What is the formula for the volume of a thick crust pizza?

[Monoxdifly]

Once my student raised his index finger and middle finger at once then jokingly asked me "What number is this?". The answer is usually either two (the amount of fingers raised) or eleven (because those fingers form two 1s).

Me: "Five."
Him: "How can it be?"
Me: "Roman numeral."
Him (looking at his fingers): "Uh, yeah. Right."

 

[Wilmer]

Pretty good, Mr.Fly!

"I miss my Ex, but my aim is getting better!"

Edit: nobody gets it?
ex wife
"miss" = with gun!
(saw that on a bumper sticker)

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

Roman numerals remind me (I hope it has not been posted yet).

An ancient Roman walks into a bar, lifts two fingers and says, "Five beers, please!"

An ancient Roman walks into a bar and orders a martinus. The bartender asks: "Do you mean a martini?" "If I wanted a double, I would have said so."

 

[Monoxdifly]

An Arabic person walks into a bar, lifts two fingers and says, "Seven beers, please!"

 

[Wilmer]

An Arabic person walks into a bar...

Outch...a steel bar?

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

TIL there are Arabic numerals we all use and Arabic numerals.

 

[I like Serena]

TIL there are Arabic numerals we all use and Arabic numerals.

An Arabic person walks into a bar, lifts two fingers (in the shape of an OK symbol or a zero), and says: 'Five beer please!' ;)

 

[Monoxdifly]

If we often debate whether a number is a 6 or a 9, do Arabians also debate whether a number is a 7 or an 8 which is actually either a more than symbol or a less than symbol?

 

[Wilmer]

The word "snob" should be a 3letter word:
which letter should be removed?

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

"What is more beautiful: a butterfly or a square?"
"A square, of course."
"Why?"
"It has a larger group of symmetries".

I am a Unix creationist. I believe the world was created on January 1, 1970 and, as prophesized, will end on January 19, 2038.

In biology, multiplication and division are the same.

Greeks are funny: they stole a bunch of letters from mathematics and try to write with them.

A pie is a pie chart showing how much pie is left.

 

[Wilmer]

The word "snob" should be a 3letter word:
which letter should be removed?

Geezzzz...forgot about this one; answer: remove the "n":
in my books, a snob is a sob !

2nd definition:
a snob acts as if balancing an invisible object on his nose :)

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

I slept like a log. Ten hours seemed like 2.3.

Q: Why does 0 = 1?
A: cos 0 = 1.

In mathematics, 0! = 1.
In computer science, 0 != 1.

 

[Wilmer]

OK Evgeny; if you saw this traffic sign: "Fine for parking",
would you park there?

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

I probably wouldn't. But if I saw a spaceman, I would definitely park in it, man!

 

[Olinguito]

A short poem entitled “Oxymoron”.

Poor Rich is pretty ugly.
Rich Rich is pretty pretty.
Randy Randy is going to come.​

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

Guys, let's try to keep this thread clean. I am afraid to ask about the meaning of the last joke.

 

[Monoxdifly]

I can't comprehend it at all, though probably it's not safe to ask.

Spoiler

You know why children hate math?
Probably because they think that numbers will make them numb.

 

[topsquark]

Guys, let's try to keep this thread clean. I am afraid to ask about the meaning of the last joke.

Well, I was trying to look up Leslie Nielson's (clean) version of "Man from Nantucket. (The second line is "Who fished for fish in a bucket" but I have no idea about the rest.)

But I did find this for our fine Helper Evgeny.Makarov:

There was a modder on a forum
Always trying to keep the decorum
The hamster wheel threads
Fair spun his poor head
And sent him off to the sanitorium

(Like we need any censuring. All of us are the epitome of cleanliness! (Giggle) )

-Dan

 

[Wilmer]

Did you ever stop to think and then forget to start again?

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: It had to due to the intermediate value theorem.

Q: What happens if you get frightened half to death two times in a row?
A: You'll be 3/4 dead.

If there are square matrices, there must also be round ones.

Notice: Mathematician helps get rid of linear, exponential and logarithmic dependence.
Free, permanent, anonymous. Tel: +2,7182818284.

 

[Wilmer]

Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: It had to due to the intermediate value theorem.

NO. It was because the light changed to "WALK"!

 

[Wilmer]

We're all here because we're not all there!

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

Honey, \(\displaystyle \forall N>0\;\exists\delta>0\;|i-u|<\delta\implies\heartsuit(i)>N\). Will you marry me?

 

[topsquark]

Honey, \(\displaystyle \forall N>0\;\exists\delta>0\;|i-u|<\delta\implies\heartsuit(i)>N\). Will you marry me?

No, our relationship isn't going anywhere. I have to leave you, my love. Just let me go so I can have some \(\displaystyle \partial S \cup S\).

-Dan

 

[Wilmer]

STOP THAT COUGHIN'
=================
Mr. Cohen duly signed an affidavit stating that this story is true. The
number of that affidavit is 89-127. It is available for your perusal at
city hall, records department, legal documents division, affidavits
section. It is the 127th affidavit in an aluminum drawer labelled "89".

Searches for affidavits in aluminum drawers are simplified thanks to
labelled dividers inserted after every 100th affidavit. Mr. Cohen's
affidavit you will find in the section following the divider labelled
"100 to 199".

An affidavit is a sworn statement in writing. And made under oath before
an authorized magistrate or justice of the peace. It is meant to be
understood by lawyers only. It contains intelligent stuff like "In
Witness Thereof" or "The Aforementioned".

If you sign a "sworn" affidavit, you have to put your right hand on top
of the Bible and act serious, dignified and honest.

Perry Mason always seemed to need half a dozen or so affidavits, along
with the odd "Habeas Corpus". He would often hit a button connecting him
to his secretary, Della Street, and yell at her something like "hey Della,
get that guy to sign a sworn affidavit", or "hey Della, get the judge to
issue an Habeas Corpus".

You knew it was Perry Mason because there was a name-plate on the lawyer's
desk. It said: Perry Mason, Attorney-At-Law.

I will now witness thereof that the aforementioned Mr. Cohen is the owner
of Cohen's drugstore. The town in which this story takes place contains a
steep hill, on Main street. Mr. Cohen's drugstore is also situated on Main
street, and is half-way down the steep hill. It is very easy to tell it is
Mr. Cohen's drugstore because there's a sign above the entrance that says:
Cohen's Drugstore.

James F. Grant's funeral service is being held in a church situated on top
of the steep hill. It is named "The Church of the Seventy-Second Parable".
The distinguished Reverend is complimenting James with the proper words,
while Mrs. Grant dabs appropriately at her eyes, with absorbing tissue
from a packet in her purse. It is a pink economy size packet of Kleenex.

Examples of proper words by distinguished Reverends at funeral services are
"he was a pillar of the community" and "he will surely encounter eternal
happiness in the life beyond". Such proper words by distinguished Reverends
strategically terminate with "and he will always be remembered for his
utmost generosity". At this point, distinguished church regulars wearing
white gloves come out carrying special baskets to collect one's donation.
The size of the smile one gets is proportionally related to the size of
one's donation.

Mr. Cohen is not attending James' funeral. As you will see shortly, this
story requires that Mr. Cohen be in his drugstore. Mr. Cohen is presently
standing behind his counter, ticking off a delivery slip for Buckley's
cough syrup, and massaging his left arm. Mr. Cohen opened for business a
few minutes ago, when he hung up a special sign. The sign says: come in,
we're open.

Mr. Cohen's left arm is very tired. This is because Mrs. Cohen weighs
over 300 pounds and goes to bed an hour before Mr. Cohen, coming to rest
on the right side of the bed. Mrs. Cohen's weight causes the left side of
the mattress to rise 22 inches. Unfortunately for poor Mr. Cohen, this
results in the sleeping surface ending up at a 34 degree slope.

When Mr. Cohen arrives an hour later, he carefully lies down on his
stomach and hooks his left arm around the risen left side of the mattress.
Mr. Cohen does this in order not to roll due to the 34 degree incline,
and end up disturbing Mrs. Cohen. When jolted during her sleep, Mrs. Cohen
reacts with a rapid roll to the left which would spell disaster on poor
Mr. Cohen. Next, to offset high frequencies originating from Mrs. Cohen's
nostrils, Mr. Cohen, using his right hand, slips on his ear phones and,
hanging on tight, prays for sleep.

James' funeral service is now over. His coffin is now being rolled out
using a special coffin carrier on little wheels. At this point, please be
advised that coming up next is the conclusion of this story and that events
will from now on unfold rapidly.

I am now "setting the stage". This will consist of a reminder that events
and situations as they now exist are overly important, as without these I
could not properly terminate this story. These are:
1- the coffin is on a carrier on top of a steep hill
2- the drugstore is half-way down the steep hill
3- Mr. Cohen is standing behind his counter
4- added information: Mr. Cohen left the front door open
5- and coming up: an unexpected very strong gust of wind

The coffin is now rolled out to the middle of Main street. Then it is left
temporarily unattended, as the hearse is pulling up. And at this precise
moment, the unexpected very strong gust of wind occurs. It is much stronger
than the coffin carrier. The carrier tips over. The coffin falls off. The
coffin lands such that it starts rolling down the steep hill.

Many ladies gasp many "ah's". The distinguished Reverend utters "my gosh".
Mrs. Cohen cries out "James! James!". Mrs. Logan comes over to comfort her;
she says "now, now, it's ok Mabel: at least he won't hurt himself".

The coffin is rolling right down the middle of Main street, and gathering
speed. About a quarter of the way down, it begins to veer left. Half-way
down it hits a fire hydrant, right in front of Mr. Cohen's drugstore.

The impact causes the coffin to spring open, James flies out, then the
coffin bounces back to the middle of Main street, next bangs itself shut
on the first half-roll, and keeps rolling down the steep hill. Remember:
the coffin keeps rolling down the steep hill.

James' ejection from the coffin is at the required velocity and direction
to permit the following series of events:
1- James tumbling ahead in the direction of Mr. Cohen's drugstore
2- then tumbling through the open front door
3- and tumbling inside the drugstore in the direction of Mr. Cohen
4- barely missing bottles of Buckley's cough syrup piled up in a pyramid
5- ending up with a final tumble in such a way that James was on his feet
6- and leaning against Mr. Cohen's counter

Mr. Cohen, leaning on his right elbow, looks up from the delivery slip of
Buckley's cough syrup and asks: what can I do for you?

James answers: I need something to stop my coffin...

Wilmer.

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

James F. Grant's funeral service is being held in a church situated on top of the steep hill.

James answers

Hmm.

Examples of proper words by distinguished Reverends at funeral services are "he was a pillar of the community"

This reminds me of The Simpsons episode "The Italian Bob" (season 17, episode 8). Marge says, "It's obvious why (Sideshow) Bob is a vaunted pillar of your community", and Lisa, who had managed to have some wine and is a bit tipsy, says, "Yeah, but he's a wanted killer in our community!"

 

[Wilmer]

Is "Hmm" a question?

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

I heard the variant of this joke where a haunted casket started chasing a woman in the street, who managed to reach her home, ran into the bathroom and through the first thing she could grab—a bottle of cough syrup, which caused the coffin to stop. But at least it was clear from the beginning that that joke was about things that aren't real. Here the joke develops as a real story until the very end.

 

[Wilmer]

I first heard it as a quite short joke...
wrote the story "expanding" it!

 

[Wilmer]

This one is similar:
YELLOW FINGERS
==============
Explanatory pause; you're wrong: this investigative document has nothing
to do with the sensuous golden yellow decorating the two fingers you hold
your smoke with. Heck no. The subject matter mainly consists of kings,
pages, a slick thief...also Ma Bell.

Cautionary pause: this is meant to be read by the strong-willed. If you
feel ready to proceed, I suggest you take a deep breath. You'll sure need
it to get through the first paragraph: some 130 words with no periods...
all one sentence. For your benefit, I broke a couple of grammatical rules
and used little minus signs to make it less wieldy...but then I never said
I had high marks in English Literature. Here we go...

I hate stories that start off with "once upon a time", so: at one point during
an era, many-many-many years ago,
-back then when Vincent Price and Bela Lugosi frenchteethed long white necks
while church bells played the funeral waltz and screaming bats swooped in
and out,
-back then when light sprites took delight creating fright in the night...
sneaking up behind you (if you were walking back home after midnight) and
shouting "BOO-BAH-BOO-BAH-BOOOOOO!",
-back then when thick yellowish smoke curled up from the graveyard grounds
while coffins surfaced, lids creaked open and corpses sprang up while
gravediggers shivered,
-yes, way back then lived a rich ugly mean-mean-mean king (with a face like
a wanted poster and wearing huge diamond rings worth enough to pay off
Canada's national debt) in some huge castle on top of some hill some quarter
mile off some foggy sea shore. Phew...

Hats off to you if you're still with me: you're sure tenacious. Time to take
a breather: do a Super Bowl half-time. I'll wait for you.

Welcome back. Well, just how mean was this king? Very, very mean. Meaner than
Jake the Snake and The Undertaker combined. Today's top meanologists, after
studying parchments at The Mean Hall of Fame in Transylvania, all agree that
if this king lived today, he would be a shoe-in as a Blue Line taxi driver.

This king employed a few pages: you know, them servants dressed in black tights,
leafy boots and candy-striped half-jackets with high fuzzy collars up to the ears.
He had them poor pages living in cheap huts, all along the edge of that foggy
sea shore.

In order to hide them cheap huts from the castle, this mean king arranged for
tall pine trees to be planted in a straight line, some hundred yards from them
cheap huts. Them pine trees made for a beautiful sight when viewed at sunset:
the fog off the sea would envelop them trees, then turn kinda yellowish due to
the sunset. This made them pine trees look like "yellow fingers" waving in the
sea breeze: like, WOW!

This king was a real meany. His rules were that the poor pages had to stay behind
them pine trees all day until midnight, at which time they had to cross over to
the castle, perform their duties, and return to their huts by 4 am, scared out
of their wits, midnight to 4 am being the busiest ghostly goings-on...easily as
scary as taking the Queensway off the Pinecrest ramp around 5 pm.

This story would end here (and you'd all wonder why I wrote it) were it not for
a slick thief (you know, one of them with shifty eyes, sneaking around furtively
on tip-toes, a bit like a car salesman) who all along had been casing the castle.
One evening, he made his move: armed with a double-barrel-sling-shot (his own
invention using his wife's bra), he surprised the king around 9 pm with a loud
"gimme all your gold".

The king (who probably was a western movie nut) answered "you'll never get away
with this", then began yelling to his pages for help. To no avail, as he had
forbidden them to cross before midnight...as our slick thief well knew. Well,
our slick thief got the gold, after sling-shooting the king with two size 42D
sling-shot stones. The king was killed instantly.

The next king was a nice, kind king. He had the pages' huts all fixed up: windows
with shutters, aluminum siding, individual mail boxes. Plus he got them all
Designer tights from Eatonius' department store. Also removed all restrictions,
allowing them to run around all over the grounds. He told them "you guys be
ready when called upon, hear", and for this purpose equipped them all with
Westpagius beepers and increased their salaries with special "on call" pay.

Well, in order to get to the punch line of this story, I have to bring in our
slick thief once more.

He had way too much dandelion wine last night, plus lost all his gold in a heavy
poker game of kings-and-little-ones. He woke up to his wife's mouth: she'd gone
through his pockets and was yelling at him for losing all their money. His head
felt as if Mike Tyson was using it as a punching bag, and his stomach as if an
olympic diving team was inside it doing two and a half forward somersaults with
a full twist.

His wife kept nagging him, with wifely specials like "you promised to take me
shopping today" and "I should have listened to my mother and never married you",
all the while banging pots and pans on the iron stove (OUTCH!). Well, what else
could our suffering slick thief do. Assuming all kings were alike, he did no
further casing of the castle and that night pulls the same stunt on our new king,
who was sitting outside in his swing-chair enjoying the "yellow fingers" scenery.

Well, our new king simply pressed the Westpagius alarm button: pages swarmed in
from behind pine trees. Our slick thief was quickly disarmed, our new king saved.
I hate stories that end up with "and lived happily forever after", so our new
king lived a contended life until he died of old age.

Stories-of-old usually end up with a lesson or a moral; and this one is no
different:
LET YOUR PAGES DO THE WALKING THROUGH THE YELLOW FINGERS !

 

[topsquark]

vBulleting has a feature where you can "like" someone's post. Is there an option to "dislike" a post?

C'mon Wilmer. If you are going to write a book at least give us a better punchline!

-Dan

 

[Wilmer]

Dan, you saying you're not familiar with this popular commercial by Bell Telephone:

LET YOUR FINGERS DO THE WALKING THROUGH THE YELLOW PAGES ?

The Yellow Pages ?Walking Fingers”: The Most Famous Symbol Never Trademarked | Yellow Pages United Blog

 

[Evgeny.Makarov]

View attachment 8754

 

[topsquark]

Dan, you saying you're not familiar with this popular commercial by Bell Telephone:

LET YOUR FINGERS DO THE WALKING THROUGH THE YELLOW PAGES ?

The Yellow Pages ?Walking Fingers”: The Most Famous Symbol Never Trademarked | Yellow Pages United Blog

Of course I remember it. I didn't say you didn't have a punch line, I just wanted a better one for my efforts.

However if you are looking for obscure, let's see if you can get this one:

What would it mean if Darth Vader got a spaceship of his own? DV gets around! (Bigsmile)

-Dan

 

[Wilmer]

Gerald Fitzpatrick and Patrick Fitzgerald

Ben Doon and Phil McCracken

...and what do those represent?