Three comedians are shooting the breeze in the dressing room of a nightclub after a late gig. They've heard one another’s material so much that they've reached the point where they don’t need to say the jokes anymore to amuse each other, they just need to refer to each joke by a number.
“Number 37!” cracks the first comic, and the others break up.
“Number 53!” says the second person, and they howl.
Finally, it’s the third comic’s turn. “44!” he quips. He gets nothing. Crickets.
“What?” he asks, “Isn't 44 funny?”
“Sure, it’s usually hilarious,” they answer. “But the way you tell it…”
You know, when you're getting old, there are certain signs.
I walked past a cemetery, and two guys ran after me with shovels!
A harp is just a piano... with no clothes on.
Q: What did the spoiled rich girl say when she knocked over the priceless Ming vase?
A: "It's OK Daddy, I'm not hurt."