You just add a G, and it’s gone.
My boss accused me of stealing, and fired me from my job at the furniture store. But I regret nothing.
Sometimes you have to take a stand.
An atheist dies and goes to hell The devil welcomes him and says:"Let me show you around a little bit." They walk through a nice park with green trees and the devil shows him a huge palace. "This is your house now, here are your keys." The man is happy and thanks the devil. The devil says:"No need to say thank you, everyone gets a nice place to live in when they come down here!" They continue walking through the nice park, flowers everywhere, and the devil shows the atheist a garage full of beautiful cars. "These are your cars now!" and hands the man all the car keys. Again, the atheist tries to thank the devil, but he only says "Everyone down here gets some cool cars! How would you drive around without having cars?". They walk on and the area gets even nicer. There are birds chirping, squirrels running around, kittens everywhere. They arrive at a fountain, where the most beautiful woman the atheist has ever seen sits on a bench. She looks at him and they instantly fall in love with each other. The man couldn´t be any happier. The devil says "Everyone gets to have their soulmate down here, we don´t want anyone to be lonely!" As they walk on, the atheist notices a high fence. He peeks to the other side and is totally shocked. There are people in pools of lava, screaming in pain, while little devils run around and stab them with their tridents. Other devils are skinning people alive, heads are spiked, and many more terrible things are happening. A stench of sulfur is in the air. Terrified, the man stumbles backwards, and asks the devil "What is going on there?" The devil just shrugs and says: "Those are the christians, I don´t know why, but they prefer it that way".
“What can I do for you, Father?” “I’m collecting for the orphanage.” “Just a moment,” says the little girl, closing the door. The priest waits patiently, then suddenly hears first one gunshot, then another. The little girl returns to the door and says: “OK, you can take me now.”
He puts on another coat!
And at the end of each weekend, there is a Brother that goes around to all the casinos to cash them out and make a deposit. He's the Chip Monk.
"You always feel like you have to pee. And most of the time, you stand at the toilet and nothing comes out!" he continued. "Ah, that's nothin'," said the 70-year-old. "When you're seventy, you can't even crap anymore. You take laxatives, then you sit on the toilet all day and nothin' comes out!" "Actually," said the 80-year-old, "80 is the worst age of all!" "Do you have trouble peeing too?" asked the 60-year-old. "No, not really. I pee every morning at 6:00. I pee like a racehorse on a flat rock; no problem at all." "Do you have trouble crapping?" asked the 70-year-old. "No, I crap every morning at 6:30." With great exasperation, the 60-year-old said, "Let me get this straight. You pee every morning at 6:00 and crap every morning at 6:30. So what's so tough about being 80?" "I don't wake up until 7:00"
First time posting here, my grandfather's funeral was yesterday, and in honor of him I thought I would share his favourite joke of all time. My grandfather worked in advertisement, and his favourite jokes had to do with bad advertising. His favourite? Women's dresses, half off. Rest in peace grampie. You'll never be forgotten.
A woman decides to have a face lift for her 50th birthday. She spends £15,000 and looks sensational.
On her way home, she stops at a news stand to buy a newspaper. Before leaving, she says to the clerk, ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how old do you think I am?”. ‘About 32,’ is the reply.’ ‘Nope! I’m exactly 50,’ the woman says happily. A little while later she goes into McDonald’s and asks the counter girl the very same question. The girl replies, ‘I’d guess about 29.’ The woman replies with a big smile, ‘Nope, I’m 50.’ Now she’s feeling really good about herself. She stops at a sweet shop on her way down the street. She goes up to the counter to get some mints and asks the assistant the same burning question. The clerk responds, ‘Oh, I’d say 30.’ Again she proudly responds, ‘I’m 50, but thank you!’ While waiting for the bus to go home, she asks an old man waiting next to her the same question. He replies, ‘Lady, I’m 78 and my eyesight is going. Although, when I was young there was a sure-fire way to tell how old a woman was. It sounds very forward, but it requires you to let me put my hands in your knickers Then, and only then I can tell you EXACTLY how old you are.’ They wait in silence on the empty street until her curiosity gets the better of her. She finally blurts out, ‘What the hell, go ahead.’ He slips both of his hands into her panties and begins to feel around very slowly and gently caresses her nicely trimmed muff. He pushes her lips apart and gently slides his fingers in and out of her now moist pussy. After a couple of minutes of this, she says, ‘Okay, okay…..How old am I?’ He completes one last finger of her clitorus, removes his hands, and says, ‘Madam, you are 50.’ Stunned and amazed, the woman says, ‘That was incredible, how could you tell?’ ‘I was behind you in the queue at McDonalds’.
You have no more energy left to live, you just need try to fuel yourself.
A gallon of water. Butane is a lighter fluid.
Just paramedics and someone else if they’re patient enough
Dad to be:"Actually, we'd like him to keep his liver"
Instead I just swam for the surface.
I said "I do think it's rather re-markable."
Now I'm feeling cannelloni
I'm sure they'll resurface at some point.
Dr. Strange : Knock, knock Dormamu : Who's there? Dr. Strange : door mom Dormamu : door mom who? Dr. Strange : DoorMomWho, I've come to bargain
She knew how to carry The One
The certificate paid for a visit to a herbalist living nearby, who was rumoured to have a wonderful cure for erectile dysfunction. After some discussion with his wife, the man made a visit to the herbalist and handed his voucher over wondering what he was in for. The elderly herbalist handed a potion to the man, and with a grip on his shoulder warned him. "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 as long as you want." Greatly encouraged, the man turned and started to walk away, then stopped and asked, "How do I stop the medicine from working?" The herbalist replied, "Your partner must say '1-2-3-4,' but when she does, the medicine will not work again until the next full moon." Eager to see if it worked the man 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 the manliest of men. 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.
Coworker: "Yeah, of course I do." Me: "Well, how about getting laid more often."
Well, toucan play that game.
So I packed my bags and right
It watched the news and became convinced it had contracted the coronavirus from it's intended inhabitant, a Chinese woman from Wuhan who had died of the disease. The casket went to the emergency room at the nearest hospital. After overcoming her initial shock at diagnosing a casket, the ER doctor ran a blood test and determined the casket definitely did not have the coronavirus. "But I feel like I'm dying doctor, and I only just came to life. If it isn't the coronavirus what is it?" worriedly asked the casket. "I'm not sure," answered the doctor, "we'll have to run some more tests." "But my fever, the pain in my lungs…what could it be? Doctor if you had to give me your best diagnosis right now without the tests, what do you think could be causing these terrible respiratory symptoms?" The doctor thought for a moment then answered, "SARS cough I guess."
There was no chemistry
Husband: to be honest, I didn’t know she sold flowers.
"Have to love Easter, baby…."
A teacher asks the class, “What are some examples of flammable objects?” and the Jewish student raises his hand.
The teacher replies, “Very good! Any other examples?”
Now I have Heinzsight.
I can’t wait to see his face light up when he opens it
I went to the shop and bought a thesaurus but when I got home, when I opened it, all the pages were blank.
I had no words to describe how angry I was.
I shouted "I'm supporting the one with the knife" they both ran away..
Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. PHD’s Letter From Birmingham Jail, his response to southern religious leaders accusing his protest movement of being too extremist and badly timed.
I highly suggest everyone reads the full text of the letter linked at the bottom of this post. The mod team was deliberating for days to think of what sections we should link to as an excerpt in this post, when we realized that we were just copying the entire letter at one point. Every word King writes here is powerful.You deplore the demonstrations taking place in Birmingham. But your statement, I am sorry to say, fails to express a similar concern for the conditions that brought about the demonstrations. I am sure that none of you would want to rest content with the superficial kind of social analysis that deals merely with effects and does not grapple with underlying causes. It is unfortunate that demonstrations are taking place in Birmingham, but it is even more unfortunate that the city’s white power structure left the Negro community with no alternative.[…]My friends, I must say to you that we have not made a single gain in civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent pressure. Lamentably, it is an historical fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but, as Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups tend to be more immoral than individuals.We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was “well timed” in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word “Wait!” It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This “Wait” has almost always meant “Never.” We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that “justice too long delayed is justice denied.”We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, “Wait.” But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five year old son who is asking: “Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?”; when you take a cross county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading “white” and “colored”; when your first name becomes “nigger,” your middle name becomes “boy” (however old you are) and your last name becomes “John,” and your wife and mother are never given the respected title “Mrs.”; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of “nobodiness”–then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws. This is certainly a legitimate concern. Since we so diligently urge people to obey the Supreme Court’s decision of 1954 outlawing segregation in the public schools, at first glance it may seem rather paradoxical for us consciously to break laws. One may well ask: “How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?” The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that “an unjust law is no law at all.”[…]Sometimes a law is just on its face and unjust in its application. For instance, I have been arrested on a charge of parading without a permit. Now, there is nothing wrong in having an ordinance which requires a permit for a parade. But such an ordinance becomes unjust when it is used to maintain segregation and to deny citizens the First-Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and protest.[…]I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.[…]I had also hoped that the white moderate would reject the myth concerning time in relation to the struggle for freedom. I have just received a letter from a white brother in Texas. He writes: “All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a religious hurry. It has taken Christianity almost two thousand years to accomplish what it has. The teachings of Christ take time to come to earth.” Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.[…]And I am further convinced that if our white brothers dismiss as “rabble rousers” and “outside agitators” those of us who employ nonviolent direct action, and if they refuse to support our nonviolent efforts, millions of Negroes will, out of frustration and despair, seek solace and security in black nationalist ideologies–a development that would inevitably lead to a frightening racial nightmare.Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself, and that is what has happened to the American Negro. Something within has reminded him of his birthright of freedom, and something without has reminded him that it can be gained. Consciously or unconsciously, he has been caught up by the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of Africa and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South America and the Caribbean, the United States Negro is moving with a sense of great urgency toward the promised land of racial justice. If one recognizes this vital urge that has engulfed the Negro community, one should readily understand why public demonstrations are taking place. The Negro has many pent up resentments and latent frustrations, and he must release them. So let him march; let him make prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; let him go on freedom rides -and try to understand why he must do so. If his repressed emotions are not released in nonviolent ways, they will seek expression through violence; this is not a threat but a fact of history. So I have not said to my people: “Get rid of your discontent.” Rather, I have tried to say that this normal and healthy discontent can be channeled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. And now this approach is being termed extremist. But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label.https://ift.tt/2UjhbQc /r/PoliticalHumor mod team decided that this sticky would be a much more effective support action than shutting down the subreddit or other standard Reddit protests, because honestly, those protests don’t do much.)
Nobody gave me a straight answer
He was saying that I didn't understand what irony was! Which was ironic as we were both waiting for a bus at the time.
Because sometimes they have to draw blood.