A lumberjack walks into a magical forest and he goes to cut down a tree. The tree stops him and says "you cant cut me down I'm a talking tree" The lumber jack said "you may be a talking tree but you will dialogue"
I'm not a dad yet but I figured I should practice.
Hijack
My dad literally just said this to me. Lol.
Don't be blue, this will be over soon. I don't typically share my political views online, but I am very PROvolone. I think every manchego has a right to choose. Some people may think I am a muenster for this. I am not just some liberal Monterey Jack. If you Havarti another point of view, it's a gouda idea to share it too.
The Pillsbury Doughboy, remembered best as "Pop N Serve", and/or "Pop N Fresh", died yesterday of a severe yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.
Doughboy will be buried in this lightly greased coffin.
Dozens of celebrities will turn out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch.
The grave site is expected to be piled high with flours.
Aunt Jemima will deliver the eulogy and lovingly describe Doughboy as "a man who never knew how much he was kneaded".
Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers.. He was considered a very smart cookie, but wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes.
Despite being a little flaky at times, he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.
Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play dough, three children: John Dough, Jane Dough and Dosey Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop tart.
The funeral will be held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
After failing to win for about 9 times in a row, Jaime, hired a spy who will go and check Jack's harvest the night before the contest so he can harvest more. As the spy came back the night before, he informed the farmer Jaime about the amount that he saw inside Jack's yard but he was not able to tell the amount in exact. Jaime took the spy to his paddy field, gave him some extra money than what they initially agreed upon and said...
"You reap what you saw".
They're in a car in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly, the car starts making noise and stops completely.
The electrician quickly says: it must be the spark plugs! I will take a look and change them.
The mecanician responds : no it's the transmission! I gotta jack the car and make sure the clutch is ok.
The informatician confidently asks: what if we just get out of the car and come right back in?
Hey guys. As I'm sure most of you know, it's currently Thanksgiving in Canada. This time of year for me has, in the past, caused a lot of issues in my life.
To give a little bit of background on me, I'm usually an extremely healthy and fit guy, as I play high-level sports and have a physically demanding job. However, for much of my life, my willpower began to crumble around this time of year.
I first started taking my diet seriously when I was about 12 years old. I had some kind of realization where like, I dunno, I started looking at how jacked these movie stars were and was all, "wow, I want to be that cool too." Judging by the bowl cut I had when I was 12, my perception of cool may have been a little skewed, but I digress.
Anyhow, it was my first Thanksgiving where everything started falling apart. One of my relative's families ended up no-showing for dinner, so we were left with a load of Thanksgiving leftovers. For the next week, every single meal or snack I had was Thanksgiving themed. Sandwich? Turkey sandwich. Breakfast? Let's dollop some cranberry sauce on that bad boy. By the next week, my BGC (blood gravy content) was probably at like 1.0%.
You'd think I'd be sick of holiday food after that. But no. I loved it.
The tradition of refrigerated Thanksgiving snacks continued throughout the rest of my teen years. Like clockwork, the numbers on the scale would significantly jump upwards in October, with Halloween candy adding an extra layer of calories on top. By the time I reached 17, my waist had begun noticeably ballooning, and I realized it was all due to Thanksgiving turkey. Sure, I had some at Christmas and sometimes at Easter, but never like that. My mother would encourage this habit, making more food each year to be stuffed into our packed refrigerator.
The movie star bod I wanted for so much at the age of 12 was slipping a way. I needed to put an end to this.
Flash forward to October 2015, age 18. I had made a vow: I never again would place such putrid poultry onto my tastebuds. And ever since that fateful week of 2014, my vow had held true.
Each Thanksgiving, I can feel that craving for chilled turkey knocking on the refrigerator door of my fragile ego. For three years, I've held strong. But when will the garrison fall? When will that soft, biting flesh of the big bird smash it's way back into my life.
But so far, I've quit cold turkey.
I’m going to name my son Jack, that way he will have to fill out forms for the rest of his life saying that his name is Colby, Jack Chase.
