I really don’t care
He yells "Don't do it! You have so much potential!"
I guess I have too much time on my hands.
… so that’s odd.
There's a lot of red flags you need to watch out for.
A gorilla goes into a bar and orders a martini. This totally amazes the bartender, but he thinks, "What the heck, I guess I might as well make the drink." So he mixes the martini. He then walks back over to the give it to the gorilla, and the animal is holding out a twenty-dollar bill. Well, now the bartender is just at a loss for words. He can't believe that a gorilla walked into his bar, ordered a martini, and then actually had a twenty-dollar bill to pay for it. So, in amazement, he takes the twenty and walks to the cash register to make the change. While he's standing in front of the cash register he stops for a second and thinks to himself, "Let me try something here and see if the gorilla notices anything." So he walks back over to the gorilla and hands him a dollar change. The gorilla doesn't say anything, he just sits there sipping the martini. After a few minutes the bartender just can't take it anymore. "You know," he says to the gorilla, "we don't get too many gorillas in here." And the gorilla says, "At nineteen dollars a drink I'm not surprised."
One's Chinese take out, the other takes out Chinese.
Very worried, the mother goes to the drugstore and buys a pregnancy kit. The test result shows that the girl is pregnant. Shouting, cursing, crying, the mother says, "Who was the pig that did this to you? I want to know!" The girl picks up the phone and makes a call. Half an hour later, a Ferrari stops in front of their house. A mature and distinguished man with gray hair and impeccably dressed in an Armani suit steps out of the of the Ferrari and enters the house. He sits in the living room with the father, mother, and the girl and tells them: "Good morning, your daughter has informed me of the problem. I can't marry her because of my personal family situation but I'll take charge. I will pay all costs and provide for your daughter for the rest of her life." "Additionally, if a girl is born, I will bequeath a Ferrari, a beach house, two retail stores, a townhouse, a beachfront villa, and a $2,000,000 bank account. If a boy is born, my legacy will be a couple of factories and a $4,000,000 bank account. If twins, they will receive a factory and $2,000,000 each. However, if there is a miscarriage, what do you suggest I do?" At this point, the father, who had remained silent, places a hand firmly on the man's shoulder and tells him, "You fuck her again."
wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. A young student nurse appears and gives him a partial sponge bath. "Nurse,"' he mumbles from behind the mask, "are my testicles black?" Embarrassed, the young nurse replies, "I don't know, Sir. I'm only here to wash your upper body and feet." He struggles to ask again, "Nurse, please check for me. Are my testicles black?" Concerned that he might elevate his blood pressure and heart rate from worrying about his testicles, she overcomes her embarrassment and pulls back the covers. She raises his gown, holds his manhood in one hand and his testicles gently in the other. She looks very closely and says, "There's nothing wrong with them, Sir. They look fine." The man slowly pulls off his oxygen mask, smiles at her, and says very slowly, "Thank you very much. That was wonderful. Now listen very, very closely: Are – my – test – results – back?"
They can’t keep a straight face
Because they’re good buoys
Because it is capsized.
It was tense.
Lunch is on me
Looking sharp looking fresh, 10 out of 10 would smash!
The Chinese refuse to acknowledge Ty won.
It depends on what's at steak
I said, "No, wait! I can change."
Her – Knock knock! Me – Who's there? Her – Hungry! Me – Hungry who? Her – Hi hungry, I'm dad!
If generosity was the only criteria required for heaven all halogens would be in hell
A boy: A chair, hahaha, nice try gran- Grandpa: It's your dog, he is dead Jimmy
He felt his presents!
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.
a pain in the ass
An old lady came in and asked me to check her balance, so I pushed her over.
Two hunters fly to Kenya, where they bag six gazelles. As the crew is loading the small plane to return, the pilot says the aircraft can take only four gazelles back. “Last time, the pilot let us take all six, and he had the same plane as yours,” argues the first hunter. Reluctantly, the pilot gives in and takes off. But the little plane is too heavy, and it goes down. Climbing out of the wreckage, the second hunter turns to the other. “Any idea where we are?” The first replies, “I’d say we’re pretty close to where we crashed last time.” Edit: omg thank you guys so much for the 50 upvotes, never had this before! ReEdit: OMFG you guys are so awesome, 100 upvotes i can'belive it. Thank you sooooo much!
Melt them down, make a tyre and call it a good year.
Looking at it now, I see why.
I replied "no, you do" and unplugged his life support.
… I was worried she'd be fatter than she looked in her pictures. Turns out he wasn't.
Good players are hard to find.
A physicist, an engineer, and a statistician go on a hunting trip, they are walking through the woods when they spot a deer in a clearing. The physicist calculates the distance of the target, the velocity and drop of the bullet, adjusts his rifle and fires, missing the deer 5 feet to the left. The engineer rolls his eyes. 'You forgot to account for wind. Give it here', he snatches the rifle, licks his finger and estimates the speed and direction of the wind and fires, missing the deer 5 feet to the right. Suddenly, the statistician claps his hands and yells "We got him!"
Take your foot off his head. ** Edit: Some people PM'd me to tell me they found this offensive. I reread it and I agree. Here is the updated version of the joke: Q. How do you stop an anti-vaxer from drowning? A. Take your foot off his or her head. Again, I apologize to any feminists out there for my originally posted version.
I walked across the dance floor to get another drink and won the dance contest…
and if you don’t get that that’s the best dad joke ever…. well 🤷🏼♀️
Otherwise we'd have a pandademic.