One time he didn’t lie

it's all about raisin awareness

A nurse comes over and says to the first businessman, "Congratulations! Your wife had a baby." The man says, "What a coincidence! I'm the president of And1!" The nurse goes away. Then the nurse comes back and says to the second businessman, "Congratulations! Your wife had twins!" The man says, "What a coincidence! I'm the owner of the Minnesota Twins!" The nurse goes away. The nurse comes back and says to the third businessman, "Congratulations! Your wife had triplets!" The man says, "What a coincidence! I work for Triple Crown!" The nurse goes away. The nurse comes back and sees the fourth businessman alone on the bench crying. She asks, "Why are you crying"? The man replies, "I work for Seven Up."

When they arrive at the pearly gates, St. Peter acknowledges them. He sees that they’re all priests and immediately says "If any of you are paedophile, there’s no point waiting here. Just fuck off straight to hell!" Nine of the priests turn around and begin to walk away. St. Peter calls after them, "AND TAKE THE DEAF BASTARD WITH YOU TOO!"

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He says, "Gramps, can I have a puff?" Grandpa replies, "Can your dick touch your asshole?" "No…" "Well, you can't have any." Later, the little boy sees his Grandpa drinking beer and asks, "Can I have a swig?" Grandpa replies again, "Can your dick touch your asshole?" "No…" "Well, you can't have any." The goes into the kitchen and is eating cookies when his Grandpa walks in. "Can I have a cookie?", asks Grandpa. "Can your dick touch your asshole?" Grandpa says, "As a matter of fact, it can!" ​ The little boy replies, "Well then you can go fuck yourself. These are MY cookies."

"Because…He’s my newt.

You don’t know what you’re missing.

Before the crowbar was invented, most crows drank at home.

…but his brother Frank was a monster.

Go to the corner. It’s 90degrees

A: she would never accede a minnow fan! @SwiftOnSecurity

He doesn't know where his Pixar.

A Tropical Depression

The doctor gave the man a jar and said, "Take this jar home and bring back a semen sample tomorrow." The next day the 85-year-old man reappeared at the doctor's office and gave him the jar, which was as clean and empty as on the previous day. The doctor asked, what happened and the man explained. "Well, doc, it's like this–first I tried with my right hand, but nothing. Then I tried with my left hand, but still nothing. Then I asked my wife for help. She tried with her right hand, then with her left, still nothing. She tried with her mouth, first with the teeth in, then with her teeth out, still nothing. We even called up Arleen, the lady next door and she tried too, first with both hands, then an armpit, and she even tried squeezin' it between her knees, but still nothing." The doctor was shocked! "You asked your neighbor?" The old man replied, "Yep, none of us could get the jar open."

​ Tiger is a bit skeptical that the blind musician can play golf well, but he's too polite to say anything. "When I tee off, " the singer explains, "I have a guy call to me from the green. My sharp sense of hearing lets me aim." Tiger is impressed, and Stevie suggests that they play a round. When Tiger agrees, Stevie asks, "How about if we play for $10,000 a hole?" Tiger insists he couldn't possibly play him for money because of his sight handicap. But Stevie argues and badgers Tiger until Tiger finally relents. Stevie says, "You pick the place and I'll pick the time?" Tiger says, "Fine. Pebble Beach." Stevie replies, "Midnight!"

When he arrives at the Pearly Gates, God is there to receive him. "Welcome. You are permitted to ask me one question, which I will answer truthfully." Without hesitating, the conspiracy theorist asks, "Who really shot Kennedy?" God replies, "Lee Harvey Oswald shot him from sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. There were no accomplices. He acted alone" The conspiracy theorist pauses, thinks to himself, then says "Shit! This goes higher up than I thought…"

Asked the school secretary, filling in the forms at the start of the academic year. "He's a magician," said the small boy. "How interesting! What's his favorite trick? "Sawing people in half." "Really? Now, next question. Any brothers or sisters?' "Yes, one half brother and two half-sisters."

It was the pot calling the cattle back.

I guess you could say the steaks were high

Because they had a fight and 2021

Dad: No, I’m gay Dad. Dad #2: No, I’m gay dad.

Well shit.

Since her new husband is so old, Jenny decides that after their wedding she and Roger should have separate bedrooms, because she is concerned that her new but aged husband may over-exert himself if they spend the entire night together. After the wedding festivities Jenny prepares herself for bed and the expected knock on the door. Sure enough the knock comes, the door opens and there is Roger, her 85 year old groom, ready for action. They unite as one. All goes well, Roger takes leave of his bride, and she prepares to go to sleep. After a few minutes, Jenny hears another knock on her bedroom door, and it's Roger, Again he is ready for more 'action'. Somewhat surprised, Jenny consents for more coupling. When the newlyweds are done, Roger kisses his bride, bids her a fond good night and leaves. She is set to go to sleep again, but, aha, you guessed it – Roger is back again, rapping on the door and is as fresh as a 25-year-old, ready for more 'action'. And, once more they enjoy each other. But as Roger gets set to leave again, his young bride says to him, 'I am thoroughly impressed that at your age you can perform so well and so often. I have been with guys less than a third of your age who were only good once. You are truly a great lover, Roger.' Roger, somewhat embarrassed, turns to Jenny and says: 'You mean I was here already?'

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.

..One’s a Corona virus and the other’s a Verona crisis.

But he said he couldn’t help as my garden was portrait.

Just sum.

To hide their butt quacks

It’s his altar ego.

Unfortunately it was from taco bell

You can only ran, because it's past tents