Hate Jokes / Recent Jokes

University of Alaska
Statewide Dept. of Human Resource Development
303 Tanana Drive, Room 1, Bunnell Bldg.
Fairbanks, Alaska 99701
Sirs,
I've decided to apply for your position as a systems
programmer even though I hate snow worse than I hate snakes.
I've been training for going on two years now at a local
community college in data processing, computers, and that sort of
stuff and have probably learned all about MVS/SP, JES2, ACF/VTAM,
NCP, CICS, IDMS and a bunch of other letters you didn't even list
(In fact, there's about 26 of them total)!
I feel that this qualifies me in that respect. As for IBM
systems, I have an IBM Selectric and even an IBM wall clock at
which my current boss says I watch better than anyone else here.
You list Assembly but that seems like a typo to me because that
is a hardware thing, nothing real programmers are supposed to do.
However, if you will train me I will even buy my own more...

I hate sex in the movies. Tried it once, the seat folded up, the drink spilled and that ice, well it really chilled her mood.

I hate some things about this time of year. Not the crass commercialism and forced frivolity, but because it's the season when the food police come out with their wagging fingers and annual tips on how to get through the holidays without gaining 10 pounds.
You can't pick up a magazine without finding a list of holiday eating do's and don'ts... eliminate second helpings, high-calorie sauces and cookies made with butter, they say. Fill up on vegetable sticks, they say.
Good grief. Is your favorite childhood memory of Christmas a carrot stick?
I didn't think so. Isn't mine, either. A carrot was something you left for Rudolph. I have my own list of tips for holiday eating. I assure you, if you follow them, you'll be fat and happy. So what if you don't make it to New Year's? Your pants won't fit anymore, anyway.
About those carrot sticks. Avoid them. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Holiday spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave more...

One morning a mother went in to wake her son up. "Come on son, wake up. It's time to go to school," she told him.
"But Mom, I don't want to go to school," was his reply.
"Well, give me two good reasons why not!" she said.
"First of all, the kids hate me and the teachers hate me too," he groaned.
"That's no reason to not want to go. Now get up and get ready!" his mother demanded.
"You give me two good reasons why I should go Mom," her son said.
"For one, you happen to be 52 years old. For another, you also happen to be the Principal!"

1. A good place to meet a man is at the dry cleaner. These men usually have jobs and bathe.

2. All men hate to hear, "We need to talk about our relationship." These seven words strike fear in the heart of even General Schwartzkopf.

3. Men like phones with lots of buttons. It makes them feel important.

4. Men like to barbecue. Men will cook if danger is involved.

5. Most men hate to shop. That's why the men's department is usually on the first floor of a department store, two inches from the door.

6. Men forget everything; women remember everything. Think about it! How many women's sports use something called an "instant replay?"

7. Men are self-confident because they grow up identifying with super-heroes. Women have bad self-images because they grow up identifying with Barbie.

8. No man is charming all of the time. Even Cary Grant is on record saying he wished he could be Cary more...

A Texan went up to the airline check-in counter and boomed, "Howdy, ma'am. My name's Brown, spelled B-R-O-W-N. Ah'm from Dallas, Texas. Ah'm 6-foot 3-inches tall. Ah'm white from th' top of mah head to th' tip of mah toes, and I hate the Irish."
Well, she didn't know what else to do, so she took his ticket and showed him onto the plane.
He sat down in his seat, and turned to the fellow next to him, "Howdy, suh. My name's Brown, spelled B-R-O-W-N. Ah'm from Dallas, Texas. Ah'm 6-foot 3-inches tall. Ah'm white from th' top of mah head to th' tip of mah toes, and I hate the Irish."
The little fellow turned to him, "Well now, how d'ye do. My name is Patrick Michael O'Donnell. I'm from Dublin, Ireland. I'm 5-foot 6- inches tall, and I'm white from the top o' me head to the tip o' me toes, except for my rectum, which is brown. Spelled B-R-O-W-N."

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Hate me because your boyfriend thinks so.