cute and asked if we had any KY. I told him it was in the medicine cabinet. Be strong honey. I love you too."

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If (Manchurian Electorate Remix)

Mike Rashoff reports from the nation's capitol on the FDA's approval of Fukitol, followed by an immediate retroactive upgrade by Moody's and S&P of its manufacturer, Fuck You PLC, eleven years after its introduction.

Fuck You have since noted that the ad campaign will be amended to delete the reference to "Job Suck?".

Meanwhile, the National Arts Council has updated Rudyard Kipling's classically obsolete Victorian exhortation, "If," as follows:


If you can start the day without caffeine,

If you can get going without pep pills,

If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,

If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,

If you can eat the same food everyday and be grateful for it,

If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,

If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,

If you can conquer tension without medical help,

If you can relax without liquor,

If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,

Then you, my son, are the family dog.

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Spotting Nancy

The Editorial Waterboard is pleased to advise, in a unanimous vote, that Mike Rashoff, formerly The Journal's West Coast Parking Technology Bureau Chief, has now been appointed Senior Washington Nocturnal Incontinence Correspondent, in direct competition with the pathetic assholes at CNN, WaPo, NYT, Hot Rod, Cancer Magazine™ and "Corriere della Serra." Which in a spirit of hail-fellow-well-met lazy fairy Free Enterprise egalitarian narcolepsy, starts with this report in which his GOP contacts have understandably elected to forego a modicum of punctuation:



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Ole Olsen Rides Again

Ole Olsen is walking home from the meat packers late at night through the park when he sees a woman in the shadows.

"Twenty dollars..." she whispers.

Now Ole, he'd never been with a hooker before, but decides, vatt de helvete, it's only twenty bucks.

So they enter the bushes, throwing off their clothing in semi-frenzied Malmo modality.

They're busily engaged in the Southwestern Swedish Pork Grinder when, seemingly out of nowhere, a blinding light floods the couple in all its prurient ardor.

It's an officer of the law.

"Well well well. And what would be going on here then, people?" inquires the officer.

"I'm making luff to my vife!" Ole answers indignantly.

"Ah!" says the cop, "I'm so sorry, I had no way of knowing."

"Vell," says Ole, "I din't neider, 'til you shine that damm light in her face--"

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Working Class Warfare

A strapping young construction supervisor with (a) an uncle on the board of the Union with a pension plan administered by Lehman Brothers and (b) a brilliant future ahead of him, courtesy of his wife's new lawyer "acquaintance," was pontificating at the construction site that he could out-perform anyone on-site in any given feat of physical prowess.

He made a special case of casting vitality-related aspersions at one of the workmen of the mature, near-retirement persuasion.

After several minutes of the usual articulate and grammatically incisive abuse, the older worker'd had enough, just as he had with the wonderful Union that had ceded control of the industry to coked up polymaths with MBA's dedicated to the betterment of our working men and women across this wonderful country of ours.

"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is--Scumbag," the elderly worker inquired.

The youthful supervisor giggled three times in a row.

The old man continued: "Tell you what, asshole. I'll bet a year's salary--gross--that I can haul something in this wheelbarrow here over to that portable shithouse over there that you won't be able to wheel back--ever. Not in a day, not in a week, not until this useless project is completed, sits for a year and a half, is decommissioned and finally razed to the ground. Which means never--this is a zombie project if I ever saw one."

"You're on, old man," the youthful future SUV salesman ejaculated knowingly, following several nanoseconds of in-depth analysis and due diligence.

"Bring it on, you worthless old sonofabitch!"

The old man reached out and grabbed the wheelbarrow by the handles.

Then he nodded to the young man with the brilliant future.

"All right, my young friend. Get in."

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Frank Feldman

A newly unemployed ex-cube farm veteran exits the hopelessly packed Manhattan Job Fair--complete waste of time--walks out onto the curb outside Madison Square Garden and hails a cab.

He gets into the taxi, gives the address of a discrete public house in the lower 60's and the Cabbie says, "Perfect timing. You're just like Frank."

Passenger: "Frank? Frank Who?"

Cabbie: "Frank Feldman. He's the guy who did everything right. Always. Like my coming along when you needed a cab. Things like that happened to Frank Feldman every single time."

Passenger: "Hunh. Interesting. Then again, of course, into each life some rain must fall...."

Cabbie: "Not Frank Feldman. For example, he was a terrific athlete. He could easily have won the tennis Grand-Slam. He could golf with the pros. He also sang like an opera baritone, danced like Fred Astaire and you should have heard him play the piano. He made Liberace sound heterosexual."

Passenger: "Hunh. He must have been something really special, then. A guy who would've avoided The Big Downturn, for example. And would never have invested with Bernie Madoff--"

Cabbie: "Are you shittin' me? He would've gone short at 14,000. He had a memory like a goddam computer. He remembered everybody's birthday. He knew all about wine, which foods to order and which fork to eat them with. He could fix anything in a flash--not like me. I change a fuse, the whole street blacks out. But Frank Feldman--he could do everything right."

Passenger: "Hunh. Well, I guess he really was special."

Cabbie: "Are you kidding? Frank always knew the short cuts and totally avoided traffic jams. Not like me, I gravitate to gridlock like flies on shit. But Frank, he never made a mistake, nosirree Bob! And he really knew how to treat a woman and make her feel right, know what I mean? He'd never answer her back, even if she was in the wrong, as usual. And his clothes were always immaculate, shoes strictly spit and polish, you could look down and see if you had a piece of corned beef stuck between your teeth. Yeah...Frank was really something. He was the perfect man! He never made a mistake. There'll never be another one like Frank Feldman!"

Passenger: "Jesus Christ, I was having a really shitty day. But your story about Frank Feldman has really bucked me up. Hell, I may even pass up that perfunctory yet nominal 10AM pick-me-up I was giving very serious thought to.... But tell me something, you didn't mention it: How did you meet this guy, Frank Feldman?"

Cabbie: "Oh. I never actually met Frank. He died. I married his fucking widow."

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My Count, Try! 'Tis of Thee!

Michael Edward Rashoff is still at work on a think piece exploring the curiously unremarked caesura after the second syllable of Aretha Franklin's performance of "My Country 'Tis of Thee" at the Inauguration.

During this period of intense introspection commencing with the traditional tying of his ass to a tree and walking forty miles into the parking lot at Costco, his wife has submitted the following:




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Old Grandad

A devout consumer of OprahThink is in a grocery store and happens upon a grandpa driving a shopping cart carrying his totally out-of-control 3 year-old grandson.

Inevitably, the shoppers encounter one another at irregular intervals, as will happen in supermarket itineraries.

It's obvious Gramps has his hands full with the kid screaming for candy in the candy aisle, cookies in the cookie aisle, tampons in the tampon aisle....

Meanwhile, Gramps is working his way around, evenly but audibly muttering a sort of mantra in a controlled voice, "Easy, Albert, we won't be long--easy, boy."

Another outburst, and the Oprah devotee hears Gramps calmly say, "It's alright, Albert, just a couple more minutes and we'll be outta here--hang in there, buddy."

At the checkout, the little sonofabitch is throwing items out of the cart, inflicting in one case a facial cut on a supermarket employee with a box of Fruitloops.

And yet Gramps, again in a controlled voice, is saying, "Albert, Albert, relax fella, don't get upset, this too will pass."

"We'll be home in five minutes. Stay cool, Albert."

Impressed as only a true Oprahvert can be, the woman exits the destroyed supermarket and surveys the parking lot, quickly spotting Gramps loading his groceries and the boy into the car, quickly approaching same.

"Excuse me, Sir, and I know I'm intruding--although that is perfectly alright now, just think of it as a 'benign intervention'--but you were simply amazing in there. I have no idea how you managed it. That whole time, you kept your composure and no matter how loud and disruptive the little boy got, you just calmly kept saying that everything would work out alright."

"Albert," she concludes, "is very lucky indeed to have you for his grandfather."

"Thanks a shitload, you useless cunt," replies Gramps, "But I'm Albert. That little motherfucker with the safety belt tied around his neck is Stevie."

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But Then Again, Too Few to Mention

Up Against The Fence

An elderly couple is sitting at a table in the best restaurant in D.C. The husband, hoping to make up with the politically resurgent missus and worried about recent revelations concerning foreign contributions to his bogus, jumped up charity foundation, leans over and says to the wife: "Do you remember the first time we had sex together over fifty years ago? We went behind a certain nearby tavern where you leaned against the back fence and I made love to you."

"Oh yes," she replies, "I remember it well. Very well."

"Yeah, " he says, "Well how about we take a stroll over there again and we do it again for old time's sake?"

"Why Slick Willie, you old devil, I thought you'd given up on me...that sounds crazy!" Her eyes glaze slightly for a moment. "Crazy. But good."

The Secret Service man sitting in the next booth overhears their conversation and, having a chuckle to himself, he thinks to himself, I've got to see these two old-timers getting it on against a fence. Plus, it's my sworn duty to ensure their safety, I have no choice.

So he follows them.

The elderly couple walks haltingly along, leaning on each other for support aided by walking sticks. Finally, they get to the back of the tavern and make their way to the fence.

The old woman lifts her skirt and the old geezer drops his trousers. As she leans against the fence, the geezer moves in.

Suddenly, they erupt into the most furious sex that the Secret Service man has ever seen.

This goes on for a good ten minutes while the loin-locked couple is howling, heaving, moaning, creaming.

Finally, they both collapse to the ground, barely breathing.

The Secret Service man is gobsmacked. It occurs to him he has learned something about life and old age he never even suspected before.

After half an hour lying on the ground recovering, the old couple struggle painfully to their feet and ever so carefully manage to get back into their clothes.

The Secret Service man is still watching and thinks to himself: This is incredible and, unprofessional as it may be, I've got to know what their secret is.

So, as the couple passes, he says to them, "Excuse me Sir and Madam, and pardon me for having observed you even though it's my sworn duty to ensure your safety. But that was something else! I've never seen anything like it! I gotta know--what's your secret?

Shaking, the old buzzard is barely able to reply.

"Fifty years ago, Floyd, that wasn't an electric fence."

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Manchurian Electorate Honors President

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