Funniest shit I’ve ever seen
Because paper covers rock!
The rotation of the earth
…I can never tell if they’re joking or not.
It's a virus wich deactivates your spelchek and fcuks up you riting. I receibed it but lukily I don't wach p0rn so I dint opin it. Plees warm you frends Wanks
and I lost my job as a bus driver.
Mountain climbing with a friend is hard.
After a couple hours, the guard on duty steps away to use the bathroom. The one prisoner says: "Quick, this is our chance to escape. We only have a few minutes so have to work together. You rip bedsheets into strips and I'll tie them into a rope, then we can climb down through the window. The other agrees, "Got it. I sheet, you knot."
I barely qualify.
They put in a lot of shifts.
"What the hell is testiculating?" the man asks. Looking both irritated and impatient, his wife responds, "It's when a man is talking bollocks!" The man considers this for a moment. "Tell me something," he finally says. "Are you on your period?" "Yes," his wife answers. "Why?" The man nods. "I thought so. You're ovaryacting."
I was having a bad time once and my friend felt the need to comfort me. He said "cheer up, it could be worse. You could be stuck at the bottom of a deep hole filled with water." I knew he meant well.
An old west dime novel writer is out looking for a good story when he wanders into a saloon. He sees a group of rough rider lookin' scoundrels playing poker and he musters up enough courage to sit down with 'em (thinkin' he might get a story out if he was lucky). "Mind if I play?" The others look up with a scowl that would curdle milk, but one looks at the clock and shakes his head. He points out the time to the others and they gather up their chips and go. "Play alone, we're a-leavin'. Wild Bill's comin' to town." The writer is confused, but smells a story brewing; a strong one at that. He hoofs it up to the bar, passing most other patrons on their way out, and slaps a whole dollar bill on the table, "Barkeep, give me a beer and a story, and you can keep the change." After taking a quick glance at the clock, the bartender shakes his head, pours the beer, and pushes the bill back to the reporter. "The drink is on the house, but I suggest you drink it quick and leave. Wild Bill is coming to town." Without another word the 'tender puts his last glass away and walks right out the swinging doors, leaving the reporter in an empty bar. Now fear in his gut tears at him as he hears the emptiness in that bar. This emptiness seems to seep in as he realizes that he's about to be the last man in this town, alone with only the sound of that ticking clock to keep him company. Still, a story of this caliber must be worth something; so he waits… Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, Bong<CRACK!>- Just as the clock strikes the first chime of twelve, a sound like thunder splitting a mountain is heard outside. The reporter runs to the doors to see what it is. In the distance and closing fast is a tornado coming right for the bar. The reporter hits the ground and watches as the tornado comes up to the bar and stops. The wind settles and there is a giant of a man riding a grizzly bear. He steps off the bear, and instead of hitching it, he punches the great beast right in the face <WHAM!>, knocking it cold on the ground. The reporter is so scared he runs back into the bar and dives behind the counter, sure that this is the last of his days. <KaPLOW!> the giant kicks in the saloon doors, and they turn to splinters that imbed themselves into the walls and break bottles and glasses that they touch. The man walks up to the bar, breaking every floor board with each thundering step. He looks down at the reporter and slams his fist on the bar, cracking it down the middle, "GIMME A DRINK!" The reporter comes up, shakily holding out two bottles of whisky; which the giant snatches up, chews the glass tops off of, and drinks down as fast as the amber liquid can spill from the bottles. He throws both bottles in the air, whips out his six-shooter and fires off a round. The single bullet rips through both bottles showering the reporter with shards that rain down. Regretting his curiosity and repenting of his life, the reporter stands on weakened legs and whimpers out, "W-w-w-would y-you like a-another drink?" The man turns to him, fire in his eyes, then glances at the clock… "Nah, I gotta go. Wild Bill's comin' to town."
He just looked at me and replied, "You asked for a cock tale, sir."
It's where I flip your MOM over
So I answered it.
“No son, have you seen my dad glasses?”
Random dad: How can I help you? Man: Call me an ambulance! Random dad: You're an ambulance
It’s not a very long poem, but it’s pretty deep.
Asians invented it, Italians spread it.
A lumberjack went into a magic forest to cut a tree. Upon arrival, he started to swing at the tree. It shouted, “Wait! I’m a talking tree”
The lumberjack smiled, “and you will dialogue”.
They did unspeakable things to me
An old, tired-looking dog wandered into the yard. I could tell from his collar and well-fed belly that he had a home.
He followed me into the house, down the hall, and fell asleep on the couch. An hour later, he went to the door, and I let him out. The next day he was back, resumed his position on the couch and slept for an hour. This continued for several weeks. Curious, I pinned a note to his collar: 'Every afternoon your dog comes to my house for a nap.' The next day he arrived with a different note pinned to his collar: 'He lives in a home with four children — he's trying to catch up on his sleep. Can I come with him tomorrow?'
It’s not hard
The old man headed straight for the only saloon in town, to clear his parched throat. He walked up to the saloon and tied his old mule to the hitch rail. As he stood there, brushing some of the dust from his face and clothes, a young gunslinger stepped out of the saloon with a gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. The young gunslinger looked at the old man and laughed, saying, "Hey old man, can you dance?" The old man looked up at the gunslinger and said, "No son, I don't dance… never really wanted to" A crowd had gathered as the gunslinger grinned and said, "Well, you old fool, you're gonna dance now!" and started shooting at the old man's feet. The old prospector, not wanting to get a toe blown off, started hopping around like a flea on a hot skillet. Everybody standing around was laughing.. When his last bullet had been fired, the young gunslinger, still laughing, holstered his gun and turned around to go back into the saloon. The old man turned to his pack mule, pulled out a double-barreled 12 gauge shotgun and cocked both hammers. The loud clicks carried clearly through the desert air. The crowd stopped laughing immediately. The young gunslinger heard the sounds too, and he turned around very slowly. The silence was deafening. The crowd watched as the young gunman stared at the old timer and the large gaping holes of those twin 12-gauge barrels. The barrels of the shotgun never wavered in the old man's hands, as he quietly said; "Son, have you ever kissed a mule's ass?" The gunslinger swallowed hard and said, "No sir… but…. I've always wanted to"
All they do is flash and bang people.