Looking for Naughty Poems (jokes, riddles...)!

Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 1:08 pm

Heh, lame can be good.

Q. How do you tell the difference between a male Altmer and a female Altmer?

A. Look up their skirts while they're levitating.


Q. How do you tell the difference between a male Argonian and a female Argonian?

A. You can't.


Q. How many Orcs does it take to light a fire?

A. First you have to introduce them to fire.


Your jokes are actually getting better! You must have just needed some warm up jokes to really get going! I say keep going, you are on a roll !!!
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Joe Alvarado
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 11:17 pm

Thanks! It's actually kind of difficult to write a really good joke. Comedy is really hit or miss. I just needed some practice.

I've fixed that crappy Argonian limerick on the first page too:

There once was an Argonian named Skeexing
Who thought he was really quite pleasing.
He pressed the ladies in vain,
For they shouted in pain
'Cause his member was bloody damned freezing.

*****

And I wanted to add one more to this one:

Q. How many wood elves does it take to light a fire?

A. That depends on how long you want them to burn for.

Q. Why do you use Bosmer?

A. Dunmer aren't flammable.

Q. What about Altmer?

A. They burn up too quick.

Q. So why not use Dwemer?

A. We already ran out.
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Dewayne Quattlebaum
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 10:51 pm

Q. How many wood elves does it take to light a fire?

A. That depends on how long you want them to burn for.

Q. Why do you use Bosmer?

A. Dunmer aren't flammable.

Q. So why not use Dwemer?

A. We already ran out.

Q. What about Altmer?

A. They burn up too quick.


In that case, Altmer before Dwemer.

To be honest, I've never really heard it referred to as a "member", heh.
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tegan fiamengo
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 5:35 pm

Q. What did the bosmer say after telling a bad joke to a bunch of very muscular orcs born under the warrior birthsign?

A. Tough Crowd



Q. What did the last living dwarf say to an altmer

A. You know, my people got killed at red mountain by an army of dunmer, your people are going to die from an apprentice mage casting the weak fireball spell


Q. Why are we still reading these jokes

A. Its like bread and you're really hungry, they may be stale, but you're starving for comedy.
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Cayal
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 9:31 pm

In that case, Altmer before Dwemer.

To be honest, I've never really heard it referred to as a "member", heh.


Changed it above. :)

"Member" is kind of a middle english euphemism. In middle english "member" meant any part of the body (think of the word dismemberment), mostly limbs; legs, arms...you-know-what. I figured it would be a common euphemism in the Elder Scrolls world, or any sword and sorcery based RPG for that matter. Then again, I've probably just been watching too much of The Tudors. :P
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Cody Banks
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 11:43 pm

In that case, Altmer before Dwemer.

To be honest, I've never really heard it referred to as a "member", heh.


It's always called a "member" in books. That gets it by the censors.
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Aman Bhattal
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 9:35 pm

There once was a site of super geeks.

They told nerdy jokes to eachother.

Is a punch line needed?
______

Crap aside some of these are really funny.
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Nicole M
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 8:52 pm

Here's another limerick to replace the other Nord one that svcked:

There once was a Nord named Mad Hadle
Who was quite a king in the saddle.
Met a lass not so fair,
With a face like a mare;
Said, "I wouldnae ride her into battle."

And here's another:

There once was a young Dunmer bride,
Who's legs often opened too wide.
She yelled to her man,
"Push as hard as you can!"
And she pulled his whole body inside.
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Steph
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 6:57 pm

I svck at this sort of thing, but here goes:

I knew of a lusty Khajiit,
Known for his very large feet.
When he went aside,
And found him a ride,
Indeed she could not find his meat.

I once knew a Breton named Jacques.
'Twas said he was solid as rock.
The women had sighed,
When they saw his pride,
For in went his key to their lock.
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Shae Munro
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 9:33 pm

Needs more Breton...
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Cash n Class
 
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Post » Sun Nov 28, 2010 2:04 am

Q. How many Imperials does it take to light a fire?

A. At least three: one to requisition the correct paperwork; one to sign as a witness on the forms; and one to stand guard and make sure no-one's lighting any illegal fires in the meantime.

:lol: I loved that one!

Sadly, Imperial is my race and I'm saddened to be laughing at myself. :P
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Ann Church
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 9:34 pm

I svck at this sort of thing, but here goes:

I knew of a lusty Khajiit,
Known for his very large feet.
When he went aside,
And found him a ride,
Indeed she could not find his meat.

I once knew a Breton named Jacques.
'Twas said he was solid as rock.
The women had sighed,
When they saw his pride,
For in went his key to their lock.


I find with limericks, the more ridiculous and crude they are the better, though I still tend to use euphemisms over outright swearing. I think they're more tongue-in-cheek that way. ;)

Try it this way:

I knew of a lusty Khajiit,
Who was cursed with very large feet.
They got stuck in the middle
When he tried to diddle,
So he used them instead of his meat.

Needs more Breton...


There was once a wealthy Atlmer who kept a score of prized hounds. He was very careful about their breeding, and so kept them locked in the stables. One night a thief got into his stables and happened to let one of the Altmer's prized hounds out. A week later the hound returned pregnant. The wealthy Altmer was nonplussed, but could never be sure, so he decided to let nature take its course. Nearly two months later, someone broke into his stables again. This time, it was a poor Breton couple, who could not find an open inn in time for his wife to give birth. The Breton wife delivered her child in the stables, when they heard footsteps approaching, so they carefully hid themselves in the hay.

The wealthy Altmer heard crying in his stable, and so found the child squalling in the hay:

"Another damned mutt!" the Altmer sighed, and turned to his stable-hand, "take this abomination and throw it into the river."

Heh, that one was mean. :whistle:
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STEVI INQUE
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 10:08 pm

I knew of a lusty Khajiit,
Who was cursed with very large feet.
They got stuck in the middle
When he tried to diddle,
So he used them instead of his meat.


Haha, at least I inspired a good one. :D

There once was a Bosmer named Brambles,
Who loved to make wagers and gambles;
One night took a dare,
To lie down with a bear,
And now his poor rod lay in shambles.
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Chris Cross Cabaret Man
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 4:48 pm

Hehe, now you've got it! That one was great! :hehe:

I guess "beast tongue" didn't work out for him so well that time. :rofl:
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KIng James
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 7:37 pm

So theres this Cliff Racer in a bar....

Damn, Im so uncreative.
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Justin Hankins
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 7:42 pm

I'm kind of pushing it now...

There once was an ill-tempered Orc,
Who loved to have fun with her fork.
Set upon by a perv,
In her struck a nerve,
And now mangled is all of her pork.
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Christine
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 2:24 pm

Two nords walk into a bar... which is kinda dumb 'cause you'd think the second one would have learned after the first one.
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Bryanna Vacchiano
 
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Post » Sun Nov 28, 2010 2:07 am

Q: why dont orcs bathe?

A: because they like their green tint :thumbsdown:

a khajiit walks up to another khajiit. the first khajiit says "hail! i come from elswhere!"
the second khajiit says "cool, i come from elsweyr too!"
the first khajiit replies with "wheres that?" :thumbsdown:

once i was chasing an argonian criminal. i caught it by it's tail, but then it detatched. :thumbsdown:

LAW 15 OF THE CYRODIILIC EMPIRE: Thou Shall Not Steal Owned Items
LAW 16 OF THE CYRODIILIC EMPIRE: Thou Shall Not Pick Up Over-Turned Items To Stand Them Back Up
so i cant steal crumpled pieces of paper and i cant help an old lady that dropped her cane pick it up? im moving to skyrim, the only law there is that not paying for your ale, and thats punishable by death :thumbsdown:

these were so bad the most they could be used for was a bump :facepalm:
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Eddie Howe
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 6:57 pm

once i was chasing an argonian criminal. i caught it by it's tail, but then it detatched. :thumbsdown:


This one made me laugh though. Eeeeeeew!
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Nikki Morse
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 3:15 pm

A Dubious Tale


The annals of the followers of Mephala are reputed to contain the records of many an unusual accounting. The offices of the Dark Brotherhood are uncovered but seldom, and then only after strong official pressure forces some action against them. This fragment was uncovered after one of the more notorious chapters was razed near the beginning of the 3E.

While part of a social hunting expedition, a noble found himself paired with a very quiet Dark Elf. The Dark Elf turned out to be extremely proficient with the longbow, making one impossible shot after another. The noble asked how the elf was able to make all of those successful shots, to which the elf replied, "Good eyesight and lots of practice."

The noble doubted this and suspected that the Dark Elf was making use of some magical assistance (which would be very unsportsmanlike). The noble demanded to examine the elf's bow. The elf reluctantly allowed the noble to examine the bow, which turned out to be a very ordinary longbow. The noble next demanded to examine the arrows, which also turned out to be quite ordinary.

Believing that something was amiss, the noble questioned the elf on the source of his expertise until, in an effort to get the noble to leave him alone, the Dark Elf confessed to being a professional assassin.

The noble was astounded by this pronouncement and asked how much the elf made in his profession.

"500 golds per shot," replied the elf.

"Surely you mean 500 golds per target," insisted the noble. "It comes out the same," replied the elf, "I never miss."

"Just how good is your eyesight?" asked the noble.

"See that manor house on the hill over there," asked the elf.

"Yes, that's my house," said the noble.

"Well, there's a carriage in front of the house," said the elf.

"Yes, I can just make it out, but cannot see any details. Whose carriage is it?" asked the noble

"The carriage has Lord Roxbury's crest on the door," said the elf, "so I assume it's his."

"Lord Roxbury is my best friend. What else can you see?"

"Well," said the elf, "I can see a man and a woman in a room on the second floor."

"What does the man look like?" asked the noble.

The elf described the man.

"That's Lord Roxbury," said the noble. "What does the woman look like?"

"That's my wife," said the noble. "What is she wearing?"

"Nothing," said the elf.

"What is she doing," asked the noble.

"Kissing Lord Roxbury and taking his clothes off," replied the elf.

"Betrayed by my wife and best friend!" exclaimed the noble. "Sir, if your services are available, I will pay you 1000 gold to kill that treacherous couple."

"My services are, indeed, available," said the elf, as he strung his bow and nocked an arrow.

"I want you to emasculate Lord Roxbury and put an arrow through my wife's head!" shouted the noble.

The elf took careful aim and then froze.

"What's the matter?" shouted the noble. "Can't you make the shots?"

"Oh, I can make the shots," said the elf.

"Then why do you wait?" asked the noble.

"You have been a gracious host. If we wait, I can save you 500 gold pieces."
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ruCkii
 
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Post » Sun Nov 28, 2010 5:04 am

The Tale of the Broken Beer Keg


by Tarald, Lord of Smeg

Once upon a time in Ykalon there lived a poor farmer named Giles. He was happy, even though he was poor, some might say he was happy because he was poor. Nonetheless, the reason he was poor, was because drinking beer is not a well paid job, even though it easily conforms to a high-effort, time-consuming occupation.

Giles liked beer very much. So much in fact, that he spent all his time and money in the local pub, The Emperors Arms. He had very soon worked himself up a considerable tab with the Inn-keep, but Edwyster Barrington was an overbearing man, and took it upon him to ensure that Giles remain happy, even though he would also remain poor.

One day, when Giles was drinking beer down at The Emperors Arms, many guards entered the Inn, apparently looking for suspicious persons of unknown number, after another of the recent unprovoked massacres of innocents and guards in the area. This had become routine lately, but one of the guards found it oddly coincidental that Giles was in this same pub every time the massacres occurred.

Giles was, off course, too drunk to explain that he was always in this pub, and Edwyster did not really want to bring it to the attention of the guards that he, too, was here on all those occations. The guards grabbed Giles, and enquired as to whether he wished to surrender unto them. Giles refused to surrender to the guards, as he had heard that they did not serve beer in jail. He could not understand why anyone would want to go there. The guards thereby declared Giles guilty of criminal conspiracy, and he was promptly banned from the entire province. This was apparently not enough, as the guards insisted on killing him as well. Understandably, Giles disagreed to this, and ran. But not without grabbing a keg of beer, which allthough slowing his escape, was essential to provide his escape with meaning and purpose. Wearing armour, and suffering from wear from the recent confrontation with a fierce bandit, who had killed another score of guards and civilians, the guards were unable to catch Giles, and proceeded to fire missile weapons. One arrow pierced the keg of beer Giles was carrying, and a fine stream of golden nectar poured out from the keg, and onto the ground.

Giles could not continue running, and spill the drops of life, so he slowed enough to be able to pour the beer into his open gullet, while still trying to evade the arrows of his enemies. It was only a matter of time, off course, before Giles tripped, and fell to the ground. He fell, and slid along the ground into a corner in a dark alley. He laid on the ground amidst debris and trash, in a little heap, with the broken keg hiding his facial features from the main streets. All the while, the golden nectar of life (Beer) was going down Giles throat quite nicely. The guards were off course highly trained in finding renegade citizens in hiding. After all, they could find a Master of Stealth grabbing a quick nap in the attic of an abandoned house while hiding behind some crates and wearing a ring of invisibility, finding a drunk farmer with a broken beer-keg was a piece of cake. Giles was by this time way past the stage of realizing what was going on, so he was captured, tried and found guilty of Criminal Conspiracy and put in jail before he even sobered up.

Now he woke up in a drab and nasty cell, without any beer, and no hopes of one for many years. In addition, the punishmnent he had taken from the guards during and after his escape, had made him sick to the stomach, and all of the sudden it seemed that the little beer he still had left in his body, no longer desired to share his company, and had decided to retrace their route in, to exit through the entry as it were, much to the distress of Giles. Unable to hold on to the remnants of his treasure, he proceeded to vomit all over the cell floor.

As if this was not punishment enough in its own manner (After all, Giles figured, the only benefit of loosing beer this way is to make room for fresh beer, but now there was none to intake) the guards did not appreciate Giles attempts at redecoration of their beloved cell's and proceeded to execute Giles there and then, promptly relieving Giles of his poverty and happiness, as well as his life.
-----
As hope I illustrated in this story, it is important to keep a steady flow of beer that goes down nicely. When people ask you "How are things?" You could reply "Going down nicely" and you would indeed be correct in your form of reply. As Giles illustrated, loosing beer is never good, unless to make room for more and fresher (undrunk) beer, and then also only in the right place and time. i.e.: Refilling your empty beer mug with vomit at the bar, just to make room for another pint is considered bad form, and while you may escape capital punishment, you will most likely be banned from the pub/province you are in at the time.
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Matt Fletcher
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 4:11 pm

I dun get it.
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Nims
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 11:57 pm

I thought of a perfect one involvings necrophillia, vampires, and the champions imprisionment but forgot how it went...
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Lalla Vu
 
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Post » Sun Nov 28, 2010 12:48 am

So the drunkard says to necrophiliac, "What gets you off?".
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D LOpez
 
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Post » Sat Nov 27, 2010 4:05 pm

MarStinson, those are brilliant! Do you mind if I include them in my book mod? They're each worthy of their very own books! :)
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Steve Bates
 
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