US government: “The Coronavirus Outbreak Has Officially Reached The United States” Boomers:

I said "of course they have holes in them, how else are you supposed to get your legs through?" I could feel the eye roll from across the room

1%

Which is…

An Englishman, a Frenchman, a beautiful blonde, and a comely brunette are sharing a compartment on a train as it winds its way through the Alps. Every now and then the train passes through a tunnel. As the compartment is plunged into complete darkness for the Nth time a ringing slap is heard. The train passes back into daylight and the Frenchman is rubbing his sore, red cheek. The brunette thinks 'I bet that dirty Frenchman fondled the blonde and she struck the pervert.' The blonde thinks 'I bet that filthy Frenchman was looking to grope me in the dark, mistook the dowdy brunette for me and slapped the beast.' The Frenchman thinks 'I bet that perfidious Englishman touched up the blonde in the dark and she slapped me by mistake.' The Englishman thinks 'I can't wait for another tunnel so I can slap that French twat again.'

The lesbians because they’re doing 69 the whole way while the gay guys are still at home packing shit.

They would spend it on alcohol. I want to spend it on alcohol.

.. they would eventually find me attractive

I will find you. I have contacts.

So I suggested Kaye and Elle.

You can mess up just two letters and your whole post is urined

But it's okay because I can stop whenever I want

It was an ether/oar situation.

At the Pearly Gates they're greeted by Saint Peter Saint Peter: I will let you into heaven if you can show me a spirit of Christmas The first man pulls out a leaf from his pocket and says "this represents the Christmas tree" He is allowed into heaven The second man pulls out his keys "these represent bells" He is allowed into heaven The third man pulls out a pair of women's underwear Saint Peter: good lord what do those represent?! The third man says "oh well these, these are Carols"

When I thought to myself "Man…I'm fucking nuts."

Because I wore the wrong socks today.

I'll return.

I serve laxatives at one and everyone loses their shit

People were lined up for blocks

I replied, "Yes just once." The doctor asked, "What was it like?" I said, "It was dark, then suddenly very bright."

Him: "There's a spider in your bra."

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.

Thailand.( Credit to my brothers who dosent use reddit).

To tell someone they're vegan.

Then it clicked

The bartender serves the whiskey and all of a sudden a monkey appears running all across the bar jumps and lands with his testicles in the whiskey and smiles to the man. The man, confused, asks to the bartender… -What the hell is this? -Oh, ask the piano player, it is his monkey So the guy looks for the piano player and shouts… -Hey! Do you know why your fucking monkey sunk his balls in my goddam whiskey? -Not by the title, but if you can sing it a little bit I'm sure I can make it work

Only a fraction of people will get it

And then we'll all be sorry.

​ Watson asks, "Where did you get so many lemons?" Holmes replies, "A lemon tree, Watson.."

Dry erase board.

I would tell you, but it’s a little condescending.

His order was renowned for their beautiful choral singing. They trained, hours every day, refining their voices and their art. Their song floated down the mountainside, enriching the lives and souls of the townspeople below. Sam was particularly gifted, and on his 19th birthday, in mid-song, he hit upon a beautifully intricate note of pure magic. Everyone within miles just froze in mid action, stirred to the very core of their souls by the pure bliss of the tone. And all the realm realized, instantly, that it was Sam, and Sam was the first person in history to hit one of the rumored Magical Notes that musicians had theorized must exist… yet no one before Sam had ever reached one. And on Sam's 20th birthday, it happened again. This time, the town below was so impacted that no one moved, spoke, or even blinked for several minutes after. As the golden sound finally tapered off and ceased, they knew that Sam had found the Second Note… And the next year on Sam's birthday, the town had realized there was a pattern involved. This time, all of the townspeople were present in the monastery's nave, watching in awe, as Sam hit the glorious Third Note. People cried out in pure joy as the sound grew to a glorious crescendo. Words cannot do justice to the experience. The town flourished, as Sam's notes made the people pure all the way to the core of their beings. And on it went for the next few years, the Magical Notes growing sweeter and sweeter… until, that is, Sam's 25th birthday. All at first seemed as normal… until Sam hit the Magical Note. From the start, Sam seemed very uncomfortable, and this new sound was not beautiful… it was jarring and discordant. Sam started to get very warm, and was visibly sweating onstage. He doubled his resolve and dug deeper, to get to the sweet part of the Magical Note that he knew must be there. Suddenly, to the horror of all, Sam spontaneously combusted! The two closest monks on stage were burned by the flames coming off of his body, and he ignited the stage curtains. Soon the entire monastery was aflame. By a miracle, everyone made it out, except for poor Sam. The townsfolk were left staring at the burning monastery in sad, stunned disbelief. The mayor approached the lead monk of the order. "What happened?" he asked, exasperated. The old monk shook his head sadly. "Isn't it obvious?" he said. "Sam sung Note 7."

50 cent ft. Nickelback

He throws a cigarette off the boat and the boat becomes…a cigarette lighter

A small medium at large

Because freedom rings

It gave me thesaurus throat I've ever had.