"Use the fork Luke"
She'd never been hunting so they prepared the night before. She made breakfast and lunch for the trip while he got all the hunting stuff clean and got his dog, Butch, ready for the trip. They went to bed early. The next morning, the guy got up and went to check on everything. It was nasty out, 28° and a freezing rain. He got his wife up. She looked outside and said, "There's no way I'm going out in this weather, forget it." He said, "Well, you promised, so if you back out now at the last minute, you have to either suck my dick or let me put it in your butt." She thought it was waaaay too early for butt sex, so she decided to blow him. She starts off nice and slow, but then lifts her head and says, "What the hell? Your dick smells like shit!" He said, "Yeah well, the dog didn't want to go either."
And when the donation tin is makes it's way to the gay man, he leaves a $1000 in the tin. Once the tin makes it's way back to the pastor, the pastor is shocked! He yells, "Whoever left such a generous donation, please make yourself known!". The gay man stands up and says "I did". The pastor smiles at the man and says, "This church thanks you for such a gift! The congregation would love for you to choose 3 hymns". The gay man starts pointing around the church and saying "I will take him, and him and him!"
It will come back to me.
W-I-F-E They tell you what to do all day long!
People are dying to get there.
It's pasteurized before you've even seen it
No text found
3 Women walked past & felt sorry for him. First one said "You ever had a hug?" He said "No" so she hugged him & walked on. The second woman said "You ever had a kiss?" He said "No" so she kissed him & walked on. Third said "You ever been fucked?" He said "No" as his eyes lit up… she said "You will be when the tide comes in."
Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. PHD’s Letter From Birmingham Jail, his response to southern religious leaders accusing his protest movement of being too extremist and badly timed.
I highly suggest everyone reads the full text of the letter linked at the bottom of this post. The mod team was deliberating for days to think of what sections we should link to as an excerpt in this post, when we realized that we were just copying the entire letter at one point. Every word King writes here is powerful.You deplore the demonstrations taking place in Birmingham. But your statement, I am sorry to say, fails to express a similar concern for the conditions that brought about the demonstrations. I am sure that none of you would want to rest content with the superficial kind of social analysis that deals merely with effects and does not grapple with underlying causes. It is unfortunate that demonstrations are taking place in Birmingham, but it is even more unfortunate that the city’s white power structure left the Negro community with no alternative.[…]My friends, I must say to you that we have not made a single gain in civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent pressure. Lamentably, it is an historical fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but, as Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups tend to be more immoral than individuals.We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was “well timed” in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word “Wait!” It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This “Wait” has almost always meant “Never.” We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that “justice too long delayed is justice denied.”We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, “Wait.” But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick and even kill your black brothers and sisters; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six year old daughter why she can’t go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see ominous clouds of inferiority beginning to form in her little mental sky, and see her beginning to distort her personality by developing an unconscious bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five year old son who is asking: “Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?”; when you take a cross county drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading “white” and “colored”; when your first name becomes “nigger,” your middle name becomes “boy” (however old you are) and your last name becomes “John,” and your wife and mother are never given the respected title “Mrs.”; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stance, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of “nobodiness”–then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws. This is certainly a legitimate concern. Since we so diligently urge people to obey the Supreme Court’s decision of 1954 outlawing segregation in the public schools, at first glance it may seem rather paradoxical for us consciously to break laws. One may well ask: “How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?” The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that “an unjust law is no law at all.”[…]Sometimes a law is just on its face and unjust in its application. For instance, I have been arrested on a charge of parading without a permit. Now, there is nothing wrong in having an ordinance which requires a permit for a parade. But such an ordinance becomes unjust when it is used to maintain segregation and to deny citizens the First-Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and protest.[…]I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the past few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen’s Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to “order” than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says: “I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I cannot agree with your methods of direct action”; who paternalistically believes he can set the timetable for another man’s freedom; who lives by a mythical concept of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait for a “more convenient season.” Shallow understanding from people of good will is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection.I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice and that when they fail in this purpose they become the dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, in which the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substantive and positive peace, in which all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open, where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured so long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must be exposed, with all the tension its exposure creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured.[…]I had also hoped that the white moderate would reject the myth concerning time in relation to the struggle for freedom. I have just received a letter from a white brother in Texas. He writes: “All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great a religious hurry. It has taken Christianity almost two thousand years to accomplish what it has. The teachings of Christ take time to come to earth.” Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people but for the appalling silence of the good people. Human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, in the knowledge that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity.[…]And I am further convinced that if our white brothers dismiss as “rabble rousers” and “outside agitators” those of us who employ nonviolent direct action, and if they refuse to support our nonviolent efforts, millions of Negroes will, out of frustration and despair, seek solace and security in black nationalist ideologies–a development that would inevitably lead to a frightening racial nightmare.Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The yearning for freedom eventually manifests itself, and that is what has happened to the American Negro. Something within has reminded him of his birthright of freedom, and something without has reminded him that it can be gained. Consciously or unconsciously, he has been caught up by the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of Africa and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South America and the Caribbean, the United States Negro is moving with a sense of great urgency toward the promised land of racial justice. If one recognizes this vital urge that has engulfed the Negro community, one should readily understand why public demonstrations are taking place. The Negro has many pent up resentments and latent frustrations, and he must release them. So let him march; let him make prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; let him go on freedom rides -and try to understand why he must do so. If his repressed emotions are not released in nonviolent ways, they will seek expression through violence; this is not a threat but a fact of history. So I have not said to my people: “Get rid of your discontent.” Rather, I have tried to say that this normal and healthy discontent can be channeled into the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. And now this approach is being termed extremist. But though I was initially disappointed at being categorized as an extremist, as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a measure of satisfaction from the label.https://ift.tt/2UjhbQc /r/PoliticalHumor mod team decided that this sticky would be a much more effective support action than shutting down the subreddit or other standard Reddit protests, because honestly, those protests don’t do much.)
Thou shall not COVID thy neighbor's house
How do you tell a good joke about time travel?
Student: My dad is in the hospital 1 week later Teacher: Is your dad still in the hospital? Student: Yes, he is a doctor
They're so picky!
Last Wednesday a passenger in a taxi heading for the airport leaned over to ask the driver a question and gently tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. The driver screamed, lost control of the cab, nearly hit a bus, drove up over the curb and stopped just inches from a large plate glass window. For a few moments everything was silent in the cab. Then, the shaking driver said "Are you OK? I'm so sorry, but you scared the living daylights out of me." The badly shaken passenger apologized to the driver and said, "I didn't realize that a mere tap on the shoulder would startle someone so badly." The driver replied, "No, no, I'm the one who is sorry, it's entirely my fault. Today is my very first day driving a cab. I've been driving a hearse for 25 years.
My three year old is getting into telling jokes . I just made this one up for her: Why was Fibonacci afraid of 1 1 2 3 5? Because 1 1 2 3 5 8 13!
Username checks out
Judge: “First offender?” Lady: “No first a Gibson, then a Fender.”
A poultry. (came up with that in the shower)
You can hide but you can't run
You wont believe what happened next!
I'm not joking, but he is.
Ha! I just foiled your plan!
A gillie suit.
I have no words to describe how angry I am
You can't tell me that's just a coincidence.
Eight, if you want to screw it completely.
…well, that's how I was taught Roman numerals in school.
“Oh I don’t know princess, why don’t you tell me?” I said. She gave me a huge smile and held up four fingers. It’s now three hours later, police have joined in and she still won’t say where she got them.
A politician visited a remote little rural village and asked the inhabitants what the government could do for them.
“We have two big needs,” said the village headman. “First, we have a hospital but no doctor.” The politician whipped out his cellphone, spoke for a while and then said: “I have sorted it out. A doctor will arrive here tomorrow. What is your other need?” “We have no cellphone reception at all in our village.”
Because they make up everything.
The porcupine has the pricks on the outside.
Day 2 of wfh and things are getting pretty weird. The guy I’m supposed to pair with gets pretty annoyed if I don’t pay him attention, but most of what he says about my code is unintelligible. He also seems to never get past the login screen on his computer. I don’t think he’s getting any work done.
Dear Son, I am feeling pretty bad because it looks like I won’t be able to plant my potato garden this year. I’m just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. If you were here, all my troubles would be over. I know you would dig the plot for me, if you weren't in prison. Love, Dad Shortly, the old man received this telegram: ‘For Heaven’s sake, Dad, don’t dig up the plot. That’s where I buried the GUNS!!’ At 4 a.m. the next morning, a dozen FBI agents and local police officers showed up and dug up the entire garden without finding any guns. Confused, the old man wrote another note to his son telling him what had happened, and asked him what to do next. His son’s reply: ‘Go ahead and plant your potatoes, Dad. It’s the best I could do for you, from here.’
He's second behind Rudolph but can't stop as quickly.
Her soul arrives in heaven and she is met by St.Peter at the Pearly Gates. Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there's a problem: We seldom see a Conservative here and we're not sure what to do with you." "No problem, just let me in; I'm a believer." says May. "I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from the Man Himself: He says you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity." "But, I've already made up my mind; I want to be in Heaven." "I'm sorry, but we have our rules." And with that, St. Peter escorts her to an elevator and she goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors open and she finds himself in the middle of a lush country house garden. Standing in front of it her dad…and thousands of other Conservatives who had helped her out over the years……. The whole of the "Right" was there. Everyone laughing…happy…casually but expensively dressed. They run to greet her, hug her, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at expense of the "suckers and plebs". They play a friendly game of croquet and then dine on lobster and caviar. The Devil himself comes up to May with a frosty drink, "Have a Marguerita and relax, Theresa!" "Uh, I can't drink any more, I’m watching my weight" says May, dejectedly. "This is Hell, Theresa: you can drink and eat all you want and not worry, and it just gets better from there!" May takes the drink and finds herself liking the Devil, who she thinks is a really very friendly guy who tells funny jokes and pulls hilarious nasty pranks. kind of like an Oxford undergrad. They are having such a great time that, before she realizes it, it's time to go. Everyone gives her a big hug and waves as May steps on the elevator and heads upward. When the elevator door reopens, she is in Heaven again and St. Peter is waiting for her. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man says, opening the gate. So for 24 hours May is made to chill with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money, and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or mean joke among them; no fancy country seats and, while the food tastes great, it's not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor, she doesn't see anybody she knows, and she isn't even treated like someone special! Worst of all, to May, Jesus turns out to be some kind of Jewish hippie with his endless 'peace' and 'do unto others' stuff. "Whoa," she says uncomfortably to herself, "Margaret never prepared me for this!" The day done, St. Peter returns and says, "Well, then, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity." With the 'Jeopardy' theme playing softly in the background, May reflects for a minute, then answers: "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this – I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all – but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends." So Saint Peter escorts her to the elevator and she goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the elevator open and she is in the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste…kind of like Middlesborough. She is horrified to see all of her friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime. The Devil comes over to May and puts an arm around her shoulder. "I don't understand," stammers a shocked May, "Yesterday I was here and there was a country house and we ate lobster and caviar….drank cocktails. We lounged around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable!" The Devil looks at her, smiles slyly, and purrs, "Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us."
They just crepe me out.
Since then, grandpa has been kicking puppies and setting fire to orphanages.