I got a bar installed into my roof.
Just so whenever I have guests I can say "drinks are on the house".
When the punchline becomes apparent!
A few days after moving in, the friendly American neighbor decides to go across and welcome the new guy. He goes next door but on his way up the drive-way he sees the Chinese man running around his front yard chasing about 10 hens. Not wanting to interrupt, he decides to put the welcome on hold for the day. The next day, he decides to try again, but just as he is about to knock on the front door, he looks through the window and sees the Chinese man urinate into a glass and then drink it. Not wanting to interrupt he decides to put the welcome on hold for yet another day. A day later he decides to give it one last go, but on his way next door, he sees the Chinese man leading a bull down the drive-way, and then put his left ear next to the bull’s butt. The American can’t handle this, so he goes up to the Chinese man and says, “dude, what the hell is it with you? I come over to welcome you to the neighborhood, and see you running around the yard after hens. The next day you are pissing in a glass and drinking it, and then today you have your head so close to that bull’s butt, it could just about shit on you.” The Chinese man is very taken back and says, “Sorry sir, you no understand, these no Chinese customs I doing, these American customs.” “What do you mean? Those aren’t American customs.” “Yes they are,” Chinese replied. “Man at travel agent tell me to become true American, I must learn to chase chicks, get piss drunk, and listen to bullshit.”
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.
She came to her senses!
You're a multicellular organism.
He told me to fuck off and buy my own.
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"
I have to make every second Count.
For Hispanic attacks
It’s the hidden charges you have to watch out for.
edit: I am giving up. Drinking alcohol for the month of February.
Because if they lived on the Bay they’d be bagels
Because Dawn is tough on Greece.
The waitress says, "Sorry, but the guy next to you got the last bowl". He looks over and sees that the guy's finished his meal, but the bowl of chili is still full. He asks, "Are you going to eat that chili?" The other guy says, "No. Help yourself". He slides the bowl of chili over and starts to eat. When he gets about half way down, his spoon hits something. He looks down sees a dead mouse and immediately pukes all the chili back into the bowl. The other guy says, "Yeah, that's about as far as I got, too".
I WANT SAMOA!!
But it’s up there.
By the pound!
until one day, on his deathbed, he was completely bald. That day, he called his children to a meeting. He said, “Look at my hair. It used to be so magnificent, but it’s completely gone now. My hair can’t be saved. But look outside at the forest. It’s such a lovely forest with so many trees, but sooner or later they’ll all be cut down and this forest will look as bald as my hair.” “What I want you to do,” the man continued, “is, every time a tree is cut down or dies, plant a new one in my memory. Tell your descendants to do the same. It shall be our family’s duty to keep this forest strong.” So they did. Each time the forest lost a tree, the children replanted one, and so did their children, and their children after them. And for centuries, the forest remained as lush and pretty as it once was, all because of one man and his re-seeding heirline.
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I said, “Well, they were separated at birth.”
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He was wearing his best suit, a charcoal grey suit. The woman knew it was her husbands dying wish to be buried in a blue suit, something that they had never been able to afford when he was alive. So, she told the undertaker about her husband's wish, acknowledging that she couldn't afford a new suit, and she asked him if there was anything he could do. The undertaker told the widow that he would do what he could and to come back in three days. When the widow returned three days later, she found her husband in his coffin, wearing a stunning blue suit. She was overcome with gratitude and asked the undertaker how he'd managed this. The undertaker replied, not half an hour after you left, a lady brought in her late husband, who was wearing a blue suit. She told me how he'd always wanted to buried in a grey suit, but she couldn't afford a new one, so I told her I'd see what I could do and to return in three days. After she'd left, I checked and he was about the same height and build as your husband so I swapped the heads.
After my breakup I talked to my ex one last time and said: “Do you know what’s been the best thing since I left you, it’s-”
“Oh, I know. You’ve been out shagging anything that moves!” she said. “Sowing your wild oats, getting your prick into anything with a pulse. I know exactly what you’re all about!” “-it’s that I’ve actually been able to finish a fucking sentence without being interrupted.”
Because camping is in tents.
I keep all the results on a spreadsheet
is that when you're done it's easy to clean the floor: you're already half way through. (Might as well have been a "dirty" joke.)
It’s the weight and c approach I guess
But smoking bacon will cure it.
She has nothing, no friends, no family, she just wants to end it all. And as she's about to jump, a handsome young sailor shouts, "stop! Don't do it!!" And she says, "I've nothing in this world, I might as well end it!" And he says, "Listen, listen. It's a rotten world, sure. But never end the thing the lord gave us without changing everything first. I'm leaving tomorrow on a boat for Europe. I know one of the stevedores. I'll find you a place to stowaway, and we can start a new life over there. I'll make you happy. You'll make me happy. It doesn't have to be like this." And she agrees. That night they meet in darkness and he smuggles her aboard one of the lifeboats belowdeck. He brings her a blanket, and some food, and for three weeks they have this tryst. Each night he brings her a sandwich and they talk and make passionate love until the dawn. But. After the third week, the captain is doing a routine inspection belowdecks, and he hears a quiet rustling in one of the lifeboats And he pulls back the tarp and sees her, shaking in fear. "WHAT are you doing here, madam??" And she tells all, "I…I'm a stowaway! I have an…arrangement with one of the sailors on this ship. He's helping us get to Europe, and he lets me hide out in this lifeboat, smuggling me food." "And?" says the captain "And…well. He's screwing me." and the captain says, "He sure is lady, this is the Staten Island Ferry!"
I wouldnt mind, but I was only 30 minutes late.