“Sixty is the worst age to be,” said the 60-year-old man. “You always feel like you have to pee and most of the time you stand there and nothing comes out.”

“Ah, that’s nothin,” said the 70-year-old. “When you’re seventy, you don’t have a bowel movement any more. You take laxatives, eat bran, sit on the toilet all day and nothin’ comes out!”

“Actually,” said the 80-year -old, “Eighty is the worst age of all.”

“Do you have trouble peeing, too?” asked the 60-year old.

“No, I pee every morning at 6:00. I pee like a racehorse on a flat rock: no problem at all.”

“So, do you have a problem with your bowel movement?”

“No, I have one every morning at 6:30.”

Exasperated, the 60-year-old said, “You pee every morning at 6:00 and crap every morning at 6:30. So what’s so bad about being 80?”

“I don’t wake up until 7:00.”

“““““

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Two nuns, Sister Dulce and Sister Andrea, are on their way back from the market one evening. It’s already very late, and they have quite a distance left before reaching their convent. Suddenly, Sister Dulce grabs hold of Sister Andrea’s arm. “Is it just me,” she asks, “or is that man following us?!” Sister Andrea glances over her shoulder, then whispers back. “I think he might be, yes!” “What do you think he wants?!” “Isn’t it obvious?” asks Sister Andrea. “He’s going to rape us! What should we do?!” “I know,” replies Sister Dulce. “We’ll split up. I’ll take the left road to the convent, and you take the one on the right.” The nuns part ways, and a few minutes later, Sister Dulce arrives at the convent. She starts pacing in front of the door, worried that some terrible fate has befallen the other nun.

Then, just as Sister Dulce is about to give up hope, she sees Sister Andrea running up the path. “What happened?!” asks Sister Dulce. “Well,” replies Sister Andrea, “I started running, and the man started chasing me.” “Oh, no! Then what?!” “He caught up to me.” Sister Dulce gasps. “What did you do?!” “The only thing I could do,” Sister Andrea answers. “I lifted up my dress.” “What did the man do?!” “He dropped his pants.” Sister Dulce clutches her rosary, terrified of what she’s about to hear next. “Then… then what happened?” “Isn’t it obvious?” asks Sister Andrea. “A nun with her dress up runs faster than a man with his pants down”

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During one of his campaign trips to be the Republican nominee, Donald Trump visits an elementary school and enters one of the classrooms. They are in the middle of a discussion related to words and their meanings.

The teacher asks Mr. Trump if he would like to lead the discussion of the word “Tragedy.” So he asks the class for an example of a tragedy.

One little boy stands up and offers: “If my best friend who lives on a farm, is playing in the field and a runaway tractor comes along and knocks him dead, that would be a tragedy.”

“No,” says Mr. Trump, “that would be an accident.”

A little girl raises her hand: “If a school bus carrying 50 children drove over a cliff, killing everyone inside, that would be a tragedy.”

“I’m afraid not,” explains the exalted the Republican frontrunner. “That’s what we would call a great loss.”

The room goes silent. No other children volunteer. Mr. Trump searches the room.

“Isn’t there someone here who can give me an example of a tragedy?”

Finally at the back of the room, a boy raises his hand. In a quiet voice he says: “If a private jet carrying you was struck by a missile and blown to smithereens, that would be a tragedy.”

“Fantastic!” exclaims Mr. Trump, “That’s absolutely right. And can you tell me why that would be a tragedy?”

“Well,” says the boy, “because it wouldn’t be a great loss and it probably wouldn’t be an accident either.”

“““““

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At the end of a Tax Year, the Tax Office sent an inspector to audit the books at a synagogue.

While checking the books, he turned to the rabbi and asked, “I notice you buy a lot of candles, what do you do with the candle drippings?”

“Good question,” retorted the rabbi, “we save them up and send them to candle makers, every now and then they send us a free box of candles.”

The inspector was a bit disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer.

But he continued, in his obnoxious way,”What about all these biscuit purchases? What do you do with the crumbs? ”

“Ah! Yes.” replied the rabbi realizing that the inspector was trying to trap him with an unanswerable question. “We collect them and send them back to the manufacturers, every now and then they send us a free box of biscuits.”

The auditor thought hard about how he could fluster the know-it-all rabbi. “Well rabbi, what do you do with all the leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?”

“Here, too, we do not waste”, said the rabbi. “What we do is save up all the foreskins and send them to the Tax Office, and once a year they send us a complete dick like you.”

“““““

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