Indian type beat
I want to tell you about a girl who only eats plants,
You’ve probably never heard of herbivore.
I just realized my wife left me because of my obsession with simplifying fractions.
Oh well, hindsight is 1.
Two Students from Asia Came to My High School.
They were twins, a guy, Ving, and a girl, Ling. Ving is in my math class, and the dude is like a math wiz. I’m really struggling, so I ask Ving if he’d give me a hand on the homework. Ving says yeah, he just wants me to do him a favor. I’m like yeah sure what? He asks me to drive him to the city hall after school. He says he wants to change his name to something more American. I’m like alright dude! So after school I’m driving Ling and Ving to the city hall, and Ling is totally giving Ving the cold shoulder. I’m like what’s the deal and Ving explains that his name has been passed down for generations, and Ling is totally pissed that he’d disrespect his ancestry by changing it. So then we get to the city hall and wait in line for a super long time. Finally it’s our turn and Ving tells me he’s 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 the ancestry shit, blah blah. 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. Shittttt man, that ancestry shit runs deeeep. The lady at the desk is like ok, but Ving has to pay a small fee to cancel his request. Argh, stupid small town laws, 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!”
Why does the Norway Navy have barcodes on the side of their ships?
So when they come back they can Scandinavian.
I’ve finally worked out why Spain is so good at football
Nobody expects the Spanish in position
Grandpa: What has 4 legs but is not alive?
A boy: A chair, hahaha, nice try gran- Grandpa: It's your dog, he is dead Jimmy
What do you call an army of babies?
Infantry
When does a joke become a “dad joke”?
When it becomes apparent
I bought 10 asparagus at the store but when I got home I realized I had 11…
It was just a spare, I guess…
Jack And Jill
Jill and Jack go to Catholic school. Jill is known for sleeping. The teacher asks Jill “Who created Earth?” Jack pokes Jill with his pencil. She yells “Oh my God!” “that is correct Jill.” She goes back to sleep. The teacher asks Jill “Who is our Lord and Saviour ?” Jack pokes Jill. Jill yells “Jesus Christ!” Teacher says “Correct again Jill.” Jill goes to sleep. Teacher asks Jill “What did Eve say to Adam after their 26th child?” Jack pokes Jill. Jill yells “IF YOU STICK THAT THING IN ME ONE MORE TIME, I’LL BREAK IT OFF AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!”
Life is like a box of chocolates
It doesn’t last long for fat people.
I got a picture of myself in a locket for my 18th birthday.
I am now independent.
A book just fell on my head
I have only my shelf to blame
Why did the coffee go to the police?
It got mugged.
My wife just left me because I’m too insecure…
Never mind. She just came back. She went to get a cup of coffee.
A blacksmith finishes making a few horseshoes and leaves them on an anvil.
The blacksmith returns to the forge as a cowboy walks into the shop and picks one up only to put it back down immediately. "Hot ain't they?" the blacksmith asks. The cowboy replies, "Nope. It just don't take me too long to look at horseshoes."
I started my new job at the local hospital helping to move patients around the hospital
It’s not much, but it’s a rewarding job
Wife: I regret getting you that blender for Christmas
Me: sipping toast why?
For my house party my dad said I could only have under 20 people.
But all my friends are at least 30.
I remember when Mom used to tuck me in
She really wanted a daughter.
Why don’t hamburger buns ever get along?
There's always beef between them.
A serial killer leaves his mark by writing four numbers on each victim.
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.
Dad, why did you name the new baby Teresa?
Well son, Teresa is an anagram. If you rearrange the letters, it spells “Easter”. -Oh, so you named her that on account of how much you and mom love Easter. Yes, that’s right, Alan. -Thanks, Dad!
What’s the difference between the swine flu and the bird flu?
One requires oinkment, and the other requires tweetment.
Lego stores have finally reopened in the midst of COVID-19…
and people are lined up for blocks.
A man ran into the bar and asked the bartender how tall is a penguin.
The bartender gives a rough estimate and say "about this tall I suppose." The man replied "Oh fuck I ran over a nun!"
A man and woman had been married for more than 60 years.
They had shared everything. They had talked about everything. They had kept no secrets from each other except that the little old woman had a shoe box in the top of her closet that she had cautioned her husband never to open or ask her about. For all of these years, he had never thought about the box, but one day the little old woman got very sick and the doctor said she would not recover. In trying to sort out their affairs, the little old man took down the shoe box and took it to his wife's bedside. She agreed that it was time that he should know what was in the box. When he opened it, he found two crocheted dolls and a stack of money totalling $95,000. He asked her about the contents. 'When we were to be married,' she said, ' my grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and crochet a doll.' The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two Precious dolls were in the box. She had only been angry with him two Times in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with Happiness. 'Honey,' he said, 'that explains the doll, but what about all of this money? Where did it come from?' 'Oh,' she said, 'that's the money I made from selling the dolls.'
Someone stole my mood ring
Not sure how I feel about that
What do pigs and ink have in common?
..they both belong in a pen….