Bit by bit
You drop him a line.
They don’t want to admit that a piece a meat makes them happy
Turns out two heads are better than one.
My wife is pregnant with our first child so I'm stepping up my joke game to reach dad level. Mother's day was not so long ago, and since she isn't a mother yet but only a future mother, I didn't get her flowers I only got her seeds, which are future flowers. At least I found it hilarious and so did she. Hope you guys enjoy this!
Nothing, it just waved.
A panda walks into a bar. Orders a meal and quietly eats it. When the bartender comes with the check, the panda pulls out a shotgun, shoots the bartender, and prepares to leave the bar. The bartender, on his last breath, screams “Why?!”
The panda pulls out a dictionary, points to the entry on pandas, which reads: Panda (n.) – Eats shoots and leaves.
A baked potato.
The Italian Customs Officer stops them and tells them "It'sa illegala to putta 5 people in a Quattro." "Vot do you mean it's illegal?" asks the German driver. "Quattro meansa four" replies the Italian official. "Quattro is just ze name of zefokken automobile" the German says unbelievingly. "Look at ze dam papers: ze car is designed to karry 5 persons" "You canta pulla thata one on me!" replies the Italian customs officer. "Quattro meansa four. You have five-a people ina your car and you are thereforea breaking tha law." The German driver replies angrily, "You idiot! Call your zupervisor over. I vant to speak to someone viz more intelligence!" "Sorry" responds the Italian officer, "He can'ta come. He'sa busy witha 2 guys in a Fiat Uno"
He was lacktoes intolerant.
I replied, “No, I don’t hate your relatives. In fact, I like your mother-in-law a lot better than I like mine.”
A very old man told me this story. "I finally left my house to go out to the store this week, and who do I see but my pastor comes walking over to me with a Bible under his arm. And this fella, he says to me, 'I haven't seen you in church recently.' Well that made me made, because you know, anybody who knows me knows that I've been in my house for the last two months with the virus going around. And he can tell I'm mad, but that doesn't stop him. This fella goes to hand me his bible, and he says 'A man of your age and your condition, I think you need to start thinking about the hereafter. Now, I've outlined a few passages that I think you ought to read.' But I pushed it back into his hands, and I say 'Pastor. You can keep your bible. I don't need it. I think about the hereafter every damn day. First thing when I wake up in the morning, I walk into the kitchen, then I go into the bathroom, then I go into my bedroom again, then I go back into the kitchen and stand there looking into the icebox for twenty damn minutes wondering…. now what was I hereafter?' "
Now you mention Botox and nobody raises an eyebrow…
…were all in Saudi Arabia, sharing a smuggled crate of booze when they were arrested by Saudi police. The mere possession of alcohol is a severe offence in Saudi Arabia, so they are all sentenced to death! However, after many months and with the help of very good lawyers, they were able to appeal their sentences down to 20 lashes each of the whip. As they were preparing for their punishment, the Sheikh announced: “As it is my first wife’s birthday today, she has asked me to allow each of you one wish before your whipping.” The German was first in line; after thinking for a bit he said, “Please tie a pillow to my back.” This was done, but after only 10 lashes the whip had shredded the pillow. When the punishment was done the German had to be carried away bleeding and crying in pain. The Englishman was next up. After watching the German in horror he asked, “Please tie two pillows to my back.” This time it took 15 lashes, but once again the pillows were shredded, and the Englishman was led away bleeding and whimpering in pain. The Irishman was the last one up, but before he could say anything, the Sheikh turned to him and said: “You are from the most beautiful part of the world I have ever seen. Because of this, you may have two wishes!” “Thank you, your Most Royal and Merciful highness,” the Irishman replied. “In recognition of your kindness, my first wish is that you give me not 20, but 100 lashes.” “Not only are you an honorable man from a beautiful island, you are also very brave,” the Sheikh said with admiration. “If 100 lashes is what you desire, then so be it. And your second wish?” And the Irishman said, “Tie the Englishman to my back.”
Somehow the bastard found out and killed my dad.
Wife: I can't believe they're still together after all that shit. Me: Who? Wife: My butt cheeks.
The devil took him to the first room. The room was empty except for a pool of scalding hot water. The man saw George Bush, jump into the pool, climb out and jump back in again. The devil said "That's his punishment. He has to jump into the pool for eternity. If you pick this room, you take his place." The man hurriedly asked for option 2. So they went to the next room. This room was filled with rocks. The man could make out Obama continuously smashing rocks. The devil said "That's his punishment. He must smash rocks for eternity. If you pick this room, you take his place." The man asked for option 3. This room was magnificent. It had a massive king size bed, a table full of delicacies and just the works. On the bed, the man saw Trump having sex with Mia Khalifa. The man jumped with joy and exclaimed "This room! I pick this room!" "Are you sure?" the devil asked "Yes definitely!" "Okay then, Mia you can leave. This man here will be taking your place."
“Let’s go in and get something to eat,” Jim suggests. “We can’t,” responds John. “Don’t you see the sign says No Pets Allowed?” “Oh, that sign?” says Jim. “Don’t worry about it.” Taking out a pair of sunglasses, he walks up to the door. As he tries walking into the restaurant, the host says, “Sorry, no pets allowed.” “Can’t you see?” says Jim. “I am blind. This is my Seeing Eye dog.” “But it’s a Doberman pinscher. Who uses a Doberman pinscher as a Seeing Eye dog?” the host asks. “Oh,” Jim responds, “you must not have heard. This is the latest type of Seeing Eye dog. They do a very good job.” Seeing that it worked, John tries walking in with his Chihuahua. Even before he can open his mouth, the host says, “Don’t tell me that a Chihuahua is the latest type of Seeing Eye dog.” John responds angrily, “You mean they gave me a Chihuahua?”
She said, “Where would you find the time?” I said, “That should be easy. Next to the sage.”
On the right palm, on the forehead, on the left palm, and on the abdomen. The first victim is discovered in the Florida Everglades. 0, 8, 2 on his hands and forehead. 5 on his abdomen. “We believe the numbers may be significant,” a uniformed man reads from a prepared statement to the press, “but we cannot say for sure at this time.” Detective Pierce has seen more faces of death than any man should ever have to endure, but this case—this seems different, somehow. Another victim is discovered in the marshes of Louisiana soon after. 0, 8, 0 on her hands and forehead. 19 on her abdomen. Are they connected? Law enforcement in Louisiana contact the agency in Florida. Criminal psychologists and cipher experts are called in to decode the strange numerical messages. Nothing yet. There isn’t enough data. Detective Pierce knows, if there is a deeper meaning, it will only surface with more bodies. To solve the murder, more must be committed. A cruel irony. A third victim emerges, and a macabre certainty is apparent—a serial killer. 0, 6, 9; 2 “What could it mean?” Detective Pierce ponders over a table littered with dozens of photographs. The psychological stress begins to weigh on him. He first began the investigation into the mysterious number killings, and he now makes it his mission to discover the secret of these symbols and put an end to this evil. More victims. 0, 7, 1; 6 0, 6, 5; 10 0, 7, 8; 8 0, 7, 3; 12 0, 6, 9; 4 0, 7, 8; 9 “069 repeats!” the authorities notice after the ninth victim is discovered. “It’s certainly a code!” “And here! The victims with 8 and 9 on the abdomen have identical numbers on the hands and forehead too: both 0, 7, 8.” Detective Pierce broods over this information. He locks himself away with the numbers, poring through literature about ciphers and codes. He devises complex algorithms to analyze the data, looking for patterns. Pierce has always put work before his family. His colleagues will all tell you that. But the domestic strain from the number killings is pushing his relationships to the brink of collapse. Another body in Florida. 0, 8, 5; 17 Pierce is on the scene, crouching over the Number Killer’s latest conquest, examining the slapdash 17 scrawled unceremoniously on the abdomen. “Detective Pierce.” A voice from behind him. Pierce stands and peels the purple nitrile gloves from his hands and glowers at the intruder on his crime scene. “Agent Rickson. Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my crime scene now, sir. I’ll need a full briefing.” “The hell it is!” Pierce snaps back. “I’ve been working these killings from day one! You think you can just come in here with your federal mandate and expect me to catch you up on all the work my people have done?!” Agent Rickson hands Pierce a bound legal envelope. “You’ve been relieved.” “This isn’t over. You’re gambling with people’s lives…sir.” Detective Pierce practically spits the final word at the agent’s feet before snatching the envelope and rushing off the scene. Over the next two weeks, eight more victims. Pierce’s anxiety has left him unable to leave his office. He hasn’t been home in three days. Though he’s officially off the case, he’s still haunted by the numbers and mounting body count. His work has suffered to the point that his superiors have issued reprimands. At his wits’ end, Detective Pierce pulls officer Malloy into his office. Malloy is a rookie who’s eager to please and has a knack for numbers. “I need you on special assignment, rookie.” Pierce is looking pensively out his office window when Malloy enters. “Special assignment, sir?” “Secret, special assignment, Malloy.” He turns and places a sealed envelope on the table. “I need you to collect everything we have on the Number Killings. Meet me at the address enclosed here. Tomorrow night. Midnight. Tell no one.” “But sir, I thought you had been reliev-” “Dammit, rookie! Do you want more people to die?! We need to figure out this nonsense now or we’re going to end up with dead bodies in triple digits, son!” Malloy reluctantly agrees. He smuggles boxes of files and pictures out of the precinct late the next night and meets Pierce at an abandoned warehouse to go over the information. For hours, the two sit at opposite tables, running numbers, delving into research, and analyzing the evidence, late into the early hours of the morning. With a sudden energetic vigor, Malloy springs from his chair and cries out, “ASCII!” Startled out of his analytic trance, Pierce inquires, “What did you say, Malloy?” “ASCII! It’s a computer language that uses numbers to represent letters! Look!” Malloy pulls up a reference sheet and begins arranging numbers on Pierce’s desk. “If we take the abdomen numbers as the order, and the palm and foreheadnumbers as the code for the letter…” “Malloy, you’re a genius!” Working furiously, Pierce and Malloy clear a space on the dusty warehouse floor to lay out the pictures in sequence: Abdomens: 6, 12, 17… G, I, U… 4, 9, 11… E, N, G… In minutes, the men have spread 76 photos over a 10 foot square of the warehouse floor and scratched nervous letters on ripped sheets of notebook paper under each group corresponding to the symbol. As they finish, Malloy stands back to survey the message. “No…” All blood drains from his face. His legs go weak, and he collapses onto his knees. “It can’t…It just…It can’t! Detective Pierce is wide-eyed next to Malloy’s broken form, mouth agape. A sound from the warehouse wall rattles the building as a dozen federal agents storm the facility. “Mother of God…” Pierce doesn’t even notice the agents. His unbroken stare is consumed by the message on the dusty warehouse floor. Agent Rickson grabs hold of Detective Pierce. “You’re under arrest for interfering with a federal investigation and tampering with evidence.” Malloy sheepishly confesses. “I told them everything! I told them you wanted me to take the evidence. It was a setup. I was worried about you. I’m sorry! But I never thought…oh God! What can we do?!” Pierce is handcuffed, and as he is dragged backward from the grotesque mosaic of death, he laughs in spite of himself, “You monster…” As he comes back to his senses, Pierce begins tearing at the agents pulling him away. He lets out a shrill, animalistic shriek… “YOU MONSTER!!” The other agents crowd around the space on the floor that has itself become a crime scene, and in an eerie silence, they collectively ponder the ethereal message left by the elusive Numbers Killer: “NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP” EDIT (TLDR): Thanks for the support, and also some people are asking for a tldr because (obviously) it's really long. Here's a video to basically sum it up. Have a nice day. Also, thank you /u/about_tyme for ASCII number edits.
My job is so fucking unbelievable. I'll try to sum it up by first telling you about the folks I work with: First, there is this supermodel wanna-be chick. Yeah, okay, she is pretty hot, but damn is she completely useless. The girl is constantly fixing her hair or putting on makeup. She is extremely self-centered and has never once considered the needs or wants of anyone but herself. She is as dumb as a box of rocks, and I still find it surprising that she has enough brain power to continue to breathe. The next chick is completely the opposite. She might even be one of the smartest people on the planet. Her career opportunities are endless, and yet she is here with us. She is a zero on a scale of 1 to 10. I'm not sure she even showers, much less shaves her "womanly" parts. I think she might be a lesbian, because every time we drive by the hardware store, she moans like a cat in heat. But the jewel of the crowd has got to be the fucking stoner. And this guy is more than just your average pothead. In fact, he is baked before he comes to work, during work, and I'm sure after work. He probably hasn't been sober anytime in the last ten years, and he's only 22. He dresses like a beatnik throwback from the 1960's, and to make things worse, he brings his big fucking dog to work. Every fucking day I have to look at this huge Great Dane walk around half-stoned from the second-hand smoke. Hell, sometimes I even think it's trying to talk with its constant bellowing. Also, both of them are constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to McDonalds and Burger King, every single fucking day. Anyway, I drive these fucktards around in my van and we solve mysteries and shit.
One turns to other and says, "Its awfully quiet on deck tonight. Isn't it?" Other recruit replies, "Everyone must be watching the band." "There is no band on this ship." "No, I definitely heard the captain say, a band on ship."
Asians invented it, Italians spread it.
…the chemical plant became insolvent…
I guess shift happens.
Apologies in advanced for spelling and grammar as I’m on my phone. A man is driving down the street and sees a penguin on the side of the road. Curious he decides to pull over and pick it up. About that time a local police officer sees the two of them and decides to pull behind him as he’s loading the penguin up. “Just what do you think you’re doing with that penguin?” The officer demands “I haven’t a clue what to do with him I just saw him on the side of the road and figured I’d pick him up” The man replied “Well I suggest you take him straight to the zoo!” The officer suggested. So the man agrees and takes off heading toward the zoo. The next day the officer is at his post when he sees the same guy in the same car driving by with the same penguin. He immediately hits the flashers and pulls the man over. “Hey pal I thought I made it clear yesterday to take this penguin straight to the zoo!” The officer stated “Yeah we did that yesterday, today I’m taking him to the ball game”
Sometimes he even laughs!