Vern's Funeral

Vern works hard at the Phone Company, putting in a lot of overtime, but he also spends two nights each week bowling and plays golf every Saturday. 

Still, his wife thinks he's pushing himself too hard, and she's eager to spice up their sex life. So for his birthday she totally surprises him by driving him to a local strip club.

Vern doesn't realize what's happening, and once his wife parks in the parking lot, it's too late for him to back down. While entering the front door with his wife, he tries to turn his face aside, but the doorman at the club recognizes him and says, "Hey, Vern! How ya doin', man?"

His wife is puzzled and asks if he's been to this club before. 

"Oh no," says Vern quickly. "He's in my bowling league."

When they're seated, a waitress asks Vern if he'd like his usual and brings over a Budweiser.

His wife is becoming increasingly uncomfortable and says, "How did she know that you drink Budweiser?"

"I recognize her—she's the waitress from the golf club. I always have a Bud at the end of the first nine, honey."

A stripper then comes over to their table, throws her arms around Vern, starts to rub herself all over him, and says, "Hi, Vern. Want your usual lap dance, big boy?"

Vern's wife, now furious grabs her purse and storms out of the club. Vern follows and spots her getting into a cab—she refuses to drive home with him. Before she can slam the door, he jumps in beside her. He tries desperately to explain how the stripper must have mistaken him for someone else. But his wife is having none of it. She is screaming at him at the top of her lungs, calling him every four-letter word in the book.

The cabby turns around and says "Geez, Vern, you picked up a real bitch this time."

Vern's funeral is next week.

Old Fart Football

An old married couple no sooner hit the pillows when the old man

passes gas and says, "Seven  Points."

His wife rolls over and says, "What in the world was that?"

The old man replies, "It's fart football."

A few minutes later his wife lets one go and says, "Touchdown. Score tied."

After about five minutes, the old man lets another one go and says, "I'm ahead fourteen to seven."

Not to be outdone the wife rips out another one and says, "Touchdown. Score tied." Five seconds go by. She lets out a little squeaker and says, "Field goal. I lead seventeen to fourteen."

 Now the pressure is on the old man.

Refusing to get beaten by a woman, especially his wife, he strains hard.

Defeat is totally unacceptable.

He gives it everything he's got—and accidentally messes in the bed. His wife says, "What the hell was that?"

The old man says, "Half time, my dear. Switch sides."