I have a Russian friend who’s a sound technician
And a Czech one too. A Czech one too.
By using remorse code.
It was the perfect meet cute and we kept both copies even after getting married. It was sweet. Not all things are meant to last and when things got a bit rocky we decided to get divorced. I let her keep the apartment and moved my stuff out. Unfortunately, we live in one of those states that mail out ballots. She sent me a text a week after I had left to let me know my ballot had come to the apartment. We had ended things amicably, but neither of us wanted to see each other so soon. Committed to my civic duty, I dropped by after work the next day. When she opened the door she was in tears. She had me come in and I immediately saw it, I had forgotten to take my copy of the movie. Somehow, this felt more final than actually signing the divorce papers. I still cared about her, so I asked if she wanted to talk at all. She shook her head and said through tears, “Just take your Up, vote and go.”
You would think “R,” but it’s actually the “C.”
2 scoops of ice cream 1 scoop of dead baby
He found it an arrowing experience
The professor replies: “Yes. Eumenides?"
A bad golfer goes ‘WHACK’ , “ah shit”. A bad skydiver goes “ah shit” , ‘WHACK’
Me: "Why?" Bouncer: "I have no idea who you are and this is my trampoline."
Four Catholic Men and a Catholic Woman Were Having Coffee in St. Peter's Square. The first Catholic man tells his friends, "My son is a priest, when he walks into a room, everyone calls him 'Father'". The second Catholic man chirps, "My son is a Bishop. When he walks into a room people call him 'Your Grace'". The third Catholic gent says, "My son is a Cardinal. When he enters a room everyone says 'Your Eminence'". The fourth Catholic man then says, "My son is the Pope. When he walks into a room people call him 'Your Holiness'". Since the lone Catholic woman was sipping her coffee in silence, the four men give her a subtle, "Well…."? She proudly replies, "I have a daughter, slim, tall, 38D – 24 – 36 When she walks into a room people say, "Jeeeeeeeeeesssssssuuussss!"
Cause that's when the steaks are highest.
I’d probably only drive it from time to time…
they were flying off the shelves but he switched to chickens and they didn't take off. So he tried ducks and then it was all bills, bills, bills.
I once met a crazed man muttering incoherently about ancient Mesopotamia, but I had to stop him, because…
I didn’t want him to Babylon…
I learned next to nothing.
I said its Narnia buisness
All of them.
[…] to pee on him whenever he wants. It's his monthly streaming service.
Mostly so I can get a better girlfriend.
Little Bobby came home from school and proudly announced to his Mom, " I had sex with a teacher today." Mom's infuriated. "Boy, get your ass up to your bedroom. Your father can take care of this when he gets home." When Dad arrives, Mom explains the situation, and Dad, feigning anger, rushes upstairs slamming doors. Charging into his son's room, he exclaims loudly, "Boy, what the hell have you been up to?!?" Then in a whisper, "Hell yeah, son. High five. Got any questions for the old man?" To which, little Bobby replied, " Yeah, Dad. How much longer is my butt gonna hurt?"
But when I do, he laughs.
A literalist takes things literally and a kleptomaniac takes things, literally.
i've only got my shelf to blame….
unless you're at a funeral [Demetri martin]
No text found
They didn’t do anything
If you don't get it, it's because it's an inside joke.
Me: I was just listening to the radio on my way in to town, apparently an actress just killed herself. Friend: Seriously!? Who!? Me: Uh, I can't remember… I think her name was Reese something? Friend: WITHERSPOON!!?? Me: No, it was with a knife…
Nothing, they fast.
Give it a weigh, give it a weigh, give it a weigh now!
Me: Is it contagious? Doctor: Is what contagious?
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.
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.
Therapist: Why ? Patient: Yes!
No one knows. But the road will have his vengeance.
A woman is at home when she hears someone knock at the door. She goes to the door and opens the door to see a man standing there. He asks the lady 'Do you have a vagina?'. She slams the door in disgust. The next morning she hears a knock at the door and it is the same man and he asks the same question of the woman 'Do you have a vagina'. She slams the door again. Later that night when her husband gets home she tells him what has happened for the last two days. The husband tells the wife in a loving and concerned voice 'Honey I am taking tomorrow off to be home just in case this guy shows up again'. The next morning they hear a knock at the door and both run for the door. The husband says to the wife in a whispered voice 'Honey, I'm going to hide behind the door and listen and if it is the same guy I want you to answer yes to the question because I want to see where he is going with it'. She nods yes to her husband and opens the door. Sure enough the same fellow is standing there and asks the same question. Do you have vagina'….. .. 'Yes' she says…… The man replies Good! Would you mind telling your husband to leave my wife's alone and start using yours'?
Nothing dentured, nothing gained!
Bad reviews… only 1 star.
Mom, what’s dark humor? Do you see that man without arms over there? Tell him to clap Mom! I'm blind…. Exactly.
Interviewer: “I meant any questions about the job.”
No, seriously. It's not like they can go see a doctor
Then they call me ugly and poor.