How did the farmer find his wife?
He tractor down.
It’s getting crowded in heaven, so one day Saint Peter decides to only accept people who make him laugh.
A man came walking up to the Pearly Gates, and Saint Peter said to him: “Alright bud, you’re only getting in today if you can make me laugh, so why don’t you tell me about how you died.” The man looked at Saint Peter and said, “Oh man, it was awful! I was absolutely sure my wife was having an affair, so I left work early to come home and try to catch her in the act. When I got home, sure as shit there she was, naked on the bed! I looked all over the apartment, but I couldn’t find the guy anywhere. So I went outside on our 25th story balcony, and there he was!! Hanging over the edge by his fingertips! So I ran inside, and grabbed my hammer and ran back outside and started smashing his hands and fingers with it! He finally let go, and he fell down 25 stories but he landed in some bushes, so I ran inside and using all of my might, I grabbed my refrigerator, picked it up, and threw it over the rail and on top of the guy, crushing and killing him!! But all of the strain and exertion from picking up the refrigerator gave me a heart attack and I died.” Saint Peter let out a faint chuckle, and since it was a crime of passion, he decided to let the poor soul in. Another man came walking up to the pearly gates, and Saint Peter told this man the same thing—that in order to get in, he was going to have to make Saint Peter laugh. So the second started to tell Saint Peter how he died. “Oh man, it was awful! I was doing aerobics out on my 26th story balcony of my apartment, when all of a sudden a flock of birds came out of nowhere and started attacking me! I was trying to get away, but I fell over the edge of my railing! However, on my way down I managed to grab the railing of the apartment below mine…but then this maniac suddenly showed up and started smashing my hands and fingers with a hammer until I let go! Fortunately for me, I landed in some bushes, but then some guy dropped a freaking refrigerator on me! Saint Peter chuckled again, let the second guy into heaven, and was realizing he has found a way he could really start enjoying his job! About that time, a 3rd man comes walking up to the pearly gates, and Saint Peter gave him the speech about needing to make him laugh, and asks him how he died. “Oh man, you’re never going to believe this shit! Alright, so picture this—I’m butt naked and hiding in a refrigerator…”
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.)
The steaks were high, but it was worth it
Server: slaps customer THE MEN I PLEASE ARE NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!
A man arrives to the airport with three bags. He walks up to the counter and says, “I have a ticket for Los Angeles. Would you be so kind as to send this bag to San Francisco, this one to Miami, and if at all possible this one to Japan?” The gate agent replies, “Sir, that is flatly impossible!” He counters, “That’s a lie, you did it last time I flew with you guys and I didn’t even ask!”
Not enough people really talk about England very much
Dr. Parker, the biology instructor at a posh suburban girl’s junior college, said during class, “Miss Smith, would you please name the organ of the human body, which under the appropriate conditions, expands to six times its normal size, and define the conditions.”
Miss Smith gasped, blushed deeply, then said freezingly, Dr. Parker, I do not think that is a proper question to ask me, you should be asking a boy. And I assure you my parents will hear of this." With that she sat down, very red-faced. Unperturbed, Dr. Parker called on Miss Johnson and asked the same question. Miss Johnson, with composure, replied, "The pupil of the eye, in dim light." "Correct," said Dr. Parker. "And now, Miss Smith, I have three things to say to you. One, you have not studied your lesson. Two, you have a dirty mind. And three, you will some day be faced with a dreadful disappointment."
When I was ten my Mom told me to take my brother to a movie so she could set up for his surprise birthday party.
That's when I realized that he was her favorite twin, not me.
He’s a good buoy
There’s this old priest who got sick of all the people in his parish who kept confessing to adultery.
One Sunday, in the pulpit, he said, "if I hear one more person confess to adultery, I'll quit!" Well, everyone liked him, so they came up with a code word. Someone who had committed adultery would say they had "fallen". This seemed to satisfy the old priest and things went well, until the priest died at a ripe old age. About a week after the new priest arrived, he visited the Mayor of the town and seemed very concerned. The priest said, "you have to do something about the sidewalks in town. When people come into the confessional, they keep talking about having fallen." The Mayor started to laugh, realizing that no-one had told the new priest about the code word. Before the mayor could explain, the priest shook an accusing finger at the mayor and said, "I don't know what you're laughing about, Your wife fell three times this week."
a micro transaction
there is a new issue every single day.
Sorry, wrong sub
Something bad is gonna happen, I can feel it
and his wife immediately starts smacking him, left and right across the face, cursing. "Woah woah woah…what gives?!?" the man says. The smacking intensifies briefly, and then she let's up. "I picked up your coat from the dry cleaners earlier today, and found THIS in the pocket!" his wife exclaims. She presents a small slip of paper with a woman's name and some digits on it. "That?!? Honey it's the name of a horse I'm betting on this weekend! Come on!!" Defeated, she apologizes and retreats back to the den. The next day the man gets home from work, and low and behold she lunges at him again as he walks through the door, smacking him left and right even more violently than the day before, shouting obscenities he didn't even know she was capable of. "Jesus what did I do this time?!?" the man bellows with his arms guarding his face. "The HORSE called!"
In a blink of an eye it exploded into massive flames. The alarm went out to all the fire departments for miles around. When the fire fighters appeared on the scene, the chemical company president rushed to the fireman in charge and said, "All our secret formulas are in the vault in the centre of the plant. They must be saved. I will give 50,000 pounds to the fire department that brings them out intact." But the roaring flames held the fire-fighters off. Soon more fire departments had to be called in as the situation became desperate. As the firemen arrived, the president shouted out that the offer was now 100,000 pounds to the fire station who could bring out the company's secret files. But still the fire fighters could not get through. From the distance, a lone siren was heard as another fire truck came into sight. It was the nearby rural township volunteer fire brigade, composed mainly of old men over 65. To everyone's amazement, that little run-down fire engine roared right past all the newer sleek engines that were parked outside the plant. Without even slowing down it drove straight into the middle of the inferno. Outside, the other firemen watched as the old timers jumped off right in the middle of the fire and fought it back on all sides. It was a performance and effort never seen before. Within a short time, the old timers had extinguished the fire and had saved the secret formulas. The grateful chemical company president announced that for such a superhuman feat he was upping the reward to 200,000 pounds and walked over to personally thank each of the brave fire fighters. The local TV station caught the thank you on film and asked the chief, "What are you going to do with all that money?" "Well," said Paddy, the 70-year-old fire chief, "the first thing we're gonna do is fix the brakes on that bloody fire truck."
The odds were against me.
Is it The same shit different day?
The judge says: "You seem like nice young men, and I'd like to give you a second chance instead of jail time. I want you to go out this weekend and try to convince others of the evils of drug use. I'll see you back in court Monday to see how you got on" On Monday, the judge asks the first guy: "How did you do over the weekend?" Guy 1: "Well, your honor, I persuaded 17 people to give up drugs forever" Judge: "Seventeen people? That's wonderful. How did you do it? " Guy 1: "I used a diagram, your honor. I drew two circles like this; O o. Then I told them that the big circle is your brain before drugs and the small circle is your brain after drugs." "That's admirable," says the judge. Then he turns to the second guy. "And how did you do?" Guy 2: "Well, your honor, I persuaded 350 young guys to give up drugs forever." "Wow!" says the judge. "350 people! How did you manage to do that?" Guy 2: "Well, I used a similar diagram, I drew two circles like this; o O. Then I pointed to the little circle and said, 'This is your arsehole before prison………….."
He gave me a blank stair.
At the end of it, the person that ran the course said, "Ok, buddy, so for the week you owe me…£380." "I refuse to pay," I told him. "You have to," he insisted. "Well then, you'll have to fight me for it." So we fought, and he absolutely battered me. Left me bloody, bruised and beaten. He said, "£380. Cough it up." "No," I told him, wiping my lip. "Because it was clearly a waste of money."
One day, Ving asks if I would do him a favour. I said, “Sure”. He asks me to drive him to the city hall after work. He says he wants to change his name to something more American. I agreed. So after work I'm driving Ling and Ving to the city hall, and I see Ling is giving Ving the cold shoulder. Ving explains that his name has been passed down for generations, and Ling is furious that he would disrespect his ancestry by changing it. So then we get to the city hall and wait in line for a long time. Finally it's our turn and Ving tells me he has picked "Lee" as his American name. He steps up to the desk and starts filling out some paperwork, and the whole time Ling is scolding him about disrespecting their ancestry. Then it's time for Ving to sign his name and seal the deal, but suddenly his eyes well up with tears and he says that he can't do it. The lady at the desk says it’s ok, but Ving has to pay a small fee to cancel his request. Ling groans as she opens up her purse and starts sifting around for cash. Suddenly, out of nowhere, some Asian guy bursts through the town hall doors. "DAD!" Ling and Ving exclaim. He looked at them and cried, "Don't stop! Be Lee, Ving. Hold on to that fee, Ling!"
When a British person gets a really good look at something.
Fruit flies like a banana.
I thought to myself “these should be free of charge”.