Drunks — worst jokes

I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my wife to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the sink, or else... I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task. I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank. I then withdrew the cork from the second bottle and did likewise with it, with the exception of one glass, which I drank. I then withdrew the cork from the third bottle and poured the whiskey down the sink which I drank. I pulled the cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank. I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink out of it, and threw the rest down the glass. I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle. Then I corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink and drank the pour.

When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the other, which were twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I counted them again, and finally I had all the houses in one bottle, which I drank. I'm not under the affluence of incohol as some thinkle peep I am. I'm not half as thunk as you might drink. I fool so feelish I don't know who is me, and the drunker I stand here, the longer I get.

Two condoms walk past a gay bar. One of them says to the other, "Hey, do you fancy dropping in there and getting shit-faced?"

A man walks out of a bar, stumbling back and forth with a key in his hand. A cop on the beat sees him, and approaches, "Can I help you, sir?" "Yesssh! Sssshomebody ssshtole my car!" the man replies. The cop asks, "Where was your car the last time you saw it?" "It wasssh at the end of thisssh key!" the man replies, logically, if a bit too literally. About this time the cop looks down to see that the man's member is being exhibited for all the world to see. He asks the man, "Sir, are you aware that you are exposing yourself?" The man looks down woefully and without missing a beat, moans "OHHH GOD . . . they got my girlfriend too!!!"

I was out with one of my best drinking buddies, George, and he was talking about marriage, and then his wife. He drank some, then said, "Well, what it comes down to Jimmy, is... well... my wife knows nothing of my wants and needs... she's hardly ever in the mood for sex... I guess what it comes down to is that my wife just doesn't understand me at all, does yours?"

I thought about it a minute or two, then said. "I don't think so George, as a matter of fact, I don't recall her ever even mentioning your name at all."

You know the honeymoon is pretty much over when you start to go out with the boys on Wednesday nites, and so does she.

After the lavish wedding reception, the newlyweds retired to their Honeymoon Suite. The groom turned down the lights and found some nice CDs to stack on the player. Then he excused himself and returned in pajamas and robe. He opened a bottle of champagne and poured them each a drink, unaware that his new bride had already had more than enuff to drink. Finally, he took the girl of his dreams, whom he had wed after a whirl-wind courtship, by the hand and tenderly began to lead her towards the bedroom.

"Damn !" she muttered, "every stinking time I go out with a guy it always ends up the same way."

Jim had been out on the town with a dazzling blonde, and he was returning home as the rosy tints of dawn began to color the skies. Marshaling all his inner resources, he managed an air of sobriety and dignity before the suspicious eye and wagging tongue of his wife. Suddenly, as he was undressing, she punctuated her harangue with a sharp, gasping intake of air. "Jimmy," she asked through titely clenched teeth, "Just where are your underwear ?"

Bleakly, Jimmy perceived through the fog in his mind, that his boxer shorts were indeed missing. Just then, inspiration stuck. "My God !" he cried with aggrieved dismay. "I've been robbed !"

Why don't Jewish mothers drink?
→ Alcohol interferes with their suffering.

Three Irishmen, Paddy, Sean and Shamus, were stumbling home from the pub late one night and found themselves on the road which led past the old graveyard.

"Come have a look over here," says Paddy, "it's Michael O'Grady's grave, God bless his soul. He lived to the ripe old age of 87."

"That's nothing", says Sean, "here's one named Patrick O'Tool, it says here that he was 95 when he died."

Just then, Shamus yells out, "Good God, here's a fella that got to be 145 years old!"

"What was his name?" asks Paddy.

Shamus stumbles around a bit, awkwardly lights a match to see what else is written on the stone marker, and exclaims, "Miles, from Dublin."

Two Scotsmen met 25 years after their last get-together. They hugged and slapped each others back and tears formed in their eyes as they renewed their old friendship.

"Let's have a drink like we did in the old days," the first Scot winked at his mate.

"Aye," his mate replied. "And don't forget it's your shout."