Ok thanks for telling us
But I'm not worried, its just water under the fridge.
All I keep getting are scientific articles.
A man goes to the Super Bowl but his tickets are for the upper tier. He spots an open seat on the 50-yard line and grabs it.
The guy sitting next to him says, “Actually, this seat belongs to me. I was supposed to come with my wife, but she passed away. This is the first Super Bowl we haven’t been together since we got married in 1967.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” says the first man. “Couldn’t you find a friend or relative to come with you?” “Nope,” replies the second guy. “Everyone’s at the funeral.”
But when I do, he usually laughs
A spare I guess
I used a penny stamp to mail a love note. But instead of writing it, I only sprayed it with my favorite cologne.
With a cent, I sent a scent.
"What the heck." He says to himself. "I really want a drink." When the gay waiter approaches, he says to the cowboy. "What’s the name of your willy?" The cowboy says. "Look, I’m not into any of that. All I want is a drink." "The gay waiter says. "I’m sorry but I can’t serve you until you tell me the name of your willy. Mine for instance is called NIKE, for the slogan, 'Just Do It.' that guy down at the end of the bar calls his SNICKERS, because 'It really Satisfies.'" The cowboy looks dumbfounded, so the bartender tells him he will give him a second to think it over. So the cowboy asks the man sitting to his left who is sipping on a beer. "Hey bud, what’s the name of yours?" The man looks back and says with a smile, "TIMEX." The thirsty cowboy asks. "Why Timex?" The fella proudly replies. "‘Cause it takes a licking and keeps on ticking." A little shaken, the cowboy turns to the two fella’s on his right who just happens to be sharing a fruity Margarita and says….. "So, what do you guys call yours?" The first man turns to him and proudly exclaims. "FORD, because Quality is Job One." Then he adds. "Have you driven a Ford lately?" The guy next to him then says. "I call mine CHEVY Like a Rock!" And gives a wink! Even more shaken, the Cowboy has to think for a moment before he comes up with a name for his manhood. Finally, he turns to the bartender and exclaims, "The name of my willy is SECRET. Now give me a beer." The bartender begins to pour the cowboy a beer, but with a puzzled look asks. "Why Secret?" The cowboy says. "Because it’s ‘STRONG ENOUGH FOR A MAN, BUT MADE FOR A WOMAN!"
Remains to be seen.
I said maybe-
… guess you could say he sleighed it
This is Sean Connery.
It doesn’t pay much but the tips are huge.
But so far I’ve made 2 Vases and a Jug and they are lovely.
Prophets are going through the roof.
. Edit: thank you kind stranger for the Silver!
The first act is a girl trying to tie a knot with a cherry stem in her mouth. She tries and tries, but she just cant do it. A guy from the audience yells out, "Hey, maybe you should practice with my dick!" Most of the audience laughs. The girl requests a microphone and a nearby teacher obliges. The girl says into the microphone, "I think I should get good with the cherry stem before I try anything smaller."
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.
I just bought a new t.v. and it said “Built in antenna” I don’t even know where that is!
I think she’s planning to watch the highlights later.
The second man dies. That's why you shouldn't repost.
Call me a racist if you want, but south of the border is a sea of violence, corruption and stupidity I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.
I just thank my lucky stars I live in Canada.
He speaks with the officer, who assigns him his post. "Go stand at the periscope entry-way, and make sure no unauthorized personnel touch the periscope." The recruit follows orders, and stands by the periscope. After 15 minutes, the officer stops by. "Son I'm changing your post to the mess hall. Go in there and start washing some dishes." The recruit obeys, and heads to the mess hall. He's cleaned about 3 dishes when the officer walks up again. "Listen here recruit, your new post is in the supply room. I need you to make sure everything is strapped down tight, in case of rough waters." The recruit again follows orders, and heads off to the supply room. There, he sees a crewman, moving some boxes. "Hey there," says the recruit. "is it normal to keep getting reassigned to new posts all day? I haven't kept one position for more than 15 minutes!" The crewman says "Oh yeah- this sub is full of reposts."
It's called Facebook
When Biden is speaking you wonder if he's had a stroke. When Trump is speaking you wonder if you've had a stroke.
My dad burst into my room and said, “Wanna hear a joke?”, and then proceeded to fart for a whole minute.
He said. “Sorry. That was a long winded story.”
The lady sitting next to them ignores them at first, but her attention is galvanized when she hears one of them say the following: Emma come first. Den I come. Den two asses come together. I come once-a-more! . Two asses, they come together again. I come again and pee twice. Then I come one lasta time.' The lady can't take this anymore, "You foul- mouthed sex obsessed pig!" She retorted indignantly. 'In this country, we don't speak aloud in public places about our sex lives!" 'Hey, coola down lady,' said the man, 'Whooza talkin' about sex? I'm a justa tellin' my frienda how to spell ' Mississippi '..