Some "...walks into a bar..." jokes suitable for Peaceful Science

Groans are fun also:


This will go viral :smile:


Yes. Laughter can be infectious.


@AllenWitmerMiller if there was an artist willing to help you with a cartoon strip, would you be prolific?


The room temperature superconductor. :stuck_out_tongue_closed_eyes:

My favorite with a “philosophy” tag:

So Descartes walks into a bar and orders a drink. When he finishes it, the barkeep asks him if he would like another. Descartes replies, “No, I think not” …and disappears in a puff of logic.

(With apologies to René):

(I pay, therefore I am? :slightly_smiling_face:)


If she was young, had a pleasant personality, had a biblical view of marriage—and was willing to marry an old guy—then I’d be willing to at least give it a shot.

Of course, in your generous hypothetical scenario, her artistic skills and willingness to help me with a comic strip would be superfluous and even downright irrelevant to my being prolific.

(In the summer of 1979, for a period of about five weeks until the new pastor arrived, I preached at an Appalachian church where one of the elders had 11 children. That elder liked to tell everyone that Genesis 1:28 was his life verse.)

OK. Because you are so insistent, I’ll be serious this time. I don’t know what would constitute a prolific output of Peaceful Science cartoon strips (one per week? two per week?) but it would also depend upon the type and range of humor. Science humor? History humor? Theology humor? Human foibles humor? Any and all of the above?

Probably because of my linguistics background, I also enjoy the kind of humor which depends upon language ambiguities and quirks. And with that in mind, and a tip of the hat to @Dan_Eastwood, here’s one of my endless supply of “I remember the time back in the old days when…” stories:

It was the late 1970’s (or perhaps 1980?) and my computational linguistics research led to a second-round interview with an infamous government agency (the name of which shall remain nameless.) After weeks of pointless paperwork and a long day of security screenings and hurry-up-and-wait nonsense, I was getting both bored and irritated by the entire process. The last task of that first day was to sit in a tiny room answering some standard psychological profile questionnaire. I was still young and cocky enough to be a bit defiant about the entire bureaucratic obstacle course to the point where I found it impossible to avoid amusing myself by concocting particularly obtuse answers to the questions. The particular question I remember best to this day was “Would you ever consider posing nude for a magazine? How would you feel about such an offer?” This was my answer:

I would be totally insulted. I realize that price negotiations often start with a low-ball offer—but that one is just plain ridiculous. Also, the question doesn’t specify WHICH magazine. Of course, I would be offended even if the offer was for a three-year subscription to my FAVORITE magazine. That said, if you upped the offer to something like a complete and original set of all Scientific American issues going back to its founding before the Civil War, then we might have a deal. Even so, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s been some kind of mistake and I’m here being interviewed for the wrong job. When your agency initially contacted me, there was no mention of such photos.

The next afternoon I had my Psychological Assessment Part II follow-up interview with a totally humorless psychiatrist. Truly, I don’t think he found me at all amusing. And because one of the documents I had to sign in triplicate (weeks before the entire interview visit began) was a Non-Disclosure Agreement which said that I could never describe to anyone anything about my interview experiences at the agency—or I else I could be imprisoned in a federal penitentiary—I’ll have to be vague about what followed.

Therefore, I will simply provide a very general flavor of what happened in that next interview by means of this clip from the 1955 TV adaptation of Andy Griffith’s breakout performance in the Broadway hit play No Time for Sergeants.


@AllenWitmerMiller, I have the legal counsel for your former psychiatrist on the line, claiming you just violated your confidentiality agreement. Shall I keep him on hold indefinitely? :o)


They’ll never take me alive, I say!

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@AllenWitmerMiller I suggest sailing off into international waters!

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@Guy_Coe, I’m too busy sailing into oblivion.

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@AllenWitmerMiller Just as long as you’re enjoying it, I’ll keep him on hold and guessing. Deal? :o)

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I’ve already been there on a submarine in Admiral Rickover’s navy, and it wasn’t in international waters.

Now I may need a lawyer. :slightly_smiling_face:

I used to live in a yellow submarine.

(Ya don’t have to be crazy to post on Peaceful Science. But it certainly helps.)

(And yes, the punchline that naturally followed that previous parenthetical observation has been removed by the author in order to stay within community standards.)

Same era, if my recollection is functioning.

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We carried oblivion with us, into Faslane, and I bought my first set of The Chronicles of Narnia at a Church of Scotland bookstore in Glasgow. (I should have directed that to @jongarvey.)

(We all did? :slightly_smiling_face:)


My son’s favourite:

“A dyslexic man walks into a bra.”


Did you know that one of the early tricyclic antidepressants was tradenamed “Oblivon”? Must be one of the least therapeutic drug names in history, but probably very suitable for Glasgow (racial prejudice shows…).

I bought my first copy of Perelandra at Guildford railway station in 1963… I somehow missed out on Narnia until the kids came along, when I caught up by reading it to them.

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