What do you call a $1000 door?
A grand entrance
Their doctor tells them that many people find it useful to write themselves little notes. When they get home, the wife says, "Dear, will you please go to the kitchen and get me a dish of ice cream? And maybe write that down so you won't forget?" "Nonsense," says the husband, "I can remember a dish of ice cream." "Well," says the wife, "I'd also like some strawberries and whipped cream on it." "My memory's not all that bad," says the husband. "No problem – a dish of ice cream with strawberries and whipped cream. I don't need to write it down." He goes into the kitchen; his wife hears pots and pans banging around. The husband finally emerges from the kitchen and presents his wife with a plate of bacon and eggs. She looks at the plate and asks, "Hey, where's the toast I asked for?"
The bartender asks, “How did you do that?”.
… well then take a shower.
That it scares everyone in the car I’m driving.
… and a lifetime ban from the New York Zoo.
I said, "People who sell fruit and vegetables are grocer!"
Was walking down the street yesterday, seen an ad in the shop window. “T.V FOR SALE, €1, VOLUME STUCK ON FULL”
I said, can't turn that down.
I looked at it and said, “This isn’t for me.”
Recently I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper’s cemetery in the back country. As I was not familiar with the backwoods, I got lost. I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started to play. The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I played like I’ve never played before for this homeless man. And as I played ‘Amazing Grace,’ the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished I packed up my guitar and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full. As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, “I never seen nothin’ like that before and I’ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years.” Apparently, I’m still lost…
Nun of your business
Would I be mist?
They're interested in developing one, but can't stop focusing on all the negatives.
I told her that I am looking for matches.
She asked why I broke up with the last girl and I said "It didn't work out." She told me to be more specific so I said "I just told you, she didn't exercise."
Before the crowbar was invented, most crows drank at home.
It doesn't last long for fat people.
My wife and I are following a Ketogenic, low carb diet plan, but this morning I cheated and had a donut for breakfast.
Oddly enough, when I came clean during dinner this evening, she seemed only upset about the pastry and not at all that I had slept with another woman.
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.
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I’m nervous she won’t be able to pull it off.
If either one breaks at the wrong time, you could have a little shit on your hands.
In my defence, all the signs did say "Don't feed the animals"
They heard it was a mail dominated industry.. ( Possibility OC?)
An Irish daughter had not been home for over 5 years. Upon her return, her father cursed her. Where have ye been all this time? Why did ye not write to us, not even a line? Why didn't ye call? Can ye not understand what ye put yer old mum thru? The girl, crying, replied, "Sniff, sniff….dad….I became a prostitute…." "Ye what!!? Out of here, ye shameless harlot! Sinner! You're a disgrace to this family." "OK, dad– as ye wish. I just came back to give mum this luxurious fur coat, title deed to a ten bedroom mansion plus a savings certificate for $5 million." "For me little brother, this gold Rolex and for ye daddy, the sparkling new Mercedes limited edition convertible that's parked outside plus a membership to the country club….(takes a breath)….and an invitation for ye all to spend New Years' Eve on board my new yacht in the Riviera, and…." Now what was it ye said ye had become?" says dad. Girl, crying again, "Sniff, sniff….a prostitute dad! Sniff, sniff." "Oh! Be Jesus! Ye scared me half to death, girl! I thought ye said a Protestant. Come here and give yer old man a hug.
A student visits the principal’s office one day and the principal says to him, “What’s your name, son?” He replies: “D-d-d-dav-dav-david, sir.” The principal looks up and asks him, “Oh, do you have a stutter?”
The student replies, “No sir, my dad has a stutter, but the guy who registered my name was an asshole.”
She wasn't Karen about any opinion but her own.
Once there, he asks a local: -There is really no women here? -None. -So… How do you guys do when you need to have sex? -There is a donkey close to the river for that. The man tries to ignore and go home, where he can see the river and therefore, the donkey. After months in that village, every day the donkey seemed a little more attractive, so one day when a few other men asked him if he'd like to go to the donkey with them, he accepts. When he is close to the donkey, the man puts down his pants and one of the other locals yells: -What you doing!? -Aren't we…? Going to do the donkey thing? -We going to ride the donkey across the river so we can get to the other village where we can meet women. EDIT: That's the first time I ever got gold, thank you!
I know, it sounds a little far fetched.
Two scientists are playing Minecraft. One is new to the game and doesn’t know much about it. At some point, he crafts a pickaxe, but doesn’t know what to do with it, so he asks the more experienced scientist. Scientist 1: Bro, what should I do with this pickaxe that I crafted? Scientist 2: Br.
In Japan, he picks up a hooker and they go all night long. The entire time they were making love she was excitedly shouting: Hasimota! Hasimota! Since the man obviously didn't know a word of Japanese, he concluded it was some sort of an excitement noise. The next morning he meets with a few japanese businessmen on a golf course. One of the businessmen makes a shot and, surprisingly, scores a hole in one. Everyone applauds and the foreign man, wanting to sound clever, shouts: Hasimota! The man who scored the shot turns to him and asks in confusion: "What do you mean 'Wrong hole!'?"
In a croc pot.
Since, she is a private tutor, of course.
The barman looks at him and says… “Hang on! You're a duck!” "I see your eyes are working.” replies the duck. "And you can talk!!” exclaims the barman. "I see your ears are working, too.” says the duck. "Now if you don't mind, can I have my beer and my sandwich please?" "Certainly. Sorry about that.” says the barman, as he pulls the duck's pint. "It's just, we don't get many a ducks in this pub. What are you doing around this way?" "I'm working on the building site across the road” explains the duck. "I'm a plasterer." The flabbergasted barman cannot believe the duck, and wants to learn more. But takes the hint when the duck pulls out a newspaper from his bag and proceeds to read it. The duck reads his paper, drinks his beer, eats his sandwich, pays up, bids the barman a good day and leaves. The same thing happens for two weeks. Then one day the circus comes to town. The ringmaster comes into the pub for a pint and the barman says to him "You're with the circus, aren't you? Well, I know this duck that could be just brilliant in your circus. He talks, drinks beer, eats sandwiches, reads the newspaper and everything!" "Sounds marvellous!” says the ringmaster, handing over his business card. "Get him to give me a call." So the next day when the duck comes into the pub the barman says "Hey Mr. Duck, I reckon I can line you up with a top job, paying really good money." “Swell. I’m always looking for the next job.” says the duck. "Where is it?" "At the circus.” says the barman. "The circus?" repeats the duck. "That's right.” replies the barman. "The circus??” the duck asks again "…with, the big tent?” "Yeah.” the barman replies. "With all the animals who live in cages, and performers who live in caravans?" asks the duck. "Of course.” the barman replies. "And the tent has canvas sides and a big canvas roof with a hole in the middle?" persists the duck. "That's right.” says the barman. The duck shakes his head in amazement, and says… "What the f**k would they want with a plasterer?!?!”