TEACHER: Maria, go to the map and find North America.
MARIA: Here it is.
TEACHER: Correct. Now class, who discovered America?
CLASS: Maria.

TEACHER: John, why are you doing your math multiplication on the floor?
JOHN: You told me to do it without using tables.

TEACHER: Glenn, how do you spell “crocodile?”
GLENN: K-R-O-K-O-D-I-A-L
TEACHER: No, that’s wrong
GLENN: Maybe it is wrong, but you asked me how I spell it.

TEACHER: Donald, what is the chemical formula for water?
DONALD: H I J K L M N O.
TEACHER: What are you talking about?
DONALD: Yesterday you said it’s H to O.

TEACHER: Winnie, name one important thing we have today that we didn’t have ten years ago.
WINNIE: Me!

TEACHER: Glen, why do you always get so dirty?
GLEN: Well, I’m a lot closer to the ground than you are.

TEACHER: Millie, give me a sentence starting with “I”.
MILLIE: I is…
TEACHER: No, Millie… Always say, “I am.”
MILLIE: All right… “I am the ninth letter of the alphabet.”

TEACHER: George Washington not only chopped down his father’s cherry tree, but also admitted it. Now, Louie, do you know why his father didn’t punish him?
LOUIS: Because George still had the axe in his hand.

TEACHER: Now, Simon, tell me frankly, do you say prayers before eating?
SIMON: No sir, I don’t have to, my Mom is a good cook.

TEACHER: Clyde, your composition on “My Dog” is exactly the same as your brother’s. Did you copy his?
CLYDE: No, teacher, it’s the same dog.

TEACHER: Harold, what do you call a person who keeps on talking when people are no longer interested?
HAROLD: A teacher.

A CORK radio station was running a competition - words that weren’t in the dictionary yet could still be used in a sentence that would make logical sense. The prize was a trip to Bali.

DJ: “96FM here, what’s your name?” Caller: “Hi, me name’s Dave.” DJ: “Dave, what’s your word?” Caller: “Goan… spelt G-O-A-N, pronounced ‘go-an’.” DJ: “… You are correct, Dave, ‘goan’ is not in the dictionary. Now, for a trip to Bali: What sentence can you use that word in that would make sense?” Caller: ‘Goan f**k yourself’

The DJ cut the caller short and took other calls, all unsuccessful until:

DJ: “96FM, what’s your name?” Caller: “Hi, me name’s Jeff” DJ: “Jeff, what’s your word?” Caller: “Smee… spelt S-M-E-E, pronounced ‘smee’” DJ: “…you are correct, Jeff, ‘smee’ is not in the dictionary. Now, for a trip to Bali: What sentence can you use that word in that would make sense?” Caller: “Smee again! Goan f**k yourself!”

It’s common practice in England to ring a telephone by sending extra voltage across one side of the two wire circuit and ground (earth in England). When the subscriber answers the phone, it switches to the two wire circuit for the conversation. This method allows two parties on the same line to be signalled without disturbing each other.

An elderly lady with several pets called to say that her telephone failed to ring when her friends called; and that on the few occasions when it did ring her dog always barked first. The telephone repairman proceeded to the scene, curious to see this psychic dog.

He climbed a nearby telephone pole, hooked in his test set, and dialed the subscriber’s house. The phone didn’t ring. He tried again. The dog barked loudly, followed by a ringing telephone.

Climbing down from the pole, the telephone repairman found:

1. The dog was tied to the telephone system’s ground post via an iron chain and collar.

2. The dog was receiving 90 volts of signalling current.

3. After several such jolts, the dog would start barking and urinating on the ground.

4. The wet ground now completed the circuit and the phone would ring.

Which shows you that some problems can be fixed by just pissing on them. But only temporarily.

Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

McMurphy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a paper bag filled with vegetable soup.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre.

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot fat.

The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the full stop after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play. Even in his last years, Grandpa had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while. Oh, Jason, take me!” she panted, her breasts heaving like a student on 31p-a-pint night.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.”

It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had ever seen before.

The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Glenda Jackson MP in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Robin Cook MP, Leader of the House of Commons, in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the suspension of Keith Vaz MP.

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.

It was a working class tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with their power tools.

She was as easy as the Daily Star crossword.

My favourite She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature British beef.

She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.

A new, young MD doing his residency in OB was quite embarrassed performing female pelvic exams. To cover his embarrassment he had unconsciously formed a habit of whistling softly. The middle aged lady upon whom he was performing this exam suddenly burst out laughing and further embarrassed him. He looked up from his work and sheepishly said, “I’m sorry. Was I tickling you?”

She replied, “No doctor, but the song you were whistling was ‘I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener’