DID I SAY THAT?
Two, but I have no idea how they got in there.
Saturday and Sunday, the rest are weekdays.
“I can’t speak to my wife directly as she might find it offensive, given our old age” he says to the doc. “There’s a simple trick you can try to determine her hearing” explains the doctor. “Simply ask her a question at a distance and if she doesn’t hear you, move slightly closer and ask again until she does”. That night, the husband arrives home and sees his wife in the kitchen cooking. He thinks to himself, “what a perfect opportunity to test her hearing”. He stands in the doorway of the kitchen and promptly asks; “What’s for dinner honey?” No answer. He moves closer. “What’s for dinner honey?” Still no answer. He moves even closer. “What’s for dinner honey?” Still his wife doesn’t answer. He now sees how serious her hearing problem is. At this point, he is stood right next to his wife. “What’s for dinner honey?” “FOR THE FOURTH FUCKING TIME WE’RE HAVING CHICKEN”
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.
Walking JK, Rolling
but then I changed my mind.
She seemed surprised
A student visits the principal’s office one day and the principal says to him, “What’s your name, son?” He replies: “D-d-d-dav-dav-david, sir.” The principal looks up and asks him, “Oh, do you have a stutter?”
The student replies, “No sir, my dad has a stutter, but the guy who registered my name was an asshole.”
To get to the idiots house. Knock Knock. Who's there? Bawk Bawk Bawkaw
A: Because in charge of directing, Yoda was.
"Something's wrong. Just put your ear up to my thigh, you'll hear it!" The doctor cautiously places his ear to the man's thigh only to hear, "Give me $10! I'm desperate! I need $10!" "I've never seen or heard anything like this before! How long has this been going on?" the doctor asked. "That's nothing, Doc. Put your ear to my knee." The doctor put his ear to the man's knee and heard it say, "Please! I really need $5! Just $5! Please! I'm desperate!" "Sir, I really don't know what to tell you. I've never seen anything like this." The doctor was truly dumbfounded. "Wait, Doc, that's not all of it. There's more. Just put your ear down on my ankle," the man urged him. The doctor did as the man said and was amazed to hear his ankle plead, "Please, I just need $20! Please lend me $20, please! I am really desperate!" "I have no idea what to tell you," the doctor said. "There's nothing about it in any of my books," he said as he frantically searched all his medical reference books. "However… I can make a well-educated guess. Based on life and all my previous experiences, I can tell you with some certainty, that your leg seems to be broke in three places."
Because it has two shifts
They pulled the sheet back to show her blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face. "I can't be certain." I said. The sheet went down to reveal her creamy white breast and perky nipples. "Sorry, I'm still not sure." They took the sheet completely off. I stared at the pale body and shaved pussy, "That's definitely not her". "Are you sure?" "Yes positive, my girlfriends black."
As she rode by. She looked at me, gave me the finger, and turned back around and promptly plowed her bike into the cow. I tried.
Because they come with their own scales.
I’m not buying it.
Every Sunday I read the Times and complain to my kids about that orange haired narcissist dominating the paper by insulting and mocking everyone, especially those closest to him.
That Garfield needs to learn how to think about more than just himself and his next plate of lasagna.
I hear this year is going to be as big as the last 2 put together.
I dropped out.
Boil the hell out of it.
Shouldn't they be called Asteroids?
I could immediately feel it getting wetter and wetter. I took my finger back out and within seconds she was going down on me. "I really need a new boat", I thought to myself.
I was heavily charged, despite my victims saying it was an overall positive experience.
Let me know if you can't come
He keeps asking for an ex box, so I’m sure he will be delighted.
No one knows. But the road will have his vengeance.
Just so whenever I have guests I can say "drinks are on the house".
"2 or 3" she replied. Probably explains why her marriage collapse
“Is this her first child?” He asks. “No this is her Husband.”
I said "No, it doesn't".