Finland has just closed its borders
There’s no way we can cross the Finnish line now.
A millenial falcon
She turned on the front camera
One. They are efficient and not very funny
She gave me ice
She said she just can't take it any longer.
He orders a pint and tells the landlord, “I’ve been blind for 50 years lad. My hearing’s perfectly attuned. I bet can tell you what’s happening in any room in this pub.” “Oh really”, says the landlord, “go ahead then”. The old man cups a hand round his ear, tilts his head to the ceiling and listens. “In your bathroom, upstairs, the one at the end of the corridor… a tap’s been left on.” Skeptical, the landlord sends his nephew upstairs to check. His nephew returns and confirms the findings. “Could’ve been luck”, says the landlord, “Go on, try again…” The old man cups his ear, tilts his head to the floor and listens. “In your cellar”, he says, “I can hear scurrying. You have a rat infestation.” “You’re talking rubbish.” says the landlord, and sends his nephew to check. He returns and the old man is right, again! Now intrigued, the landlord urges him to try again. He cups a hand round his ear and listens to somewhere behind the bar. “Ah, in the storeroom down that corridor”, he says, “someone’s having at it in there right now”. The nephew goes and checks the store room, and what d’ya know, he finds two of the bar staff shagging away in there. “Bloody hell old man, you truly are incredible”, says the landlord, “what else can you hear?” The old geezer hushes the landlord, places his head on the bar and listens for a while. He lifts his head off the bar and says, “Yep, your beer pump is definitely out of action”. The landlord checks the pump… “Ha! You’re wrong old man. It’s working perfectly!” “Well then, where’s my fucking pint?”
To tell people he was a vegan.
but she was just pulling my leg.
But it wooden whistle. So I bought a steel whistle. But it steel wooden whistle. So I bought a lead whistle. But it steel wooden lead me whistle.
It’s all the rage.
Followed by Batman.
My Anesthesiologist said that if I didn’t want knockout gas he could hit me in the head with a paddle.
He wouldn't do both. It was ether/oar.
You could hear them say: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING??
She meets a farmer and challenges him: "If I can guess your profession, I get your dog for free." The farmer agrees. The blonde declares that he is a farmer, and wins the bet. As she's stuffing the animal into the trunk of her Fiat, the farmer says: "if I can guess your real hair color, can I get my pig back?"
Because they always have a hunch.
I guess now it's clear why everybody calls me handsome.
There would be mass confusion.
Its a buccaneer
would you refuse?
I have some breaking news for her.
An imam, a priest and a rabbi are having a discussion about what they do with the money they receive from worshippers.
The priest explains his process: « the way I do things is very simple. First, I take a big piece of chalk and draw a circle around myself. After that I take the money in my hands, throw it up in the air and what falls inside the circle is for me while all the money that falls outside is for the Lord. » The imam replies: « Now that’s very clever! I actually have a similar process. What I do at first is take the money and place myself at my mosque’s entrance with one foot outside and the other one inside. Then I throw the money up in the air and what falls outside is for me while the money that falls inside is for Allah » The priest nods his head with approval at the imam’s explanation. The rabbi who looks clearly offended by both their explanations says: « I can’t even begin to believe what I’m hearing! How dare you do such a thing!? And you call yourselves men of faith! I’d never resort to the use of fancy shmancy theatrics to determine how the money is divided between God and me! All I do is take the money, throw it up in the air and whatever god needs he takes while what’s left is mine.
One will burn your eyes, the other will moisturize
A homie-hoe-stasis, if you will.
Girl: "Forgive me father for I have sinned." Priest: "What have you done my child?" Girl: "I called a man a son of a bitch." Priest: "Why did you call him a son of a bitch?" Girl: "Because he touched my hand." Priest: "Like this?" (as he touches her hand) Girl: "Yes father." Priest: "That's no reason to call a man a son of a bitch." Girl: "Then he touched my breast." Priest: "Like this?" (as he touched her breast) Girl: "Yes father." Priest: "That's no reason to call him a son of a bitch." Girl: "Then he took off my clothes, father." Priest: "Like this?" (as he takes off her clothes) Girl: "Yes father." Priest: "That's no reason to call him a son of a bitch." Girl: "Then he stuck his you know what into my you know where." Priest: "Like this?" (as he stuck his you know what into her you know where) Girl: "YES FATHER, YES FATHER, YES FATHER!!!" Priest: (after a few minutes): "That's no reason to call him a son of a bitch." Girl: "But father he had AIDS!" Priest: "THAT SON OF A BITCH!!!"
Lunch and Dinner (not an original, but I thought it was funny :p)
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.)
She said: "Well, I dreamt of a golden ring with lots of small diamonds." I asked her: "What do you think it means?" She smiled and said: "I don't know…" Flash forward to her birthday, with all our family members at the table, I gave her my present. I still don't know why she didn't like this book called 'Dreams and their Meanings'.
No really, you can’t make this up.
So then when one dies I'll still have two
Because they can't multiply.
I’m a faux pas.
Their username checks out.
A Swedish immigrant finally arrives at Ellis Island after days at sea, and with only $15 in his pocket. He's eager to get a job, find a place to live, and start his new life in America, but after such a long and hard journey, his first stop is to get a drink to unwind! He walks into the first pub he sees and is greeted by the bartender. The bartender says, "Hey there, what can I do you for?" The Swede, eager to take his English for a spin in this new country, orders his favorite drink: "I'll take a yin, please!" The bartender grows visibly upset. "Yin? Yin?! What the hell is that? You're another one o' them lousy immigrants coming through that don't know no good English. Get outta here and don't come back till you can order a drink proper!" The Swede leaves, feeling distraught, and instead finds work and lodging, putting the drink aside for now. Every night when he returns home from work, he practices his English in the mirror. "Yin. Yin. Yyy…inn. Jyinn. Jjjiiinn. Gyiin. Giin. Gin. Gin! Gin! GIN!" After weeks of practice, he's ready. The Swede goes back to that same bar he entered when he first arrived in America. The bar tender recognizes him immediately. "Hey, it's you again!" he yells. "I thought I told you to–" But the Swede raises a hand and calmly interrupts. "Yes, I know. I would like to order a gin, please." The bar tender is speechless! A smile grows on his face, and he says, "well, would you look at that? You've learned quite a bit! Alright, I'll get you that gin, sure thing. What would you like it with?" The Swede answers, "yinyerale!"
There would be six feet between us.
Either you get twice the amount of dad-jokes, or you get stuck in an endless loop of "go ask your mother".
… on the other hand, I'm okay.
It was the mailman's last day on the job after 35 years of carrying the mail through all kinds of weather to the same neighborhood. When he arrived at the first house on his route he was greeted by the whole family there, who congratulated him and sent him on his way with a big gift envelope. At the second house they presented him with a box of fine cigars. The folks at the third house handed him a selection of terrific fishing lures. At the fourth house he was met at the door by a strikingly beautiful woman in a revealing negligee. She took him by the hand, gently led him through the door (which she closed behind him), and led him up the stairs to the bedroom where she blew his mind with the most passionate love he had ever experienced. When he had had enough they went downstairs, where she fixed him a giant breakfast: eggs, potatoes, ham, sausage, blueberry waffles, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. When he was truly satisfied she poured him a cup of steaming coffee. As she was pouring, he noticed a dollar bill sticking out from under the cup's bottom edge. "All this was just too wonderful for words," he said, "but what's the dollar for?" "Well," she said, "last night, I told my husband that today would be your last day, and that we should do something special for you. I asked him what to give you." My husband said, "Screw him, give him a dollar."
It’s a trap!