Knock-knock part 2

So I figure, what've I got to lose? All I need to do is remember some of my old man's favorite gags and to get him started back laughing on the road to recovery. I figure, what could it hurt?
So this grown-up son walks into his father's hospice room, pulls up a chair beside the bed and sits down. The son looks into his old man's pale, dying face and says, "So this blonde gal walks into a neighborhood bar where she's never been before, and she's got tits out to HERE and a tight little heinie and she asks the bartender for a Michelob, and he serves her a Michelob except he sneaks a Mickey Finn into her bottle and this blonde goes unconscious, and every guy in the bar leans her over the edge of the pool table and hikes up her skirt and fucks her, and at closing time they slap her awake and tell her she's got to leave. And every few days this gal with the tits and the ass walks in and asks for a Michelob and gets a Mickey Finn and gets fucked by the crowd until one day she walks in and asks the bartender can he maybe give her a Budweiser instead?"
Granted—I have NOT landed this particular shaggy dog story since I was in the First Grade, but my old man used to love this next part....

Knock-knock! Who's There? Death! The Ultimate Punch Line! part 1

My old man, he makes everything into a Big Joke. What can I say? The old man loves to get a laugh. Growing up, half the time I didn't have a clue what his jokes were about, but I laughed anyways. Down at the barbershop, it didn't matter how many guys my father let take cuts ahead of him in line, he just wanted to sit there all Saturday and crack people up. Make folks bust a gut. For my old man, getting his sideburns trimmed was definitely a low priority.
He says, "Stop me if you've heard this one before...." The way my old man tells it, he walks into the oncologist's office and he says, "After the chemotherapy, will I be able to play the violin?"
In response, the oncologist says, "It's metastasized. You've got six months to live...."
And working his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, tapping the ash from an invisible cigar, my old man says, "Six months?" He says, "I want a second opinion."
So the oncologist, he says, "Okay, you've got cancer and your jokes stink."
So they do chemotherapy, and they give him some radiation like they do even if the shit burns him up so bad on the inside he tells me that taking a piss is like passing razor blades.

A TRIP UNDER THE SEA

If you've always wanted to witness the beauty of the ocean without having to go into the open water then Korean company Raonhaje has exactly what you need. The EGO is what they'd like to call a semi-submarine. It has two floating hulls on its side with decks big enough to allow you to sunbathe,
fish or throw bodies in the water if you're a vigilante serial killer like Dexter Morgan. The interesting thing about the EGO is that it's transparent cabin is located below the water so you can get up close and personal with all those creatures that lurk in the deep. Unlike a real submarine though, the EGO can't dive - thus the 'semi' prefix in front of submarine - so you'll have to shell out a bit more to fulfill any dreams you had of searching for giant squid or finding the resting place of Cthulhu.