CAA: Christian Anime Alliance

I need a good gun joke to open my speech on paintball guns!
I can't find any good ones! Help someone prz!

Um, I'm going to adapt this one for your purposes. We'll see how it works out, okay.

Well, Joe Smith and David Brown worked in a gun factor. They had worked their since they graduated from high school. Their job was to shine all the guns that were going to be put in the dispay room and shipped directly to sellers.

One day, as Joe was cleaning a new pistol, he happened to glance across the warehouse style building that he worked in and he peered into the office of his boss, Mr Edward Jate, who was eating a donut as he looking over his morning paper.

Joe was not a man unaccustomed to the unfairness of life, but the suddenly awareness of just how little Mr. Jates did caused Joe to pause, pistol in hand.

After a long thoughtful moment, David looked up and noticed his friends bitter expression. "What's wrong?" he asked curiously, picking up another gun.

"Look at our boss. He does nothing and he gets paid WAY more than we do! It's not fair!"

For a moment, the two men argued over the idea. Joe insisted that the corporate ladder was rigged and that he was always going to be on the bottom. No matter what. David, on the other hand, was inclined to think that the boss desered his position and the salary he made. Boss worked hard for his money.

After an extended discussion, David, who was throughly exasperated, concluded "Fine! If you're so curious why you're here and he's there, why don't you go ask him!" And without another word, Bob set down his gun and stomped off to ask.

Without a knock, Bob pushed into his Bosses office. The Boss, unaccustomed to such interruptions, looked up, surprised. "May I help you. . ." He asked unassuredly.

"Yes! As a matter of fact, you can! I want you to tell me why you can sit in this office and do nothing, while I have to shine down guns all day!?"

The Boss rose slowly and admitted with a sigh. "Really, it's all about intelligence."

"Intelligence?" repeated Bob "What's that."

If Bob's answer wasn't enough, the Boss shook his head and said "Fine. I'll show you what intelligence is. I-- I need something heavy." After quickly looking around his office, he found a metal, true to size, gun-shaped paper weight lying on his desk. He handed the gun to Bob, and then he lay his own hand, palm up, on the desk. "Now, hit my palm as hard as you can with that gun."

Bob hesitated for a moment, but finally, after several reassuring words from his employer, he swung the gun as hard as he could done on the spot where his Boss's hand was resting.

But just as the gun was about to slam into his fist, Boss drew his hand out, leaving the gun to collide with the desk.

Bob stood in awe for a moment, admiring the speed of this man he so envied. "You see, Bob, that is intelligence." Feeling he needed no further persuasion, Bob left the office and returned to David's side.

"Well. . ." queried David, pausing mid-shine. "What did he say."

"Oh, well, it's intelligence."

"What's intelligence?"

Bob looked incredulously at his co-worker and shook his head. "David, David, David, it's quite simple. Here I'll show you." Quickly, he balled up his fist and pressed it to his forhead and instructed "Take that gun and hit my fist. . ."






This one's hard to write down. Generally you tell the punch line with your fist to your forehead, so the narration is unnecessary. I don't know if that one would work, but I'll submit it none the less.

Ted Kennedys car has killed more people then the average Americans gun.

i got this from somewhere, and those little voices in my head tell me it was from this site, so credit goes to whoever made this up:

those who live by the sword can be shot by those who don't.
good luck on that report

Just in time for the holidays...

The Night Before Christmas (Paintball Style)

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring, 'cept Johnny DeLouse.
He polished his gun and topped his Halo agitator,
awaiting old Santa, who'd be by a bit later.

A cruel trick Santa played on past Christmas day,
when he left poor Johnny a cheap old Stingray.
He worked through the summer as a grocery shelf stocker,
and he saved and he saved for a trick Autococker.

He awaited St. Nick in a tactical crouch,
his jersey matched perfect his mom's brand new couch.
His red dot cast eerie a glow on the place,
as he waited for Santa to show his fat face.

When out on the roof there arose such a clatter,
that Johnny got ready for Santa to splatter.
He pulled down his Flex 7s and chambered a ball,
'cause Santa was here, and was fixing to call.

Now Santa's no dummy, he has intuition,
he took down the chimney his own ammunition.
He wore an Invision and sported an X-Mag,
A case of Evil tucked down his bag.

The volleys which followed were more than just fair;
the paintballs collided in the midst of the air.
Johnny dove for new cover, and Santa moved too,
the place would be wrecked before they were through.

As their hoppers went empty and their shooting did stop,
Johnny wiped off his goggles, he couldn't see squat.
Old Santa was crouching on one ancient knee,
and stacking the presents under the tree.

Johnny was aiming to shoot at him more,
when the sight in his sights made his jaw hit the floor.
Santa ignored him; in his eye was a glisten,
as he laid out for Johnny a nitrogen system.

Santa went up the chimney as quick as he'd come.
He left Johnny dripping paint, and emotionally numb.
He'd ambushed old Santa and was now feeling mean,
but Santa laughed last, he left him to clean.

Johnny straightened the stockings and he wiped up the paint.
He cleaned until morning, he thought he might faint.
Santa's an awesome player, he thought in his head,
as he trudged to his bedroom and into his bed.

Don't wait up for Santa on this Christmas Eve,
that jolly old fat guy has a trick up his sleeve.
If you've revenge in your eye like Johnny DeLouse,
you'll only get spanked and end up cleaning the house.

thats funny revdoc XD

A guy walks into a bar and says to the bartender, "Gimme a shot a whiskey".

The bartender pulls out a pistol, shoots him in the arm, and pours the guy a whiskey.

The man, shocked and injured, exclaims, "What's wrong with you! I ask you for a shot of whiskey, and you shoot me?"

The bartender says, "sorry, I thought you said a shot and a whiskey."
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You know, I can't help thinking that this speech is kind of badly timed. As you may know, just the other day at (insert local gas station), a woman, innocently filling up her tank, had a couple of guys come up to her, pull the nozzle of the gas pump out of her car, cover her arm with gasoline, and set her on fire. You would have thought that the police would help, but instead, the officer on the scene just shot her!

His only explanation was that she was waving an illegal firearm.
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You know, I only visit gun shows to read the magazines.
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Everything in life is related to guns. The Earth itself is a revolver. (didn't go over too well, you'd probably need to add some setup or something)
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Many military units in the world have particular "signature weapons" - weapons that are used primarily by that particular unit. I went to see the Army recruiter the other day, and he told me that the only unit I would qualify for used bullets as their signature weapon. No guns, just bullets. Apparently, in that unit, tossing spare ammo to another soldier counts as friendly fire.