Two old men, Bill and Dave, are sitting on a park bench when a beautiful young woman jogs by.
Bill says, “Damn, I’d love to have some of that!”
Dave says, “Well, I can wish, but it wouldn’t do me any good. It’s been a long time since I could get it up.”
“Don’t you know how to fix that? You have to eat lots of French bread! That’s why French guys are known as such great lovers.”
So, on his way home from the park, Dave stops at the grocery store and buys 50 loaves of French bread. The cashier asks, “Are you having a party?”
“No, it’s all for me,” Dave replies.
“You know it’s going to get hard before you can eat it all?” says the cashier.
Dave says, “Oh! You’ve heard about that too!”
A new nightclub opened for men with ED.
It was a total flop. Nobody came.
On his 70th birthday, a man was given a gift certificate from his wife.
The certificate was for a consultation with an traditional healer, who was well known to have a very good naturopathic cure for erectile dysfunction!
The healer gave him a potion and said, “This is a powerful medicine. You take only a teaspoonful, and then say ’1-2-3.’ When you do, you will become more manly than you have ever been in your life, and you can perform for as long as you want.”
The man thanked the healer and as he walked away, he turned and asked, “How do I stop the medicine from working?”
“Your partner must say ’1-2-3-4,’” he responded, “but when she does, the medicine will not work again until the next full moon.”
The man was very eager to see if it worked, so he went home, showered, shaved, took a spoonful of the medicine, and then invited his wife to join him in the bedroom.
When she came in, he took off his clothes and said, “1-2-3!” Immediately, he was fully erect!
His wife was excited and began throwing off her clothes, and then she asked, “What was the 1-2-3 for?”
And that, boys and girls, is why we should never end our sentences with a preposition, because we could end up with a dangling participle.
A man goes to the doctor, clearly distressed.
“Doc, I’ve got a problem—no matter what I do, I just can’t maintain an erection.”
The doctor runs a full exam and finally delivers the bad news: “Well… it looks like the muscles at the base of your penis were damaged by a viral infection. There’s nothing conventional medicine can do.”
The man is crushed.
“But,” the doctor continues, “there is an experimental treatment. Risky… but it might work.”
The man leans in. “I’ll try anything.”
“The procedure involves transplanting muscle tissue from an elephant’s trunk into your penis. It’s cutting-edge, totally humane to the elephant, and you’d be… well, uniquely equipped.”
The man thinks it over. A lifetime without sex? No way. He agrees to the surgery.
Weeks later, he gets the green light from his doctor. Everything’s healed, everything’s functional. He decides to test it out with his girlfriend at a fancy restaurant.
They’re seated at a candlelit table. She’s wearing a revealing top and leaning in close. He starts to feel… pressure.
Trying to ease the discomfort, he discreetly unzips his fly. Suddenly, his penis snakes out, slithers up onto the table, grabs a dinner roll, and retreats back into his pants like nothing happened.
His girlfriend stares, wide-eyed. “That was… incredible,” she whispers. “Can you do that again?”
The man winces and says, “I probably could… but I don’t think my ass can take another dinner roll.”
Why couldn’t the lizard get a girlfriend?
Because he had a reptile dysfunction.
An elderly woman goes to the doctor, clearly flustered. She says, “Doctor, my husband’s having… performance issues. He’s stubborn and refuses to talk about it.”
The doctor nods and hands her a small bottle. “These are very effective,” he says. “Just slip one of these little blue pills into his coffee. He won’t even notice—and you’ll see a big difference.”
That evening, she does exactly that. They sit down for coffee like always, and she quietly drops a pill into his cup. Ten minutes later, he grabs her, throws her onto the table, rips her clothes off, and makes wild, passionate love to her right there on the table.
The next day, she storms back into the doctor’s office.
“Well?” he asks. “Did it work?”
“Oh, doctor,” she sighs dreamily, “it was incredible. Best we’ve had in 40 years.”
He smiles. “That’s great news!”
She frowns. “Yes… but I can never show my face in Starbucks again.”
A man goes to the doctor, concerned about his, underwhelming performance.
The doctor nods sympathetically and prescribes him some Viagra. “Take one an hour before sex,” he says with a reassuring smile. “You’ll be back in action in no time.”
That evening, feeling hopeful, the man heads home early. He sets the mood—candles, music, a romantic dinner—and at just the right time, he calls his wife at the office. She works 45 minutes away.
She answers, “Perfect timing—I’m just about to leave!”
Excited, he takes the pill… and waits.
One hour later… still no wife.
He calls her back. “Everything okay?”
She sighs, “Sorry, honey. Just as I was walking out, Joe—the CFO—cornered me. He needed a report urgently for tomorrow’s board meeting. I’m halfway through it now… probably another two hours.”
Frustrated and increasingly uncomfortable, the man calls his doctor. “Doc,” he says, “I followed your instructions, but she’s delayed. My erection is getting really painful. What do I do with this, uh, situation?”
The doctor replies, “Well, the effect only lasts a couple of hours, and with your heart, you can’t take another dose tonight. So, you might as well try to use it. Is there anyone else who could help you out?”
The man pauses. “Well, there’s the neighbor. But I don’t need any help with her.”
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