He's always a cousin
"F-U-C-K, I'll scream ahhhhh!"
"What was that, son?"
"If you see K-ocodile (crocodile), scream, 'AHHHHH!'"
I'll never forget that first day of school when the teacher asked if we knew any other language's
Because he kisses his mother with that mouth.
That’s amateur fanity.
I replied, "ask your mom. The reason is a parent."
Dad looks at me with a grin and says "Something."
Dis-cuss
My three year old daughter needs help wiping her backside after using the bathroom (#2) sometimes. It's that or she might get a rash... oh, the joys of parenting. My eight year old son was in the hallway.
Son: Dad, why do you need to help [daughter] wipe her butt?
Me: Because she does a shitty job.
(Yes, in the interest of the dad joke, I did say shit to my eight year old. He's heard it before.)
Con cussed.
He suffered the reper-cuss-ions
There is profanity. However, pro- is short professional, and very few people actually cuss for a living (like maybe rappers, boxing/wrestling announcers and comedians). I'm sure nobody is getting paid when they stub their toe and let out a big long string of cuss words.
No one needed an abba cuss.
Just got done eating wings with my wife. She asked if she had anything on her face, I paused and said your nose. The guy at the table behind us laughed. I laughed, she was wiping her nose.
She then cussed me and threw her booger napkin at me.
My grandfather, in his younger days, retired from his NASCAR dreams to do construction so he could raise a family. Fast forward 45 years to 1994. I was around 15. My grandfather, grandmother, her mother, and I were on the return trip from the Costco and liquor store just inside the no sales tax state of Oregon. My grandfather was, as usual, driving. He raced for Lincoln and they sponsored him so they gave him a really good lifetime discount. He drove a brand new Continental his entire life. He always raced down to Oregon as fast as he could and then tried beating his time while driving back. Suddenly, at about 140mph, a Pheasant committed suicide on the front end. We could see feathers occasionally come loose. Grandpa already had a couple minutes to make up. Needless to say, despite my grandma's insistance, stopping to investigate wasn't in the plans. When we got home, he was cussing an ill timed traffic light with a bored motorcycle cop parked on the sidewalk waiting for his target. My grandma and great grandma nearly died when, without batting an eye, grandpa pulled the Pheasant off the car, grabbed his Gerber knife, and stripped, cleaned, and threw the bird on the BBQ. I was in dying from laughter at this point. Grandma and my great grandma were dying from embarrassment. He offered them some and grandma angrily refused for the 3 of us, calling it road kill. Without skipping a beat, he calmly replied "This isn't road kill, it's Continental Wild Pheasant, Twice-Grilled."
He has been dubbed, Sir Cuss.
Mom: what's your favorite sauce?
Me: I like fire sauce.
Dad: I like the green sauce.
Me: Really? The green sauce? Why?
Dad: Because it's... Verde verde good.
Me: god dammit
Mom: Hahahahaha! That was a good one!
Dad: Hey! No cussing! Now do the dishes!
I'm 23.....
I did the dishes.
... it becomes a game of cussing roulette.
Because he kisses his mother with that mouth
