Osho Jokes / Recent Jokes

Paddy was feeling under the weather, so he went to see his doctor. "I just can't find any cause for your illness," said the physician. "Frankly, I think it is due to drinking."
"In that case," replied Paddy, getting up to leave, "I will come back when you are sober!"

"Young man," said the judge, looking sternly at the defendant, "it is alcohol, and alcohol alone, that is responsible for your present sorry state."
"I am glad to hear you say that," replied Paddy, with a sigh of relief. "Everybody else says it is all my fault!"

Mulla Nasruddin walked into the office of a cemetery and complained to the manager: "I know well that my wife is buried here in your cemetery but I can't find her grave."

The manager checked in his register and asked, "What is her name?"

So Mulla said, "Mistress Mulla Nasruddin."
He looked again and he said, "There is no Mistress Mulla Nasruddin, but there is a Mulla Nasruddin." So he said, "We are sorry, it seems something has gone wrong in the register."

Nasruddin said, "Nothing is wrong. Where is the grave of Mulla Nasruddin? -- because everything is in my name." Even the grave of his wife!

Mulla Nasruddin has applied for a job. The manager looked at him and did not feel that he's even qualified to apply for it. He asked him, "Can you read and write?"

Mulla Nasruddin said, "I cannot read, but I can write."

The manager was surprised; this is a rare situation -- he could have never conceived of a man who cannot read but can write.

He said, "Then write!" He gave him a paper and Mulla immediately started writing on it. He went fast -- one page, two pages, three pages.

The manager said, "Now you stop! You please read what you have written, because I cannot read."

Nasruddin said, "That I have told you before -- I can only write! I can't read."

One day in English class at Horowitz High School in L. A., Tom Robbins, the famous writer, comes to lecture the class on creative writing. After discussing how to write a short story, he says, "Okay, for a successful short story, there are four essential ingredients: religion, sex, politicians, and mystery. And it should be concise and to the point."
"No problem!" shouts Bobby Babblebrain, Boris's young punk son, from the back of the room. And he scribbles something on a scrap of paper. He hands it to Tom. On it is written:
A Short Story.
"Jesus Christ!" screams Nancy Reagan. "I'm pregnant again. I wonder who the hell did it this time?"

George Bush, the vice president of America, walks into the Oval Office one morning to find Ronald Reagan laughing hysterically.
"Mr. President, sir," inquires Bush, "what on earth is so funny?"

"I just found out that Ed Meese has been paying twenty dollars every time he screws Nancy," chokes the delirious president.
"My God!" screams Bush. "That is not funny! That is a national scandal!"

"Why?" laughs Reagan, wiping his eyes. "That idiot! I screw her for free!"

An unshaven, dirty, bedraggled panhandler, with bloodshot eyes and teeth half gone, asks Paddy for a dime.
"Do you drink, smoke, or gamble?" asks Paddy.

"Mister," says the bum, "I don't touch a drop, or smoke the filthy weed, or bother with evil gambling."
"Okay," says Paddy, "if you will come home with me I will give you a dollar."

As they enter the house, Maureen takes Paddy aside and hisses,
"How dare you bring that terrible looking specimen into our home!?"
"Darling," says Paddy, "I just wanted you to see what a man looks like who doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, and doesn't gamble."