“Let me finish. None of them accuse me of doing anything other than maybe they didn’t like a joke I told.” — Michael Bloomberg on being accused of sexual harassment. Slate 2/19/20
I like my men like I like my commuter car: silent.
A guy walks into a bar. It’s a low one, so he gets a raise within his first six months on the job.
Did you hear the one about the woman who reported sexual harassment? Of course you didn’t; she was forced to sign an NDA.
My co-worker asked me why I seem so tense. I asked him why he was massaging my shoulders.
What’s completely original but said by two different people? My idea that Greg just repeated louder.
Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just actually that incapable of controlling yourself while in the presence of a female colleague?
Don’t get me started on airlines. I mean, who’s flying the plane, a man? That explains all this turbulence. A man couldn’t fly a plane smoothly if his job depended on it — except that it doesn’t, because his dad owns the airline!
Who always gives a thumbs up during meetings, but is all hands at Happy Hour? Greg.
What’s short, sloppy, and full of periods? Men’s emails.
What’s long, painstakingly proofread, and full of exclamation points? A woman’s email that will still be received as “kind of bitchy.”
Men are so incompetent. How incompetent are they? If you asked a man to do a project with “no one’s help,” he’d look around and ask, “Which one of these ladies is named ‘No One?’”
Take my husband, for example! No, really, take him!
What goes up but never comes down? Men’s salaries at this firm.
What goes down but never comes up? My hopes of ever being paid on par with my male colleagues.
Why couldn’t the blonde dial 911? Because her manager said if she ever told anyone what happened, she’d never work in this town again.
What do you call a man with less experience and qualifications than you? Your boss, Greg.
What’s black and white and red all over? My story once I leak it to the New York Times.
Literally any joke told by me, a woman.