"Walks into a Bar" Jokes

Which type of joke have you heard most often—a “blond” joke or a “walks into a bar” joke?

Below are some clever “walks into a bar” jokes that are also useful examples of terms used to describe features of the English language. I would credit the writer if I knew who it was.

After joke #10 is a poem I wrote about being in a bar. Those of you who are familiar with my writing will say—What? This isn’t the kind of poem she usually writes. That is true, but I had a lot of fun writing it. 😊 

1. An Oxford comma walks into a bar where it spends the evening watching TV, getting drunk, and smoking cigars.
2.  A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.
3.  A bar was walked into by the passive voice.
4.  A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite..
5.  Franklin Gothic and Comic Sans walk into a bar. The bartender says, “Get out—we don’t serve your type.”
6. A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.
7. A synonym strolls into a tavern.
8. A cliché walks into a bar—fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, sharp as a tack.
9.  A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate.
10. A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.

  

Feed the Head

                             

I walked into a bar with my head under my arm.
No blood—
just a flat manikin neck
between my shoulders.

I sat my curly noggin on the stool next to me
‘I can’t see the TV,’ it whined,
mumbling something under its breath
about the evening news.

‘Margarita, no salt,’ my head told the bartender.
The pale green liquid arrived with a long straw,
and my mouth wolfed it down
like a parched camel.

The tavern teemed with zodiac animals.
A Taurus poked my cheek to see if I was real;
fell back with a shriek
when I rolled my eyes.

‘You gotta see this,’ Taurus said to Scorpio.
Aries sampled my salt lick neck;
got a taste of my fists
though my aim suffered some.

By our third margarita
my head was showing off,
harmonizing with Prince, Cher, Willie
and doing Sylvester Stallone impressions.

‘What does your other half do?’ asked Leo.
‘He’s my body guard,’ answered my head.
It was my turn in the spotlight
so I flexed my biceps, did some squats.

The happy hour circus muscled closer.
When Pisces began gasping for air
I paid the bartender
picked up my head and left.

‘We’re not done here, are we?’
my mouth whispered to my armpit.
‘Only the worm in the tequila knows
how to survive in this land of lunacy.’

Ginger Dehlinger