Lego stores have finally reopened in the midst of COVID-19…

What do you call a cow that’s fallen asleep at a construction site? A bulldozer.

When it becomes fully groan.

Unfortunately, the locals always had a habit of picking on strangers, which he was. When he finished his drink, he found his horse had been stolen. He went back into the bar, handily flipped his gun into the air, caught it above his head without even looking and fired a shot into the ceiling. "Which one of you sidewinders stole my horse?!" he yelled with surprising forcefulness. No one answered. "Alright, I'm gonna have another beer, and if my horse ain't back outside by the time I finish, I'm gonna do what I dun in Texas! And I don't like to have to do what I dun in Texas!" Some of the locals shifted restlessly. The man, true to his word, had another beer, walked outside, and his horse has been returned to the post. He saddled up and started to ride out of town. The bartender wandered out of the bar and asked, "Say partner, before you go… what happened in Texas?" The cowboy turned back and said, "I had to walk home."

No text found

All the slides were just pictures of me.

And I’m not getting any straight answers.

Nazi Officer: "Sir, we are mining too many useless ores" Hitler rubs chin: "So mine less" Grammar Nazi busts in: "MINE FEWER" Hitler looks up: "Yes?"

Wait. Never mind. That wasn't my waiter.

They do everything on porpoise.

The horse replies "You read my mind buddy!"

A farmer named Clyde had a tractor accident. In court, the trucking company's fancy hot shot lawyer, was questioning Clyde. "Didn't you say, at the scene of the accident, 'I'm fine,'?" asked the lawyer. Clyde responded, "Well, I'll tell you what happened. I had just loaded my favorite cow, Bessie, into the…" "I didn't ask for any details", the lawyer interrupted. "Just answer the question, …please. Did you, or did you not say, at the scene of the accident, 'I'm fine!'?" Clyde said, "Well, I had just got Bessie into the trailer behind the tractor and I was driving down the road…." The lawyer interrupted again and said, "Your Honor, I am trying to establish the fact that, at the scene of the accident, this man told the Highway Patrolman on the scene that he was just fine. Now several weeks after the accident he is trying to sue my client. I believe he is a fraud. Please tell him to simply answer the question." By this time, the Judge was fairly interested in Clyde's answer and said to the lawyer, "I'd like to hear what he has to say about his favorite cow, Bessie". Clyde thanked the Judge and proceeded. "Well, as I was saying, I had just loaded Bessie, my favorite cow, into the trailer and was driving her down the highway when this huge semi-truck and trailer ran the stop sign and smacked my John Deer Tractor right in the side. I was thrown into one ditch and Bessie was thrown into the other. I was hurting, real bad and didn't want to move. However, I could hear old Bessie moaning and groaning. I knew she was in terrible shape just by her groans. Shortly after the accident a Highway Patrolman came on the scene. He could hear Bessie moaning and groaning, so he went over to her. After he looked at her, and saw her fatal condition, he took out his gun and shot her between the eyes. Then the Patrolman came across the road, gun still in hand, looked at me, and said, "How are you feeling?" "Now tell me, what the heck would you say?"

They are immediately disqualified.

She called me a cheap skate.

A small medium at large.

Because they know divorce will be with them. Always.

It’s just heartbreaking knowing he will never finish his sentence.

Supplies!!!

It's a very nice step ladder, but it's sad that I never knew my real ladder.

Nobody expects the Spanish ink precision.

Christian Bail

Because then it would be a foot

The odds were against me

"What? We should only have 37!" I replied. "I know" he said, "I rounded them up".

Apologies for not following the usual formatting. My father-in-law was diagnosed with lung cancer a few months ago. A few weeks ago, we learned it had spread to his brain. Later that day, he told me: “Well, everyone came by after they heard about the lung cancer and told me how strong and great I am, and that I’d beat lung cancer…” pauses for effect “…I guess I let it go to my head.”

Not screaming hysterically like his passengers

Me: "How rare?" Doctor: "You pick the name"

I tried okay

Like getting up early to go to work. ‬

Guess who came crawling back

A professor at Wayne State University in Detroit was giving a lecture on Paranormal Studies. To get a feel for his audience, he asks, "How many people here believe in ghosts?" About 90 students raise their hands. "Well, that's a good start. Out of those who believe in ghosts, do any of you think you have seen a ghost?" About 40 students raise their hands. "That's really good. I'm really glad you take this seriously. Has anyone here ever talked to a ghost?" About 15 students raise their hand. "Has anyone here ever touched a ghost?" Three students raise their hands. "That's fantastic. Now let me ask you one question further…Have any of you ever made love to a ghost?" Way in the back, Hamid raises his hand. The professor takes off his glasses and says, "Son, all the years I've been giving this lecture, no one has ever claimed to have made love to a ghost You've got to come up here and tell us about your experience." The Middle Eastern student replied with a nod and a grin, and began to make his way up to the podium. When he reached the front of the room, the professor asks, "So, Hamad, tell us what it's like to have sex with a ghost?" Hamad replied, "Shit, from way back there I thought you said Goats."

The surgeon walks in, takes a deep breath and says: “Okay, David. This is a simple operation.” The man says: “My name isn’t David.” The surgeon replies: “No, it’s my name.”

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.

He's disqualified.

They come with an Elon Musk.

….no seriously, you’ve got to.

The banana nana boo boo