A Marine boarded a train on his way home from deployment.
The train was quite crowded, and the Marine walked the entire length looking for a seat. There seemed to be one next to a well-dressed middle-aged French woman, but when he got there he saw it was taken by the woman's poodle.
The war-weary Marine asked, "Ma'am, may I have that seat?"
The French woman sniffed and said to no one in particular, "Americans are so rude.. My little Fifi is using that seat.."
The Marine walked the entire train again, but the only seat available was under that dog. "Please, Ma'am. May I sit down? I'm very tired." She snorted, "Not only are you Americans rude, you are also arrogant!" This time the Marine didn't say a word; he just picked up the little dog, tossed it out the train window and sat down.
The woman shrieked, "Someone must defend my honor! Put this American in his place!" An English gentleman sitting nearby spoke up.
"Sir, you Americans seem to have a penchant for doing the wrong thing. You hold the fork in the wrong hand. You drive your autos on the wrong side of the road. And now, sir, you seem to have thrown the wrong witch out the window."
Man walks up to the employee and says "Yeah, I would like uhhh...hhmm....the Polish sausage."
The employee kind of chuckles and says "Polish sausage, you must be Polish?"
The man gets immediately angry and yells "HEY, just cause I ordered a polish sausage don't make me Polish! if I ordered drench fries does that make me drench, if I order Swedish meatballs does that make me Swedish, if I ordered a Cuban sandwich does that make me Cuban? give me one good reason you have the right to think I'm Polish cause I ordered a polish sausage, cause I'm not Polish!!"
The employee sighs: "Sir, this is a hardware store."
European Heaven is where:
All the cops are British,
All the wine is French,
All the cars are German,
All the lovers are Italian,
The weather is Greek,
And everything is organized by the Swiss.
European Hell is where:
All the cops are French,
All the wine is German,
All the cars are Greek,
All the lovers are Swiss,
The weather is British,
And everything is organized by the Italians.
An Englishman, a Frenchman and a Russian are standing in a museum looking at a painting of Adam and Eve frolicking in the garden of Eden.
The three stare at it intently.
"Look at their reserve, their calm," muses the British man. "They must be British."
The three of them ponder this possibility for a moment before the Frenchman and the Russian shake their heads in disagreement.
"Nonsense," says the Frenchman. "They're naked and so beautiful, enjoying the best of life. Clearly they are French.".
The Brit and Russian agree on this point, but after a moment the Russian shakes his head again.
"No clothes, no shelter..." He muses. "Also, they have only an apple to eat but they're told this is Paradise. They are clearly Russian!"
Three explorers--a Frenchman, a Brit, and a New Yorker--were trekking through the jungle when they were captured by pygmies.
"I've got good news and bad news," says the chief. "The bad news is that we're going to cook you, skin you, and make canoes out of your skin."
"That's terrible!" exclaims the Brit, "What's the good news?"
"Well..." the chief responds, "We'll let you choose the manner of your death, and even perform it yourself if you'd like."
The Frenchman steps forward first. "I vill take ze rope, s'il vous plaît."
The chief hands him a rope. The Frenchman ties a noose and shouts "Vive la France!" before strangling himself.
The pygmies cook him, skin him, and make a canoe out of his skin.
Next, the Brit steps forward. "I'll have a bloody pistol, chaps."
The chief hands him a pistol. "God save the Queen!" shouts the Brit, and blows his brains out.
The pygmies cook him, skin him, and make a canoe out of his skin.
Finally, the New Yorker steps forward. "Gimme a fork!"
"A FORK?!?" The pygmies are perplexed, but nonetheless, give him a fork.
He starts stabbing himself in the face, neck, chest, and legs. All over his body, he plunges the fork into his skin until he is bleeding from a thousand tiny holes.
The chief is aghast. "Good Lord! What are you doing?!?"
The New Yorker bellows,
SCREW YOU, AND YOUR CANOES!"
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