Who’s bigger, Mr. Bigger or Mr. Bigger’s baby?

The walking dad

They can't have their nose and eat it too.

But I just wasn't a big fan.

My wife: I can’t stand living with him. He’s too literal. Me: My truck.

I guess I really am independent!

Because 6, 7 8…

Please don't. She's out of town on business for the next week.

Don’t look while I’m changing!

A priest hooks a huge fish Helping him reel it in, a sailor says "Whoa, look at the size of that fucker!". "Hey, mind your language!" says the priest. Embarrassed, the sailor thinks quickly and blurts out, "Sorry father, but that's what this fish is called, it's a Fucker fish". Accepting the explanation, the priest forgives the sailor and takes the fish back to church. "Look at this huge fucker" says the priest, spotting the bishop. "Language, please! this is God's house," replies the bishop. "No, no that's what this fish is called, "says the priest. "Oh," says the bishop, scratching his chin "I could clean that fucker and we could have it for dinner". So the bishop takes the fish, cleans it, and brings it to the mother superior. "Could you cook this fucker for dinner tonight?" he asks her. "My, what language!" she exclaims, clearly shocked. "No, sister that's what the fish is called – a fucker", says the bishop. Satisfied with the explanation, the mother superior says, "Wonderful, I'll cook that fucker tonight, The Pope is coming for dinner!" The fish tastes just great and The Pope asks where they got it. "Well, I caught the fucker!" says the priest. "And I cleaned the fucker!" says the bishop. "And I cooked the fucker!" says the mother superior. The Pope stares at them for a minute with a steely glaze, leans back on his chair, takes off his cap, puts his feet up on the table, pours himself a whiskey and says:" You know what?, You cunts are alright."

That’s why in the Navy, the captain goes down with the ship.

A young woman goes to her doctor about two small rashes on her thighs. The doctor tests her for allergies, and then asks “Ma’am, are you a lesbian?” The woman stares for a second, then says “Yes, I am. Why?” “There’s the problem.” the doctor said “Tell your girlfriend to stop wearing cheap earrings.”

Bill worked in a pickle factory. He had been employed there for a number of years when he came home one day and confess to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion. He had an urge to stick his penis into the pickle slicer. His wife suggested that he should see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill indicated that he'd be too embarrassed. He vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own. One day a few weeks later, Bill came home absolutely ashen. His wife could see at once that something was seriously wrong. "What's wrong, Bill?" she asked. "Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my penis into the pickle slicer?" "Oh, Bill, you didn't." "Yes, I did." "My God, Bill, what happened?" "I got fired." "No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?" "Oh, she got fired, too."

"Hey, barkeep!" he says, struggling to keep control of his quarry. "Any room for me and my friends?" The bartender smiles and sets down some plastic cups. The man plops his friends inside, but the cups are too small. "Um…barkeep?" the man says, pulling them out again. The bartender reaches for some larger mugs, but as he places them next to the cups, it becomes obvious that even these will be too small for the pigs. Seeing the man struggle to continue holding them, the bartender runs to the kitchen for help. A cook emerges, holding several large measuring cups. "Sorry, I just used these to make a batch of cheese dip, but they're all yours!" The man carefully plops each pig into its respective gooey yellow cup. Arms exhausted, breathing heavily, he drops into a stool at the end of the bar, between his tiny friends and a beautiful girl. He glances her way, gasping coyly. "Hey…I'm…Tom." She smiles, having watched the whole ordeal. "Hi Tom, I'm Liz. And if you don't mind me asking…" she laughs, looking over his shoulder, "what was that all about?" He glances back at the bar. "Yeah…sorry," he pants. "I wanted…to impress you, but…it turned out to be…a pretty cheesy…pig-cup line."

and you expected a beating but instead they just ruined the housing market?

Because it has no home button.

The women plan to buy another one, but only have $500. The redhead tells the blonde, "I will go to the market and see if I can find one for under that amount. If I can, I will send you a telegram." She goes to the market and finds one for $499. Having only one dollar left, she goes to the telegraph office and finds out that it costs one dollar per word. She is stumped on how to tell the blonde to bring the truck and trailer. Finally, she tells the telegraph operator to send the word "comfortable." Skeptical, the operator asks, "How will she know to come with the trailer from just that word?" The redhead replies, "She's a blonde so she reads slow: 'Come for ta bull.'"

I said, "Hi, do you do deliveries?" ​ He said, "Yes, sir. Of course." ​ "Superb," I said, "I've got a Domino's Pizza ready to pick up."

They're really for the kids, but the dads always end up playing with them

“Man I was at the most awesome party this weekend! We went to this dude’s house and guy had toilets made of pure gold!” “No way!” “Yes way,” insists Fred, “come with me and check it out for yourself if you don’t believe me.” – Twenty minutes later they’re ringing the doorbell at the place. A middle-aged lady opens and Fred eagerly asks her, “Hi! I’m sorry to bother you but there was a party at your house yesterday and my friend doesn’t believe that you have toilet bowls of pure gold!” – The lady looks at him for a moment and then yells into the inside of the house, “Roger, the pig that shat in your trombone is here!”