Drive Jokes

Three guys are talking in a bar one day. They start talking about how their cars reflect their careers. The first guy says, "I'm a pimp and so I drive a cheap Escort." The second guy says, "I'm a herpetologist and so I drive a Dodge Viper." The third guy says, "I'm a proctologist, and I drive a brown Probe."

A Sunday School teacher of preschoolers told her students that she wanted each of them to have learned one fact about Jesus by the next Sunday. The following week she asked each child in turn what he or she had learned. Susie said, "He was born in a manger." Bobby said, "He threw the money changers out of the temple." Little Johnny said, "He has a red pickup truck but he doesn't know how to drive it." Curious, the teacher asked, "And where did you learn that, Johnny?" "From my Daddy," said Johnny. "Yesterday we were driving down the highway, and this red pickup truck pulled out in front of us and Daddy yelled at him, 'Jesus Christ! Why don't you learn how to drive?'"

A Chinese man comes to Los Angeles for a holiday. He arrives at LAX and gets a cab to take him to his hotel. On the way he sees a few buses, and he says to the taxi driver: "The buses here are so noisy and really slow... In China the buses are very fast!" The taxi driver says nothing. Later the Chinese tourist sees a marine with a few boats sailing by. He comments again to the driver: "The boats here are so slow... in China the boats are very fast!" The driver kept silent and drove. When they get to the hotel, the Chinese tourist gets out of the taxi and askes for the meter reading. The driver calmly tells him the price, and the man is startled. "Are you kidding?" he yells, "Your buses are so slow, the boats are so slow. If everything else here is so slow then how come the meter of your taxi is so fast?!?" The driver gives him a smile and says: "It's made in China."

Two caterpillars are escaping a spider. They climb up a branch and get to the edge, but realize they are now trapped… "Hold on tight!" says the first caterpillar and he quickly chews through the branch. It snaps and they begin to fall, but he grabs two protruding twigs and uses them to steer the branch through the air with grace and finesse. "That's amazing!!" says the second caterpillar. "How in the hell are you doing that?!" The first caterpillar scoffs. "Am I the only one in the whole darn forest who knows how to drive a stick!?"

One November afternoon when my daughter was in kindergarten, I picked her up after school. She bobbed out to the car and crawled into the back seat. "What did you do today?" I asked. She couldn't wait to tell me. "We learned that boys are different from girls!" she chirped. Looking into the rearview mirror, I could just see the top of her head. "My teacher told us that boys have a thing and girls don't," she added. "Well, yes they do..." I said cautiously. I couldn't think of anything else to say, so we were quiet for a moment. Then she piped up again. "That's how girls know that boys are boys," she said. "They see that thing that hangs down and they know that he is a boy." I mentally calculated the distance home. Our five-minute commute already felt like an hour. "Did you know that when the boys see a girl they puff up?" she asked. My palms were beginning to sweat. "Um...well…" I was still searching for something new to say, to change the subject when she asked, "Why do the girls like the boys to have those things?" Well, I didn't know what to say. I mean, what woman hasn't asked herself that question at least once? "Oh, well...um..." I stammered. She didn't wait for my answer. She had her own. "It's ‘cause it moves when they walk and then the girls see that and that's when they know they are boys and that's when they like them. Then the boy sees the girl and he puffs up, and then the girl knows he likes her, too. And then they get married. And then they get cooked." That last part confused me a bit, but on the whole, I thought she had a pretty good grasp on things. As soon as we got home and I pulled into the garage, she hopped out of the car, fishing something out of her school bag. "I drew a picture," she said. "Do you want to see?" I wasn't sure I did, but I looked at it anyway. I had to sit down. There, all puffed up so to speak, looking mighty attractive for the ladies, was a crayon drawing of a great big Tom Turkey. His snood, the thing that hangs down over his beak, the thing that female turkeys find so irresistible, was magnificent. His tail feathers were standing tall and proud. She was a little offended that I laughed so hard at her drawing, and I laughed until I cried. But when I told her I loved it … and I did … she got over her pique. That was the end of that, for her anyway. But I'm not so lucky. Every year I remember that conversation. And to be honest, I haven't looked at a turkey, or a man, the same way since.