Limited Spectrum DNA Agrarian-Bucolic Seafood Dinner

Why Cajuns Don't Work for Bear Stearns

One morning, a Cajun threesome and a trio of Yankees were in a ticket line at a train station, each sizing up the other with the unmentionable class and tribal mistrust that has made America what it is today.

The three Northerners each bought a ticket and watched as the three Cajuns bought just one ticket.

"How are the three of you going to travel on only one ticket?" sneered one of the Yankees.

"Watch and learn, Northern irrelevants," replied one of the boys from Louisiana.

All six boarded the train where the three Yankees sat down.

Meanwhile, the three Cajuns crammed into a toilet together and closed the door.

Shortly after the train departed, the conductor came around to collect tickets. He knocked on the toilet door and said, "Ticket, please."

The door opened a crack and a single arm emerged with a ticket in hand. The conductor took it and moved on.

The Yankees saw this and finally had to conclude it was actually a clever idea, particularly from a gaggle of worthless peckerwoods. So clever, in fact, that they decided to do the same thing on the return trip and save some serious cash.

That afternoon when they got back to the station, they bought a single ticket for the return trip. They then watched as the the three Cajuns sauntered past, not even bothering to buy a ticket at all.

"How are you white trash going to travel without a ticket?" inquired one of the confounded Yankees incredulously.

"Watch and learn, Rustbelt dogshit," replied the three Cajun boys in unison.

After boarding the train, the three Northerners duly crammed themselves into a toilet. The three Cajuns crammed into the other toilet on the opposite side of the car.

The train jerked and then started to move sedately out of the station.

Five minutes later, one of the Cajuns left their toilet and walked across to the toilet containing the sardined Yankees.

The Cajun knocked on the door and said, "Ticket, please."

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The Limited Spectrum DNA Agrarian-Bucolic of Infinite Distinction

A Mexican, an African-American and an Agrarian Bucolic Limited Spectrum DNA Hillary Rodham Clinton suppository were inexplicably walking in tandem along the beach when they happened upon a bottle with a genie inside.

They opened it and she came out with a whoosh.

"I'm sorry," said she in a deep Joan Crawford voice, "but I have only three wishes for the lot of you--so you each get one. Make it good."

The Mexican thought a moment, then announced his decision.

"I wish that all my Latino friends, relatives and Raza members be able to return to Mexico where they can enjoy a good life with plenty of tortillas, arroz y frijol, together with a decent, elected and representative government and democracy and absence of civil strife and corruption!"

The genie waved her wand with a flourish.

"It is done," said she. And the Mexican had disappeared in a puff of vapor.

The African-American was next. He had been thinking while the Mexican spoke.

"That sounded pretty good. We sure as hell didn't get a royal welcome here, this was one hard goddam row to hoe. And not too many breaks since. So I wish for the equivalent of that Mexican fella--all African-Americans to return to Africa where they can live the good life, eat plenty of ribs and collard greens, smoke cancer-free Kool cigarets, enjoy the benefit of good, clean, democratically elected government free of corruption...and, of course, revel in the complete absence of tribal war and/or civil strife."

The genie again waved her wand and the black man disappeared in a puff of smoke.

She then turned to the gentleman of Georgian extraction but he looked a bit puzzled.

"Are you telling me all them Meskins and Nigrahs just went back to Mesko and Africa? And took all their kinfolk with 'em?" inquired the agrarian.

"That is correct, Sir," replied the genie. "And now it is time for your wish...."

"Praise Jaysus! Well--what with the tacos and jigs gone, I guess I can go ahead and celebrate! Gimme a Dr. Peppah!"

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HRC rin frevelatin fo KY Denial of ies Bull Dyke Rumours

Tons of euphoric feminists, pictured above, turned out early Tuesday morning to greet their preferred Democratic primary candidate.

HRC Triumphant In KY Breakthrough

Currently under 24 hour guard in his cell at Camp Zeist, Hugh Jorgen, The Journal's erstwhile Left Coast Zero Equity Chapter 11 Bureau Chief, faces charges of Crimes Against Humor™ at the International Criminal Court in The Hague.

The original charge was brought by The Editorial Waterboard of The Journal of Contemporary Opinion.

Shown right are three of the defendant's court-appointed defense attorneys from Louisville, KY--staunch Hillary Rodham Clinton suppositories.

"If he's not innocent, I'll lick my balls on the courthouse steps," stated one of the defense lawyers who requested that her name be withheld.


Two limited spectrum DNA agrarian-bucolic Hillary Rodham Clinton supporters, Billy Bob and Luther, are talking one afternoon when Billy Bob tells Luther: "Ya know, I reckon I'm 'bout ready for a vacation. Only this year I'm gonna do it a little different."

"Howzat," inquires Luther.

"Well, the last few years," continues Billy Bob, "I took your advice about where to go. Three years ago you said to go to Hawaii. So I went to Hawaii and Earlene got pregnant."

"Then two years ago, you told me to go to the Bahamas. And sure enough Earlene got pregnant agin."

"Then last year you suggested Tahiti and goldarned if Earlene didn't get pregnant agin!!"

Luther turns to Billy Bob and inquires: "Wul, what you gonna do this year that's different?"

Billy Bob says, "This year I'm taking Earlene with me."

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When Rodeo Goes Horribly Wrong

Narrow-Spectrum DNA PC Agrarian-Bucolic© Vasectomy

After their 11th child, a Tennessee couple decided that would have to be all as they could not afford a larger bed.

So the husband went to his veterinarian and told him that he and his first cousin didn't want to have any more children.

The doctor informed him there was a procedure called a vasectomy that could fix the problem but that it was expensive.

"A less costly alternative," said the doctor, "is to go home, get a cherry bomb, light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to your ear and count to ten."

The Agrarian-Bucolic squinted at this, then solemnly addressed the medico.

"I may not be the sharpest tool in the box, Doc, but I don't see how putting a cherry bomb in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me."

"Trust me," said the doctor.

So the man went home, lit a cherry bomb and put it in a beer can.

He held the can up to his ear and began to count:

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

"Four."

"Five."

At which point he paused, placed the beer can between his legs and then continued counting on his other hand.

Wiking Yoke

It is the Editorial Board's split decision that during this pectoral hip-hop subprime phase of Western Civilization, the Scandinavian-American joke deserves another chance. This is not it.

Lena was pregnant with Ole's child. Late one night, Lena vake Ole up and says, "I tink it's time!'

So Ole fired up the Yohn Deere tractor and took her to the hospital to have their first baby.

She had a little boy and the doctor looked over at Ole and said, "A son! Ain't dat great!"

Yust den the doctor spoke up and said, "Hold on! We ain't finished yet!" The doctor den held up a little girl. He said, "Hey, Ole! You got you a daughter! She's a pretty little ting, too."

Then the doctor said, "Holey Moley, Ole, we still ain't done yet!"

The doctor then delivered another boy and said, "Ole, you yust had yourself another boy!" Ole was flabbergasted by this news!

A couple days later, Ole brought Lena and their three babies home in the self-propelled combine. He was real serious and he asked Lena, "How come we got tree on the first try?"

Lena said, "You remember dat night we ran out of Vaseline and you vent out in the garage and got dat dere 3-in-1 Oil?"

Ole said, "Yah, I sure do! Uffda! It's a dam good ting I didn't get the WD-40!"

Jesus in a Restaurant

The Journal is proud to announce the First Annual Herpy Awards Ceremony, to be held at the Bumfuck Holiday Inn Business Conference Room on Bastille Day, 14th July 2007, 8 PM sharp. The contribution below, from our Alzheimer's Correspondent, Michael Edward Rashoff, is one of the nominees for Best Gag of the Year. Mike himself has been nominated for Best Joke of the Year. By his wife. If he wins in both categories, he has Herpes.

Details to be advised as they become available. Celebrity guests will be ubiquitous, as will hard drugs in lethal doses. In particular, you don't wanna miss the nominees reading their works, live in some cases, posthumous in others. Including the following:


An Irishman in a wheelchair entered a restaurant one afternoon and asked the waitress for a cup of coffee. The Irishman looked across the restaurant and asked, "Is that Jesus sitting over there?"

The waitress nodded "Yes," so the Irishman told her to give Jesus a cup of coffee on him.

The next patron to come in was an Englishman with a hunched back. He shuffled over to a booth, painfully sat down, and asked the waitress for a cup of hot tea. He also glanced across the restaurant and asked, "Is that Jesus over there?"

The waitress nodded, so the Englishman said to give Jesus a cup of hot tea. "My treat."

The third patron to come into the restaurant was a Redneck on crutches. He hobbled over to a booth, sat down, and hollered, "Hey there, sweet thang. How's about gettin' me a cold Dr Peppah!" He, too, looked across the restaurant and asked, "Is that God's boy over there?"

The waitress once more nodded, so the Redneck said to give Jesus a cold Dr. Pepper. "On my bill, hear?"

As Jesus got up to leave, he passed by the Irishman, touched him, and said, "For your kindness, you are healed."

The Irishman felt the strength come back into his legs, got up and danced a jig out the door.

Jesus then passed by the Englishman, touched him and said, "For your kindness, you are healed."

The Englishman felt his back straightening up and he raised his hands, praised the Lord and did a series of back flips out the door.

Then Jesus walked towards the Redneck.

The Redneck jumped up and yelled, "Don't touch me! I'm drawin' disability!"

State of the Union

The Editorial Board was divided as to the correct taxonomical designation for this Hugh Jorgen ground-breaker outta the Left Coast bureau.

Is it agrarian-bucolic, restricted DNA pool?

Connubial?

Existential Despair?

The Kierkegaardian Knot?

For the record, 64% of the Editorial Board believe connubial pertains to the consumption of human flesh. With fries.




Three cowpokes were sitting around the campfire comparing notes on the marital duties of their respective wives.

The first good ole boy had married a woman from Montana and had duly informed her she'd be doing the dishes and housecleaning. It took a couple days, but on the third day he came home to a clean house with all dishes washed and put away in good order.

The second cow puncher had tied the knot with a woman from Texas. He'd given the missus orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes, plus the cooking. The first day he didn't see any results, but the next day he saw the situation had definitely improved. Throwing out his chest, he informed his fellow bovarians that by the third day, the house was spic and span, the dishes spotless and there was a huge steak dinner on the table waiting for him when he arrived home.

The third cowpoke had married a girl from California. He'd informed his enamorada that her duties consisted of keeping the house spotless, dishes pristine, lawn manicured, laundry washed, starched and ironed, and haute cuisine prepared to a 4-star level upon his traversing the threshold upon arrival home after work. He said the first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see anything, but by the third day some of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of the left eye, enough to fix himself a bite to eat and load the dishwasher.

Top 16 Agrarian/Bucolic/Limited DNA Hits

Forwarded by Michael Edward Rashoff. He used the "r" word which we refuse to run on this site as part of our PC drive-by.

16. It's Hard To Kiss The Lips At Night That Chewed Your Ass Out All Day

15. If I Can't Be Number One In Your Life, Then Number Two on You

14. If The Phone Don't Ring, You'll Know It's Me

13. How Can I Miss You If You Won't Go Away

12. I Liked You Better Before I Got To Know You

11. I Still Miss You, Baby, But My Aim's Getting Better

10. I Wouldn't Take Her To A Dogfight 'Cause I'm Afraid She'd Win

9. I'll Marry You Tomorrow But Let's Honeymoon Tonight

8. I'm So Miserable Without You It's Like You're Still Here

7. If I'd Shot You When I First Wanted To, I'd Be Out Of Prison By Now

6. My Wife Ran Off With My Best Friend and I Sure Do Miss Him

5. She Got The Ring and I Got The Finger

4. You're The Reason Our Kids Are So Ugly

3. Her Teeth Was Stained But Her Heart Was Pure

2. She's Looking Better After Every Beer

And the Number One song is...

1. I Ain't Never Gone To Bed With an Ugly Woman, But I've Sure Woke Up With A Few

Agrarian/Bucolic/Limited Genetic Diversity (PC Version)

Slicker than owl shit, this came in from Hugh Jorgen last year. He originally used the word “redneck" which is not even remotely halal--this being a venue of impeccable PC pedigree. Accordingly, I have redacted this (and any other) anecdote so that it conforms to universally applicable standards of socio-political rectitude. Serendipitously, this was done in such a way as to render the political correction undetectable.


A small zoo in Oklahoma had a rare specimen of gorilla. Within a few years, the gorilla, a female, became difficult to handle. Upon examination, the veterinarian determined the problem. The gorilla was in season. To make matters worse, there was no male gorilla available.

Mulling the problem over, the Zoo Keeper thought of Bobby Lee Walton, a person of bucolic-agrarian extraction and part-time worker at the zoo responsible for cleaning the animal cages. Bobby Lee, like other persons from a background of restricted genetic diversity, had limited cognitive facility but possessed ample ability to satisfy a female of any species on a reproductive basis.

The Zoo Keeper thought Bobby Lee might be the solution so he approached him with a proposition. Would Bobby Lee be willing to mate with the gorilla for $500?

Bobby Lee showed some interest, but said he would have to think the matter over carefully.

The following day, Bobby Lee announced he would accept the offer, but only under four conditions:

"First", Bobby Lee said, "I ain't gonna kiss her on the lips." The Keeper quickly agreed to this condition.

"Second", he said, "You cain't never tell no one about this." The Keeper again readily agreed to this condition.

"Third", Bobby Lee said, "I want all the chil'drun raised as Baptist." Once again it was agreed.

"And last of all", Bobby Lee stated, "You gotta give me another week to come up with the $500."