Joke

[Pseudonym]

Deep, deep underground there exists a gnomish city of marvels. Air elemental powered air-balloons, a sophisticated magic-mouth telecommunications system, etc, etc.

Zupzupzandzawae, recently retired adventurer, had just been given a brand new job of steering the gargantuan stag beetle with chairs strapped to it's back - the pride and joy of the city's new public transport system.

His first job was to head to the granary district and pick up the passengers along the Street of Sesame Seeds.

And so it was, the first person he saw approaching his beetle was an extremely large gnomish woman.

Before she climbed aboard the beetle, Zup asks for her name. She replied,
"My name is Patty."
"Well, Patty, climb on board. You're my first passenger and we'll be leaving shortly."

The next passenger was a gnomish man, just as round as the woman, and wearing a large green suit. When asked his name by Zup (being friendly), he replied with a noticeable accent,
"To be sure, to be sure, my name is Patrick. My friends all call me 'Patty'."

"Patty, meet Patty. You two can get to know each other while I await several more passengers that I see coming."

The next passenger was a little gnomish boy, perhaps a trifle simple (intelligence 6).
"Hi, little boy. What's your name?"
"My name is Ross, and my parents tell me I'm special."
"Ross, I'm really glad to have a nice boy like you ride on my beetle today. Climb on, and we'll leave in just a minute."

The last person to approach the bus was a really strange looking gnome.
"Hello, sir. What's your name?"
In a surly manner the last gnome passenger answered,
"My name is Lester Creep!"
For lack of anything better to say, Zup told him,
"Lester, we're about to leave so please have a seat."

As he was began to steer the beetle away from the curb, Zup looked in his rear view mirror. Much to his horror, he saw Lester sitting there with his shoe off, picking at a bunion or something on his big toe. 'Oh, gross!' he thought. 'This is nothing like I thought it would be! There is no great honor! No glory! Just a bunch of weirdos'

He mulled it all over for a while, and then suddenly Zup began to smile. He thought to himself,
"Who would ever believe that, the first day on my new job I have two obese Patties, special Ross, and Lester Creep pickin' bunions on a Sesame Street Bug?!?!'

[darkstorme]

Contrived and anachronistic. Shameful.

... and I was going to tell that one!

[Nyralotep]

Heh, funny one!

[Mooneyes]

*laughs* Zup get's a Beetle? I want a ride up hill both ways

[Pseudonym]

During a visit to the temple of Lucinda to discuss their application for rank, Galen Tweed and Corba asked the High Priest what the criterion was which decided an applicant's admission ranking.
"Well," said the High Priest, "We fill up a bathtub, then we offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the applicant and ask him or her to empty the bathtub."
"Oh, I understand," said Galan.
"A person you'd value highly would use the bucket because it's bigger than the spoon or the teacup."
"No," said the Priest, "A person we'd value highly would pull the plug. Don't contact us, we'll contact you."

[Pseudonym]

Rowana was organising a fund raising event for the Leringard Orphanage. Auctions had been done, trips to Dregar organised with all proceeds going to help the kiddies, etc, what idea could she come up with next?
How about a fun run? A marathon for charity.
She approached Arkolio and enquiried whether he was interested in participating.
"Surely you've got to be kidding Row?" was his reply.
"Come on Ark, it's for the little kids, some of them maimed from the war, some of them sickly from the dark ages, some of them weak from malnutrition."
Ark thinks to himself,
"Okay, okay. Why not? I could win this."

[Pseudonym]

Crafting

My first attempt at crafting was as a brewer in the Wild Surge Inn, but I got canned ... then I thought i'll switch to the softer beverages but same result, just couldn't concentrate.

After that I tried to be a tailor, but I just wasn't suited for it ... mainly because it was a so-so job. Then I tried to be a foodie - figured it would add a little spice to my life, but I just didn't have the thyme.

I then attempted to be a worker churning out food for the Leringard Inn, but any way I sliced it, I couldn't cut the mustard.

Then I took to the forests of Layo as a wood crafter, but I just couldn't hack it, so they gave me the axe.

Next was an attempt at the footwear side of tailoring; I tried but I just didn't fit in.

So ... then I thought my character is pretty strong (though possessing an average constitution) maybe he can collect the ore for others, but they said I wasn't fit for the job.

After many years of trying to find the right craft for me I finally thought scribing! In particular scrolls of lost lore until I realised there was no future in it.

I thought about maybe just making healing kits, but I didn't have any patience.

My next-to-last idea was being an instrument maker, but eventually I found that skill just wasn't noteworthy.

Finally I tried fishing only to discover that I couldn't live on my net income.

[darkstorme]

Owowowowowowow!

Is there any way to give anti-thanks?

I've already had enough puns for tonight, mercy!

[Pseudonym]

Clarissa, Rose and Kalin get captured by some vicious little pygmies in the jungles of Alibor. The head pygmy comes to them and says,

"The bad news is that now that we've caught you, we're going to kill you. We will put you in a pot and cook you, then we'll eat you, and then we'll use your skins to build a canoe. The good news is that you get to choose how you die."

Clarissa says,
"Very well, I choose to die by the weapon of Almighty Toran, hand me a longsword!"

The pygmy gives her a longsword, Clarissa cries "For the All Watching!" and runs herself through.

Rose says,
"A mace for me, please. As a cleric, we prefer a non-edged weapon."

The pygmy hands her a mace which Rose takes, says, "Toran take your servant!", and thwacks herself across the head.

Kalin's turn and he says,

"Gimme a fork."

The pygmy is puzzled, but shrugs and gives him a fork. Kalin takes the fork and starts jabbing himself all over - the stomach, sides, chest, everywhere. There is blood gushing all over the place, itis horrible.

The pygmy is appalled and asks, "What in the hells?!?!? What are you doing?"

Kalin sneers and says, "Ha! So much for your canoe!!"

[darkstorme]

A human, and elf, and a half-orc were walking by Vehl, when they heard a cheer from the docks. Strolling down there, they were astonished to see a huge pavilion had been erected. After some inquiries, they were informed that, as a part of a celebration of the return of the sun, the tradition of Mistone/Alindor sporting tournaments had been resurrected, and men and women from both continents were inside competing in great feats of athleticism.

Not wanting to miss the spectacle, the three asked to be let in, only to be informed that the tickets had sold out a week before, and there was simply no more room. Disappointed, the three turned to leave, when the elf espied a stack of unfinished quarterstaves, discarded outside of the craft hall. Inspired, he snatched one up, and returned to the gate.

"Look, I told you, there aren't any more tickets!" the gatekeeper said.

"No, no, you misunderstand," said the elf, "I'm one of the athletes. Pole vaulting, representing Port Hempstead!"

The gatekeeper apologized and let the elf in. Watching this, the other two started looking for their own excuses. The human found his over by the blacksmith. A nearly-round hunk of metal had been left behind - clearly intended, at one point, to be a mace, before the smith had given up. Hefting his prize, he trotted back to the pavilion. "Representin' Lyn, shot-put!" he cried, before the gatekeeper could even open his mouth. Wordlessly, the man let him in.

Desperate now to follow his friends, the half-orc scoured the city for an excuse, but it seemed bare of discarded trifles. Finally, outside the gates, he found a farmer repairing the pickets about his field, and his prop at last.

The gatekeeper looked up at the sound of footfalls, and saw the half-orc trotting happily towards him, rolling a bundle of barbed wire. "What on earth..?" the man began.

"Um.. representin' Fort Vehl," the half-orc said proudly, "fencin'!"

[Stephen_Zuckerman]

Grok come Vehl. Grok fence.

[Pseudonym]

Shiff loses one of his arms in a terrible battle with a trolloc. He became very depressed because ... well, everything he loved to do involved using two arms. How could he be anywhere near as effective a warrior with only one arm?

One day he could not stand it anymore. He decided to end it all. He climbed the highest spire of the Temple of Deliar in Hempstead with the intention of jumping off. There he was, standing on the ledge looking down when he sees this man in the square below skipping along whistling and kicking up his heels. Shiff looks a bit closer and notices this man doesn't have any arms at all.

He started thinking, 'what am I doing up here feeling sorry for myself?' I still have one good arm to do things with. There goes a man with no arms skipping across the square happy as can be and going on with his life.

Shiff hurries down and catches up to the man with no arms. He tells him how glad he is to see him because he had lost one of his arms and felt ugly, useless and was going to kill himself. He thanks him again for saving his life and he now knows he can make it with one arm if that guy could do it with no arms. The man with no arms begins dancing and whistling and kicking up his heels again.

Shiff asks,
"Why are you so happy anyway?"
The no-arm man answers,
"Happy!? I'm NOT happy! My bottom is itchy!!"

[Pseudonym]

The four Drago brothers, Bill, Hank, Chuck and Michaelis left home to find their fame and fortune ... and they became successful wizards and bards and paladins and the like and all prospered. Some years later, they chatted after having dinner together. They discussed the gifts that they were able to give to their elderly mother who lived far away in Belinara.

Bill said, "I had a big house built for Mama."
Hank said, "I had a hundred thousand true stage built in the house. She loves music."
Chuck said, "I had my friend in Orc's Watch deliver the finest steed money could buy."
Michaelis said, "Listen to this. You know how Mama loved reading the Word of Toran and you know she can't read it anymore because she can't see very well. I met this priest in the new Cathedral who told me about a parrot that can recite the entire dogma. It took twenty clerics 12 years to teach him. I had to pledge to contribute 100,000 true a year for twenty years to the church, but it was worth it. Mama just has to name the chapter and verse and the parrot will recite it."
The other brothers were impressed. Bloody Michaelis, no wonder he was a WL.

After the holidays Mama Drago sent out her Thank You notes. She wrote:

"Bill, the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room, but I have to clean the whole house. Thanks anyway."

"Hank, you give me an expensive stage with fine musicians, it is fir for royalty, but all my friends are dead, I've lost my hearing and I'm nearly blind. I'll never use it. Thank you for the gesture just the same."

"Chuck, I am too old to travel. I stay at home; I have my food delivered, so I never use the horse. The thought was good. Thanks."

"Dearest Michaelis, you were the only son to have the good sense to give a little thought to your gift. The chicken was delicious. Thank you."

[Pseudonym]

A filthy rich Katherian nobleman decided that he wanted to throw a party and invited all of his buddies and neighbours. He also invited Varka, the token dwarven redneck from nearby Bloody Gate. He held the party around the pool to the rear of his mansion.

Varka was having a good time drinking ale, dancing, eating lobster, caviar, etc and flirting with all the women. At the height of the party, the host says,
"I have a CR20 Great White Shark in my pool and I'll give a million true to anyone who has the nerve to jump in."

The words were barely out of his mouth when there was a loud splash and everyone turned around and saw Varka in the pool! Varka was fighting the shark and ... lo and behold, he was winning! Varka was jabbing the shark in the eyes with his thumbs, throwing punches, head butts and choke holds, biting the shark on the tail and flipping it through the air like some kind of Jennara-esque martial arts guru. The water was churning and splashing every where. Both Varka and the shark were screaming and raising hell.

Finally Varka strangled the shark and let it float to the top like a one-true store goldfish. Varka then slowly climbed out of the pool. Everybody was just staring at him in disbelief.

Finally the host says, "Well, Varka, I reckon I owe you a million true."
"No, that's okay. I don't want it," said Varka.
The nobleman said, "I have to give you something. You won the bet. How about half a million true then?"
"No thanks. I don't want it," answered Varka.

The host said, "Come on, I insist on giving you something. That was amazing. How about a new mithril axe and a ring of regeneration?"
Again Varka said no.
Confused, the rich nobleman asked, "Well, Varka, then what do you want?"
Varka said, "I just want the name of the person that pushed me in!"

[darkstorme]

Galan Iraes was a paragon of Paladin discipline, but he had a peculiarity. Every Freas, he would wander down to the Leringard Arms, and order three pints of Iron Hammer Bock, drawn at once. He would then sit down in a corner booth, and sip at all three while skimming a scroll of notices or scribing something of his own.

One Freas in Augra, Hardragh, moved by curiosity, asked the inevitable question when handing over the three pint glasses. "Y'know, the beer goes flat if you let it sit. Why not let me draw them for you one at a time?"

Galan gathered in the beers and looked across he bar at the man. "When I was a lad, two of my older brothers would take me out to the bar, and we'd each have a draft. One's on Dregar, now, operating out of North Point, and another's doing Toran's work in Arnax, so this one's for me", indicating the beer, "and these two are for them." Everyone at the bar agreed it was a fine tradition, and Galan retired with his beers to his usual table.

This continued, until nearly a year later, the following Mai, when Galan again came into the Arms. "Two Iron Hammer Bocks, if you would, Hardragh." A hush fell over the bar, and a few people turned their heads to look sorrowfully at the blue-and-gold clad figure.

Galan took his drinks to his table, but by and by Hardragh wandered by. "Look," he said uncomfortably, "I just thought I'd offer my condolences."

Galan looked puzzled for a second, then looked down at the beers, and understanding dawned. "Oh, no need to worry," he said. "Mirrim's made me give up drinking - Aeridin frowns on ingesting poisons, it seems."

Hardragh was puzzled. "But, the beers..."

"Oh!" Galan said, "My brothers are under no such restriction."

[Pseudonym]

Aeridin frowns on ingesting poisons?? You sure??