Last Rites

A bus on a busy street struck a Catholic jaywalker knocking him clear over the curb. He was lying near death on the sidewalk as a crowd gathered.

"A priest. Somebody get me a priest!" the man gasped.

Long seconds dragged on but no one stepped out of the crowd.

A cop arrived on the scene, scanned the crowd and finally yelled, "A PRIEST PLEASE! Isn't there a priest in this crowd to give this man his last rites?"

Finally, out of the crowd stepped a small ancient Jew who appeared to be pushing 90.

"Mister Police," he said, "I'm not a priest. I'm not even a Christian. But for fifty years now, I'm living behind the Catholic Church on Second Avenue and every night I'm overhearing their services. I've heard it so many times I can recall a lot of it--maybe I can be of some comfort to this poor man."

Time running out, the cop quickly agreed and cleared the crowd so the man could get through to where the injured man lay.

The ancient Jew knelt down, leaned over the man and intoned most solemnly:

"B-5.... I-19.... N-38.... G-54.... O-72...."

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Eretz IRS


At the end of the tax year the IRS sent an inspector to audit the books of a synagogue.

While checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said, "I notice you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?"

"Good question," noted the Rabbi. "We save them up and send them back to the candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles."

"Uh huh," replied the auditor, disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer. But on he went, in his government-issue arrogance: "Well, then, what about all these matzo purchases? What do you do with the crumbs?"

"Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi, realizing that the inspector was trying to trap him with an IRS conundrum. "We collect them and send them back to the manufacturers, and every now and then they send a free box of full-size matzos."

"I'll just bet," muttered the auditor in a clumsy aside, wondering how he could get to this wise-ass, know-it-all Rabbi.


"Well then, Rabbi," he went on, "what do you do with all the leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform? Eh!?

"Here, too, we do not waste," answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save up all the foreskins and send them to the IRS and once a year they send us a complete dick."

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ציפורה מלכה "ציפי" לבני‎


A volcano erupts with a colossal explosion. Scientists predict that within three days, unprecedented tsunamis will flood the entire earth and place all existing land under water.

The Pope appears on television and encourages everyone to accept Jesus Christ immediately so that at least their immortal souls will be saved.

The world's foremost Muslim imam also appears on TV--ecstatic--and demands everybody everywhere convert to Islam in order that they may spend eternity with Allah.

The Dalai Lama appears on TV and urges everyone to become Buddhist so they may reach Nirvana.

Prime Minister Tzipi Livni goes on national TV and announces: "Enough already. We have three days to learn to live underwater."

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The Gag That Made RCH Famous


A Scotsman and a Jew went to a restaurant.

After a hearty meal, the waitress came by with the inevitable check.

To the amazement of all, the Scotsman was heard to say, "I'll pay it!" and he actually did.

The next morning's newspaper carried the news item:

"JEWISH VENTRILOQUIST FOUND MURDERED IN BLIND ALLEY."

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Stars and Stripes Already

Three construction workers, an Irishman, an Italian and a Jew, are building a skyscraper. They're sitting on a beam having lunch when the Irishman takes out his sandwich and says, "I can't believe it! My wife gave me another goddam roast beef sandwich. If she does this again I'm going to jump off this building!"

The Italian takes out his sandwich and says, "Tuna! For God's sakes, I hate tuna. If my wife gives me tuna tomorrow I'm going to jump, I swear!"

The Jewish guy takes out his lunch and says, "Egg salad! Dammit, if I find one more egg salad sandwich in my lunch I'm going to jump off this building!"

The next day, the Irishman takes out his sandwich, sees that it's roast beef and says, "Enough's enough!" and jumps.

The Italian guy takes out his sandwich, sees that it's tuna, and says, "That's it, I've had it!" and jumps.

The Jewish guy takes out his sandwich, discovers egg salad, and says, "I can't take it anymore!" and jumps.

Soon after, reporters go to the wife of the Irishman. She says, plaintively, "If he had only told me he didn't want roast beef, I would have made him something else." The Italian's wife, in tears, tells reporters, "He should have just told me he didn't want tuna! Why didn't he tell me?"

The reporters go to the Jewish guy's wife, who says, "I don't understand that man. Everyday he makes his own lunch."

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"The Kuss Wur im Tuchus Code"

The basis was for this feature is contained in what was finally voted Book of the Year--the eponymous "Kuss Wur im Tuchus Code--by unanimous and partially conscious vote of the Editorial Waterboard at the world-renowned Bumfuck Holiday Inn Rheum Room to make the mandatory selection of their favorite tome, in the absence of which awards by every collection of anybody dead or alive anywhere, no books would sell and the Republic would be full of ignorant assholes.

Following the vote, the board immediately knocked back doubles of whatever they thought they were drinking and immediately repaired to the Log Cabin Republican Buffet next to the Mens' Shitter, at which time T. Lousy Dowser took honors for best performance in Stall C for wide stancers, co-starring Tab Hunter.


Written across the wall of the ancient, only recently discovered cave were the following symbols:



The archaeological find was acclaimed as a breakthrough by 98.4% of all scholars and specialists in the field. These were Field Archaeologists--the rest were House Archaeologists. Nearly all considered the hieroglyphics to be six thousand years old, minimum.



The piece of stone was removed, ruining the site by definition, but who cared, were they academics or were they not? The specimen was brought to the most prestigious museum in the world, Astroburger on Gower just next to Paramount, where the aforementioned archaeologists, specialists and a TV parachutist-journalist with a posh accent who shall remain nameless gave the usual on-the-scene broadcast on the basis that she was in Beirut.

Meanwhile, they came in their hundreds to assemble from around the world to study the ancient symbols. First item on the roster was to hold a huge meeting, preferably at the UN, but the Human Rights Commissioner said: "What. Kikes? Get the fuck outtahere before I call Security!" So it was that the archaeologists repaired by first class cross-country to the The Rainbow Room atop Rockefeller Center to discuss the meaning of the markings, leaving a carbon footprint King Kong couldn't fill.



The newly appointed Commissioner of the Society, Hilarious Hamrodius Clitorius (don't wanna rub her the wrong way) pointed to the first drawing and said:

"This is a woman. We can see these ancient people held women in high esteem, as well they should be. In fact--" But she was cut off by an intentionally accidental technical failure which was repaired in a jif, however.

"You can also tell they were intelligent, as the next symbol is a donkey--what else?--so they were smart enough to have animals help them till the soil and move beyond the hunting and gathering stage which is more than I can say for a certain ex-president, but let's leave that for another day...."

"The next drawing is a shovel, which means they had developed tools to help them. This particular rendition of nascent technology may be less reminiscent of Stanley Kubrick's "2001" than Mel Brook's "Dawn of Man" sequence from History of The World, Part II, but that too is of little consequence."



"Even further proof of their high intelligence is the fish which means that if a famine were visited upon the earth and food did not grow, they could seek nutrition from the sea, probably by means of angling."

"The last symbol appears to be the Star of David which means they were a bunch of Heebs--I mean Hebrews. It was such a long campaign, please forgive that misspeak...."



But the audience had missed the Freudian gaffe because they'd already burst into thunderous applause at this breakthrough translation of such an ancient albeit succinct hieroglyphic message from the distant past--a true link with our forefathers, except for the goyem--which however rendered them all the envy of intellectuals everywhere and entitled them to a $2.00 discount coupon at Pizza Hut.



Then a small humble looking individual stood up at the back of the room, appearing to be--how to put this delicately--of Semitic extraction, wearing the electric chair cap, etc.

He drew the crowd's attention as if by some personal magnetism. They now turned as one to look at this homunculus who explicated all in a voice so authoritative that it might have come from YHVH him/her/itself:

"Goyishe treyf!!" he bellowed.

"Hebrew reads from right to left, you fucking idiots!"

"It actually says, 'Holy Mackerel, Dig The Ass On That Bitch!!"

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Great Jewish Sports Heroes, Part IV

Boom

S Revitz will not have to worry about any heavenly scenario such as that appearing below. Because S Revitz is going straight to hell.


A Taliban suicide bomber pulls the plug and explodes, taking 24 women, 12 children and six infants with him.

A short while later he finds himself on a huge white staircase leading towards heaven, so he starts climbing.

After an hour of hard climbing, he arrives at a landing where an old man in white robes with a long flowing beard is sitting surrounded by ledgers.

"Excuse me, sir." he says. "Are you Mohammed?"

"No," replies the old man, "I am St Peter. Mohammed is further up the stairs."

"But this is wonderful news!" ejaculates the martyred bomber. "Mohammed is higher than St Peter! I can hardly believe it!"

With this he carries on climbing the stairs.

After an hour or so of hard climbing he arrives at another landing where stands a serene old man with white hair and a long beard.

"Excuse me, sir," he says. "Are you Mohammed?"

"No," replies the old man, "I am Jesus. Mohammed is further up the stairs."

"Oh for joy, but this is amazing news!" screams the bomber. "Mohammed is higher than Jesus, I can hardly believe it! Martyrdom is even better than I thought possible!!!"

With this he carries on climbing up the stairs.

After another hour or so of hard climbing he arrives at an overwhelmingly huge, awe-inspiring landing in the baroque manner.

There, sitting on a magnificent throne is another old man, even more magisterial than the others, complete with impeccable white robes, magnificent beard and flowing white hair.

"Excuse me, sir," he says excitedly. "Are you Mohammed?"

"No," replies the old man. "I am God."

"But this is beyond anything that I might ever have thought possible," shrieks the bomber in total thrall.

"Mohammed is higher than God! I am so happy I can't believe it, martyrdom is more than wonderful, all my prayers have been answered!!!!!"

"You look tired, my son," intoned God in a voice to carve granite. "Would you like to sit down and rest a moment?"

"Oh, yes!" replies the bomber. "I am bone weary from the climb and would love a rest before I carry on, thank you."

The bomber sits down and God says, "You look thirsty, my son, would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Oh yes please!" replies the bomber. "I am most thirsty, thank you!"

With this God turns, snaps his fingers and shouts: "Oy, Mohammed! Two coffees over here and make it snappy!!"

The Protocols of the Elders of Grimsby

At this time of year and on the eve of the Eid festival to which we here at The Journal subscribe [Praise Jaysus--Ed.], we're pleased to run the little number from Captain Organ below, an inspiration to one and all in the context of yet another heartwarming anti-Zionist post-coital global subprime dhimmitudinal martyrdom credit crunch, Aloha Snackbar!™ (Organ, pictured right, continues as the world's longest living heart transplant donor.)


As a teacher, Ms. Jones, was very curious about how each of her students celebrated Christmas.

She called on young Patrick Murphy. “Tell me Patrick what do you do at Christmas time?” she asked.

Patrick came to the head of the class and addressed all.

“Well Ms. Jones, me and my twelve brothers and sisters go to the midnight Mass, we sing hymns, then we come home very late and we put mince pies by the back door and hang up our stockings. Then, all excited, we go to bed and wait for Father Christmas to come with all our toys.”

“Very nice Patrick,” beamed Ms. Jones. “Now, Jimmy Brown, what do you do at Christmas?”

Jimmy stood up in front of the class.

“ Well, Ms. Jones, me and my sister also go to Church with Mum and Dad and we sing carols and we get home ever so late. We put cookies and milk by the chimney and we hang up our stockings. We hardly sleep, waiting for Santa Claus to bring our presents!”

“Thank you so much, Jimmy.”

Realizing there was a Jewish boy in the class and not wanting to exclude him from the fun, Ms Jones called on the lad.

“Now, Isaac Cohen, what do you do at Christmas?

Isaac stood up at the head of the class.

“Well, it's the same thing every year. Dad comes home from the office. We all pile into the Rolls and then drive over to his toy factory. When we get inside, we look at all the empty shelves and then we sing 'Oh,What a Friend We Have in Jesus.' Then we fly to the Bahamas."

Max and Sadie

During a previous incarnation, Mike Rashoff, our Senior Geriatric Somnabulist, was a well known sex therapist in the State of Florida, where he also served as Executive Cashier to GREEK (GOP Retroactive Election Enhancement Kommission). Now 113 years old, Mike continues to receive his regular monthly stipend from Halliburton (Bahamas) PLC.


Max and Sadie, both well into their eighties, make an appointment with a sex therapist. When they walk into the office, the doctor asks, "What can I do for you?"

"Will you watch us have sexual intercourse?" inquires Max.

The doctor eyebrows jump. But he is a professional and, in the interest of first doing no harm, especially in the case of such an elderly couple, he agrees.

When the couple finishes, the doctor says, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you have intercourse."

He thanks them for coming, wishes them good luck, charges them $50 and bids them fond farewell.

The next week, however, the couple returns and asks the sex therapist to watch again. The sex therapist is a bit puzzled, but agrees.

This happens several weeks in a row--Max and Sadie make an appointment, they have intercourse with no problem whatsoever, pay the doctor, then leave.

Finally, after five or six weeks of this routine, the doctor can no longer contain himself: "I'm sorry, but I have to ask just what it is you're trying to find out?"

Max replies, "We're not trying to find out anything. She's married and we can't go to her house. I'm married and we can't go to my house. The Holiday Inn charges $98. The Hilton charges $139. We do it here for $50, and I get $43 back from Medicare."

Action on Cocoa Beach

Sarah, a recently widowed Jewish lady, was sitting on a beach towel at Cocoa Beach, Florida. She looked up and noticed that a man her age had walked up, placed his blanket on the sand nearby and took up his copy of Civilization and its Discontents.

With a smile, she attempted to strike up a conversation with him.

"Hello, sir, how are you?"

"Fine, thank you," he responded, and turned back to his book.

"Do you come here often?" she asked.

"First time since my wife passed away last year," he replied, turning back to his book.

"Do you live around here?" she persisted.

"Yes, I live over in Suntree," he answered and then resumed reading.

Desperate to find a topic of common interest, Sarah persisted.

"Do you by any chance like pussycats?" she inquired.

With that, the man threw his book down, jumped off his blanket onto hers, tore off both their swimsuits and gave her the most passionate ride of her life.

As the cloud of sand began to settle, Sarah gasped and managed to ask the man, "How did you know that was what I wanted?"

"How did you know my name was Katz?

Parking Space

An Hasidic Jew walks into the Manhattan branch of a major international bank and asks for the loan officer. He says he is going to Europe on business for two weeks and needs to borrow $5,000.

The bank officer says the bank will need some kind of security for such a loan, so the man hands over the keys to a new Rolls Royce parked on the street in front of the bank. Everything checks out and the bank agrees to accept the car as collateral for the loan.

An employee drives the Rolls into the bank's underground garage and parks it there.

Two weeks later, the man returns, repays the $5,000 and the interest, which comes to $15.41.

The loan officer says, "We are very happy to have had your business, and this transaction has worked out very nicely, but we are a little puzzled. While you were away, we checked you out and found that you are a multimillionaire. What puzzles us is why would you bother to borrow $5,000?"

The Hasidic Jew replied, "Where else in New York can I park my car two weeks for 15 bucks?"