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Chapter 41 – Fraternization

Commander Keone’s tune had changed considerably from his earlier “I’ll be asking the questions” demeanor, as he intently listened to Shida’s explanation of the events on the G.C.S. three weeks ago with an attentive expression, only interrupting her very rarely to ask for some clarifications.

All the while, his crew was still handling the process of taking Congloarch’s ship into custody, after the Salem had arrived at its location.

Finally, after Shida had finished retelling what felt like year’s worth of events, even though they happened over the course of only a few days, the Commander cleared his throat, seemingly wanting to start his reply to her elaborations to her side of the story, however he stopped himself, remaining with an open mouth. He slowly closed it again, looking to the side in thought. Then, with a new burst of vigor, he lifted his hand, taking a deep breath to answer once again. However, as soon as it had kindled, the spark died out again, and he slowly and audibly let the air out of his lung, bringing his hand around to rub across his mouth.

Shida felt a bead of sweat run down her forehead and nervously twitched her ears, as she watched the man seemingly struggle to determine how he should handle the situation.

Finally, Commander Keone sighed, lowering his hand again and lowly mumbling,

“You’re probably aware that all of this sounds pretty hard to believe, aren’t you?”

Something about his voice told Shida that their story was just about crazy enough that he didn’t expect they would try to make something like this up to save their skin.

“Yes, we are,” Shida said, feeling her voice drift off as she spoke as the memories of the events resurfaced in full force. Quickly, she shut her eyes tightly and shook out her head, recomposing herself, before continuing with more force behind her words, “But you don’t have to believe us right now. We have evidence James has personally collected with us. If you let us show it to you, I’m sure it will be a thousand times more convincing than us trying to persuade you.”

Keone replied with a sideways nod, while also lifting his shoulder on the same side, forming a ‘fair enou

Before you read, please note that while there has been a conviction in Sally's case, it is extremely obvious who is responsible for her disappearance and likely death, and it may not seem like an "Unresolved Mystery" to some, let me reiterate her remains have never been recovered. Sally is still a missing person and her family still deserves closure.

Background

In 1976, Sally Brown met Gary Rawlings in Pennsylvania. The couple married in Denver, Colorado in 1977. Sally became Sally Rawlings and fell out of contact with her family. She gave birth to a daughter, Kimberly, in 1980. The family moved to Oklahoma City in late 1981.

At this time, they had a difficult relationship. Gary had a temper and was abusive to Sally. On January 12, 1982, Sally filed for divorce. The divorce was granted on February 24, 1982 and Sally was awarded custody of Kimberly. Sally and her daughter moved into Passageway, a YWCA shelter for victims of domestic abuse. She had a history of past mental health issues and engaged in counseling while staying at the shelter. She was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.

In March 1982, Sally and her daughter moved again, this time into the Kirkpatrick Hotel, located in downtown Oklahoma City. She reportedly chose this location due to the secured locked front doors. On March 21, police were called to the Kirkpatrick Hotel where Sally was staying. Gary had failed to return Kimberly on time after his scheduled visitation. He arrived at the hotel around 9 pm without Kimberly, and an argument followed. During the argument, he hit Sally in the head. She had a large gash in her head and was taken to a local hospital for treatment. Sally told authorities Gary had also stolen important documents from her, including Kimberly's birth certificate. Gary told Sally the next time she saw him, she would be dead. Eventually, Gary returned Kimberly to her mother and agreed to forgo visitation with her for six months.

Later that same month, she began a job as a secretary at the Kerr-McGee Corporation. Over the course of the next two months, she developed a reputation as a good employee who kept to herself and was just a bit odd. She was overheard talking to herself on multiple occasions.

At this time, Kimberly was enrolled in daycare. Sally would drop her off everyday before work around 8 am and pick her up after work, generally between 5-5:30 pm. She also began looking into local rental properties, paying a private company $45.00 t

Three children disappeared from Glenelg Beach, South Australia, on January 26, 1966, and it became one of the most well known unsolved Austrailian cases.

The Beaumont family

9-year-old Jane Nartare, 7-year-old Arnna Kathleen and 4-year-old Grant Ellis Beaumont were the children of Grant “Jim” Beaumont, a former serviceman and a driver for Suburban Taxis, and Nancy Beaumont. They got married in December in 1955, and lived at 109 Harding Street, Somerton Park, a suburb from Adelaide. Their house was close to Glenelg Beach, a popular beach.

Their disappearance

The three siblings had visited Glenelg Beach on January 25, when their father, Jim, dropped them off before going on a three-day sales trip to Snowtown. Jane, the eldest child, was considered responsible enough and it was socially acceptable at the time to just let your kids go on their own. The three siblings wanted to go again on January 26, 1966, which also happened to be Australia Day. It was too hot to walk so they took the bus at 8:45 am. It was only a five-minute, three-kilometre bus trip. They were expected back home on the 12 pm bus, but they weren’t on the bus. They weren’t on the 2 pm bus either. Their worried mother, Nancy, called Jim who quickly returned from his trip. At 3 pm he drove to the beach, looking for his children. When he couldn’t find them, he returned home. Jim and Nancy started to search the streets and go to friend’s houses. They notified Glenelg Police Station around 5:30 pm.

Arnna had told their mother that Jane had gotten a “Boyfriend down at the beach” though their mother thought she meant playmate, and took no further notice until their disappearance.

The Investigation

Police quickly organized a search of the beach and areas close-by, based on the assumption that the kids simply had lost track of time and had lost track of time. The search expanded to include the sand-hills, ocean, and nearby buildings including the airport, rail lines, and interstate roads being monitored due to a beginning fear of a kidnapping or an accident having taken place.

The whole nation was aware of the case within the 24 hours and Sunday Mail’s headline on January 29 was “Sex crime noew feared”. The Patawalonga Boat Haven was also drained on January 29 after a woman had told police she had had a conversation with the children matching their description near the haven on January 26.

The initial award was 250 Australian pounds. (Australian pounds was the currency from 1910 until

There are lots of things about being old that are absolute garbage. Every day, a new part of me seems to hurt and I have one speed: slow.

But there is also a sense of liberation. I finally feel free to tell the truth.

After so many years of being tormented by lies, I can’t begin to tell you how good this feels.

The first lie – the one that began it all – came in a small, windowless room in an anonymous looking office block.

I was fresh out of film school. I was ambitious, bursting with ideas. I was ready for success.

I was also thousands of dollars in debt.

I needed a job – and when I saw an advert for a filmmaker role my depressing visions of stacking shelves or serving burgers and fries faded away.

It was described as working with a new company based in a city near my home, the starting salary was sweet, more than enough for me to begin digging myself out of my financial hole, and candidates had to have experience working on documentaries.

As I sat in that small room, I thought of the film scripts I had written, of the dramatic short I had directed. Of the way my imagination had always been praised by my tutors.

I was all about the fictional.

The door opened and two men walked in. They both wore beige suits and neither had a necktie. I could not decide if I was overdressed or underdressed in my denim shirt and skinny black tie.

They thanked me for coming today, and Beige suit #1 began the interview by asking:

“How would you sum up your filmmaking?”

“I am all about the documentary,” I replied.

He smiled.

I was acing this.

Beige suit # 2 then asked, “Can you describe your most recent filmmaking project to us?”

I thought back to my short: ‘Girl meets boy. Boy meets alien. Love is strange’.

Then I answered: “I recorded the life of a young man over the course of twenty-four hours. I wanted to show the truths that society forces men to mask. Their insecurity, their pain, their weakness,”

I was pretty pleased with that off the cuff fiction. I gave myself nine out of ten.

It looked like both Beige suits were impressed.

Beige suit # 1 asking, “How long was the finished film?”

Beige suit # 2 following straight after with, “Is there anything you did not include, any truths that were too raw?”

Thinking on all ten of my toes at once I went right back to them with:

“Ninety minutes,” and “No.”

Their faces fell as one. Two mouths drooped, two heads leant forwards and both made notes.

Damn, I thought, what had I said wrong? Ninety minutes was lo

Theory: BDIA-N (Burke Did it All Minus Note)

A couple of people requested I write this up. It's a fictional exercise in thinking like a kid in trouble and then thinking like the parents who were willing to protect him. I got the original idea from an internet poster years ago; they posted about the psychology of kids and how at certain stages they will go to great lengths to avoid punishment. It still makes sense to me. There are holes, but I don't think any of them rules out the premise.

1. Burke (BR) and Jonbenet (JBR) were in the breakfast room alone Christmas night. They ate pineapple. There was no fighting.

2. At some point they decided to go downstairs to the basement to look at gifts hidden in the wine cellar (WC). BR brought a flashlight from the kitchen because the WC was dark and the light switch hard to find.

3. Tearing of wrapping happened and as far as we know none of the presents were for JBR. They were for BR's birthday in January. JBR may have been upset about that and threatened to tell on BR for ripping the packages. Or maybe she was the one ripping in an aggressive way that could not be fixed and he got mad at her. In any case, a conflict happened.

4. JBR ran out of the WC and BR chased her, grabbed her by the shirt collar from behind and hit her with the flashlight to stop her, fracturing her skull. She fell on the carpet outside the WC door.

5. Time went by. JBR was lying on the floor unconscious. The pineapple continued to digest. BR had two choices - tell his parents right away or wait for her to wake up. He prodded her with the train track but she didn't wake. During this time (40-120 minutes) she may have started the irregular breathing of the dying - including apnea - that leads him to think she is dying or dead.

6. At some point he decides he can't confess to them. He has probably killed her and his parents will hate him and send him away. He froze when he hit her, scared into inaction, and now the thought of discovery scares him into action. He has to hide this from them, cover it up. He decides to fake a crime scene that shifts blame to a stranger: a killer has broken into the house and murdered his sister. Since the housekeeper repeatedly warned that JBR was so pretty the family should worry about her being taken by a dirty bad man, this is not a leap for him.

7. He turns her over and takes a paintbrush from the tote nearby and pokes her genitals, as he thinks a sex-crazed killer would. Enough to draw blood, b

There's magic in words.

The right combination of words can compel an unwilling person to serve your will, can plant a symbol or thought like a seed in their imaginations. A certain order of letters and punctuation can bridge the gap between minds and make a person feel seen and understood.

Yes, there is a magic in words. But is of a diminished and degenerated kind. Language is not what it once was. What power words once had has been lost in the never-ending deluge of tweets, thinkpieces, blogs, quizzes, critiques, counter-critiques.

It wasn't always like this. In the old days, before computers or the printing press or the written word itself, a single sharply uttered word could shatter an iceberg or bring down a mountainside. Words were fewer then and more precious. They still had the power to alter reality.

Old words, old magic. All forgotten now. Or almost all. In certain corners of the world, the old words linger on, but they are not easily found, and they are not to be spoken lightly.

I was a bright-eyed student of classical philology when I first heard of the Word. Fifteen years ago now. My eyes are deep hollows in a face dry and creased as old parchment. My hair is streaked with gray. All the lovers and friends I once knew are gone. But none of that matters now. Because after years of fruitless search, I've found it. The Word which bestows upon the speaker the powers of a God.

It was no easy thing finding it, I can assure you. Fifteen years of study and still I know little of it. There are entire libraries written on the Word, but they are scattered across the globe, and they disagree on nearly detail of the Word and its true nature.

The author of a crumbling manuscript I found in an ancient library in Istanbul argued that the Word was angelic, and that only the pure of heart could read it without bringing down the wrath of God.

A tome I found in the heart of the Vatican archives(how precisely I managed to gain access to that venerable institution is a story for another occasion) said otherwise. It claimed the Word was in fact infernal, the true name of one of the Nine Demon Kings of Hell, and that to speak the name was to offer your soul to his eternal servitude.

The brief fragments of the Word I was able to find suggested to me some ancient root of the Indo-European tree, sharing as it did a few characters with Sanskrit. But a coffee-stained, moth-eaten volume I read in a university library said the Word was older still. The book was an an

It will soon be 25 years since the murder of JonBenet Ramsey. In a shameless effort to promote our new podcast A NORMAL FAMILY: THE JONBENET RAMSEY CASE REVISITED, we have put together a list of false statements made by the Ramseys over the years.

In addition to the statements listed here, the Ramseys have said many things over the years which seem highly implausible, though are technically impossible to verify one way or the other, e.g. Patsy claiming not to recognize her own handwriting. I have not included those in this list, except when a credible eyewitness has testified that the statement is conclusively false.

>Interviewer: Was she hidden in any way? >John: (shaking his head) No. (01/01/1997)

Jonbenet’s body was hidden under a blanket in a pitch-dark storage room in the basement behind a latched door. Several police officers, John Ramsey, and a family friend, had all been in the basement that morning and none of them had noticed the body. She was hidden.

>John: “The [basement] window stands wide open” (The Other Side of Suffering, 2012)

In 1997 John said he had gone to the basement alone sometime on the morning of December 26th, found the window open, and closed it. He said the window was open “about an eighth of an inch” when he went down there. In 1998 he said it was open “an inch, maybe less” and “cracked and open a little bit”. In 2001 he called it a “partially opened window” and by 2012 he was saying it was “wide open”. John now consistently gives the public the impression there was a wide open window in the basement. u/cottonstarr has documented the history of John’s changing statements on the basement window.

>Interviewer: What were you wearing, Patsy [to the Whites' party on Christmas night], a red turtleneck and black… >Patsy: Velvet pants. And I have a Christmas sweater I was wearing. >Interviewer: And that was over the turtleneck? >Patsy: Yeah.

Photographs taken at the party by Fleet White revealed Patsy was not wearing a Christmas sweater, she was actually wearing a black and red checked jacket. Patsy had not handed that jacket over to police. When she final

Hi ladies.

So I finally got my induction date, it will be 4th March when I'll be 37 weeks. The Obstetric Consultant agreed to pencil me in this early due to my PGP getting worse, however I am seeing her the week before, so if I can manage, we can push the induction back a week.

Anyway, on to my question: I will have to stay in hospital for four or five days after giving birth; due to the medication I take (for the PGP and a prior chronic pain condition), Leo will have to be monitored for signs of withdrawal, which I totally understand.

I know the basics of what to pack in my hospital bag (this is my third baby, but its been nine years so my memory has gone a bit lol); vests, babygros, coming home outfit, nappies, wipes, socks and mittens for him; a change of clothes, nursing bra, comfy PJ'S, dressing gown, breast pads and toiletries for me.

But what quantities of these things should I take? I'm taking a small suitcase for myself and then a changing bag for his things. How many of each item do you think I'll need? I've had a Google but it only gives lists for a short stay, as in giving birth then leaving.

If anyone has any advice I would most appreciate it 😊

Edit: spelling mistake

I don't want to step on anybody's toes here, but the amount of non-dad jokes here in this subreddit really annoys me. First of all, dad jokes CAN be NSFW, it clearly says so in the sub rules. Secondly, it doesn't automatically make it a dad joke if it's from a conversation between you and your child. Most importantly, the jokes that your CHILDREN tell YOU are not dad jokes. The point of a dad joke is that it's so cheesy only a dad who's trying to be funny would make such a joke. That's it. They are stupid plays on words, lame puns and so on. There has to be a clever pun or wordplay for it to be considered a dad joke.

Again, to all the fellow dads, I apologise if I'm sounding too harsh. But I just needed to get it off my chest.

                                            Northern Exposure
                                               Season 7 . Episode 1 . Pilot


                       Created by Joshua Brand and John Falsey

		                   Written by B.C.W   2022

Fade in - Open on - Physicians Lounge. Framed up on the vague reflection of Dr. Joel Fleischman, staring out of a window that marvelously looks out over the City. We pan right to reveal Dr. Drew Peters sitting across from him. Younger and really good looking.

Joel - Huh, yeah. No, I agree with you.

Drew - Agree with what? I was saying that Mel and I didn’t just spend the entire time on the beach. We found the best restaurant in all the Greek Isles based on a recommendation from Fisher, ya know, pediatrics? There is this guy.. the Chef there - you’d love him. Tall as a mountain, crazy looking, but genius. The Tomatokeftedes he served us absolutely melted on your tongue. Symphonic flavors..

Frank - [Sitting next to Drew, he looks over from reading the Times.] Did they have the Bougatsa? My grandmother made that when I was a kid. Best ever.

Drew - Frank, no disrespect to your grandmother, and she may have been the best in her day, but the Bougatsa this guy made was orgasmic. Chef said he grew the grape leaves himself for the Dolma. I’m not even kidding, it might have been the best meal of my life.

Joel - [Squints and smiles.] Okay, I’m curious. What was this Chef’s name? Did you get a picture? Capture a screenshot?

Frank - Yeah, Drew. Photos or it didn’t happen.

Drew - I know. I know. [Looking through his phone.] Joel, if you would just download instagram, you'd've already seen it by now.

Joel - Uh huh. No way. I’m not going to have my location tracked for every step I take or have my preferences digitized and then monetized to the benefit of everyone except myself. It’s creepy. I think Ned Ludd might have had the right idea, just the wrong era.

Drew - Oh, come off it, Joel. You don’t go anywhere.

Joel - Maybe, but I shouldn’t have to be bombarded by advertisements for armchairs, pet supplies, and pasta works. I can find my own way down the toothpaste aisle, thank you very much.

Frank - [Folds the newspaper to get to its middle as Drew hands Joel his Iphone.] You seem like a Colgate guy to me.

Joel - [Smiles at him and takes Drew’s phone. It is clearly Adam, gesturing semi-dramatically in his leaning sort of way to the table of food surrounded by seated people, including Dre

The nurse asked the rabbit, “what is your blood type?”

“I am probably a type O” said the rabbit.

Part 1

Part two. An interesting way to spend a summer week.

The day arrived. As instructed, we showed up at the chosen destination a little before ten am. It was a good hour long drive to get there, and we thought we had gotten lost a few times. It seemed like we were heading to the middle of nowhere, but eventually we found ourselves at our destination. It appeared to be an abandoned, old factory, easily twice the size of the one we worked in. It looked like a location that would be prime for a climax of a cheesy eighties action movie. There were at least a good fifteen or so cars in the parking lot when we arrived, and a few more rolled up while we sat and waited for ten. As soon as everyone appeared to have arrived, a horn bellowed from the old mill. We all looked at each other. Most got out of their vehicles, and started towards the dilapidated building. Grant gave me a shrug and we followed the group inside

We got into the lobby and a fairly large, muscled man was waiting for us. He was wearing a black turtleneck, a suit jacket and dress pants. His stature just screamed 'mob enforcer'. He was easily half a foot taller than myself, and I stood a little over six feet. He was twice my bulk, too. His face was tanned and almost leathery in appearance. His short, dark hair was spiked, and his dark eyebrows looked as though they almost formed a scowl above his otherwise blank and neutral expression.

As a side effect of my youth and prison time, I had developed a need to size people up upon meeting them; to determine whether or not they would be a threat, should anything occur. I doubted I could take this guy. Even if he couldn't fight, which I highly doubted, one swing from any one of his huge meat hooks, and I'd be spent. We all stared at him as we gathered inside. He just glared until we were all in the building and eventually spoke.

"This all of you?" He said, in a much more gentle voice than I expected.

"Maybe I could take him," I thought.

Grant was the only one who spoke up.

"How the bloody hell are we gonna know if this is all? We weren't exactly given a ruddy spreadsheet" he said, embracing every single bit of cocky limey he could muster.

Everyone laughed. Even the goon in the nice suit jacket.

"Fair enough" he said, still chuckling, and sure enough, he pulled out a goddamn spreadsheet.

He started ca

I don’t have a fear of flying; I have a fear of Phil.

Who’s Phil? Phil is the guy who tightens the bolts that hold the wings onto the plane, the critical ones that keep them from ripping off in mid-flight, sending it hurtling to the ground in a pirouette death spiral.

Some time ago, Phil got distracted and left one of those wing bolts about a quarter-less tightened than he should. Normally Phil doesn’t do that; he’s good at his job, takes a lot of pride in it. Maybe he received an ill-timed text from his wife, irritated that he left his wet towel on the bed after his shower. Or one of his work buddies was ribbing him because Phil’s favorite team ate a huge shit sandwich in the big game over the weekend.

Whatever it was, it was enough to make Phil forget to give that bolt one last torque before moving onto the next. Tight enough to pass inspection, but a little too loose to withstand the bumps and vibrations that a plane experiences during takeoffs, landings, and heavy bouts of turbulence. Not just any plane; this plane, the one I was about to get on.

Over time, those vibrations have spun the bolt backwards, working its way out with each shimmy and shudder. By now it’s hanging by its last thread, and one more good hard bump is all it’s going to take before it falls out and-

“ID and ticket, ma’am?”

The TSA Agent’s voice roused me from my Rube Goldberg death scenario.

I had reached the front of the security queue, mentally elsewhere as I worked my way through the line. The Agent’s face scrunched with irritation because I didn't have my ID and ticket ready per the intercom’s instructions. Not following the rules must be a great annoyance to them, enough of a distraction to allow someone with a gun or a knife to slip right on through the line undetect-

“If you don't have your ticket you’ll need to go back to the ticketing kiosk,” the Agent said.

The man behind me exhaled a deep sigh that reeked of black coffee and cigarettes. His rumpled brown suit gave him the look of a life long traveling salesman. Probably wasn’t his first airport of the day, nor would it be his last. He looked like he could sleep through the heaviest of turbulence only to be annoyed when the flight attendant woke him to remind him to fasten his seatbelt.

I stepped aside with a meek “sorry” that no one but me heard. The line reformed behind the frumpy brown-suited businessman with his weathered suitcase filled with brochures for aluminum siding and definitely wasn’t a bomb.

The li

Unedited; questionable language.

Previously: Pole dancing, cat fighting, et cetera. This show is nothing if not consistent.

It is morning, or perhaps early afternoon. Our heroines sleep peacefully. Until, that is, Big John bursts into their room -- well, "bursts" might be a little strong. "Lumbers" is more accurate. Big John lumbers into their room and says this is rock n' roll, not rock n' sleep, so they should get up. You could use that catchphrase for anything. "This is rock n' roll, not rock n' stand there like you just snapped into a Slim Jim." Or, "This is rock n' roll, not rock n' refill your Valtrax prescription." Brandi wants to punch Big John in the balls. I kind of do, too, just to see if they squeak like a dog toy. Bret tells us that these girls need to step up and give him their A-game. So far he likes Jes, Heather and Lacey, but hasn't seen much from girls like Magdalena and Mia. He wonders if they will ever let their guards down and let him see who they truly are. They will as soon as you take off your bandana-front weave, Telly Savalas. Big John delivers Bret Mail: "From New York to L.A. I've rocked and I've rolled / But a cross country tour can sure take its toll / Today one lucky lady will show her road skills / but the other five honeys will end up roadkill." Chickenman, chickenman, chickenman hold my hand.

The girls head to meet Bret, who is wearing his favorite flame encrusted American-themed cowboy hat with blue tie-dye bandana/flat ironed weave underneath, and what appears to be a puka shell necklace. Turns out it's his special birthday outfit! Heather is of course the first one to yell out, "Happy birthday, Bret." You know that the whole way over she was like, "Tell him happy birthday first and he'll love you, tell him happy birthday first and he'll love you." In her head, of course. Except her lips were probably moving. Bret tells us that later there will be partying, but first there is a challenge. He's looking for a woman who can handle life on the road with him and all the insanity that comes with it. In each "city," all of which are set up in one big parking lot, two girls will compete head to head in a rock tour related challenge. The winner of the challenge will jump back on the bus, while the loser gets left behind. The ultimate winner will get a killer date. Hopefully with a cameo appearance by Jason Voorhees. Bret interviews that for the last 22 years he's spent six to nine months out of the year on a tour bus. Oh yeah

The campaign this week may have been about selling those pearly whites, but there's not a single smile on the face of any of the models as they return to the judging room. Instead, there are surly, nervous and anxious expressions - the commercial-centric week threw a spanner in the works for a cast dominated by high fashion superstars. But were they able to prove their versatility?

Tyra Banks stands before them, ready to answer that question - an answer that lies, as always, inside an envelope which she clutches to her self.

"Ten beautiful young ladies stand before me," she says. "But I only have nine photos in my hands. And these nine photos represent the nine of you that will still be in the running towards becoming the Fantasy Next Top Model: All Star.

The first name that I'm going to call is the best photo of the week, and will be displayed here in your apartment in NYC, as digital. art."

She reveals the first photo, slowly.

"Tao. We're used to a freaky fashionista, but in the face of this challenge, your edgy exterior melted away and from it came a superstar that can more than hold their own in a commercial space.

Congratulations. You're still in the running towards becoming the Fantasy Next Top Model."

"Jourdan. This is easy, breezy, beautiful - and you might have been called first, if not for that unsightly tattoo. Remember, this is a test ad for All Star Smilez, not an audition for Bad Ink."

"Jeisa. You don't have an inherent model smile, but you turned it out. The natural side works."

"Fei Fei. I love this shot. I mean, I think it's amazing - don't just keep at this speed, you need to hit the pedal."

"Yumi. This feels that it could be a sports ad, but we appreciate how much you were able to soften your unique look."

"Xiao Wen. This is cute, but is it an All Star? We're not sure. Still, a commendable effort."

"Guin. Again, a lovely photo, but somewhat dated - and that is a killer in this industry."

"Liu. This is pretty, but a little bit too much. Being an All Star means instinctively knowing when to pull back and when to give more. Congratulations. You're still in the running towards becoming the Fantasy Next Top Model."

Only two girls remain.

"Would Abbey and Yoon Young please step forward?"

They both do so, hand in hand.

"Two beautiful young ladies stand before me - but I only have one photo in my hands. And this photo represents the girl that will still be in the running towards becoming the Fantasy Next Top Model: A

Alot of great jokes get posted here! However just because you have a joke, doesn't mean it's a dad joke.

THIS IS NOT ABOUT NSFW, THIS IS ABOUT LONG JOKES, BLONDE JOKES, SEXUAL JOKES, KNOCK KNOCK JOKES, POLITICAL JOKES, ETC BEING POSTED IN A DAD JOKE SUB

Try telling these sexual jokes that get posted here, to your kid and see how your spouse likes it.. if that goes well, Try telling one of your friends kid about your sex life being like Coca cola, first it was normal, than light and now zero , and see if the parents are OK with you telling their kid the "dad joke"

I'm not even referencing the NSFW, I'm saying Dad jokes are corny, and sometimes painful, not sexual

So check out r/jokes for all types of jokes

r/unclejokes for dirty jokes

r/3amjokes for real weird and alot of OC

r/cleandadjokes If your really sick of seeing not dad jokes in r/dadjokes

Punchline !

Edit: this is not a post about NSFW , This is about jokes, knock knock jokes, blonde jokes, political jokes etc being posted in a dad joke sub

Edit 2: don't touch the thermostat

Do your worst!

How the hell am I suppose to know when it’s raining in Sweden?

Mathematical puns makes me number

Ants don’t even have the concept fathers, let alone a good dad joke. Keep r/ants out of my r/dadjokes.

But no, seriously. I understand rule 7 is great to have intelligent discussion, but sometimes it feels like 1 in 10 posts here is someone getting upset about the jokes on this sub. Let the mods deal with it, they regulate the sub.

They were cooked in Greece.

I'm surprised it hasn't decade.

The Gang goes online to smear a rival bar after they start charging customers more for the same cheap drinks.

COLD OPEN:

TITLE: 4:34 PM
TITLE: On a Friday
TITLE: Philadelphia, PA
OVER TITLES WE HEAR:
Rats squeaking and rapid footsteps.

CHARLIE Go! Go! Go! Go!

DEE
Oh, get it, you son of a bitch!

DENNIS
Charlie, come on. They’re lost.

INT. PADDY’S PUB - DAY

Dennis and Dee stand drinking behind the bar watching Charlie sprint around a maze he built on the floor to race rats. Mac sits, on his phone.

CHARLIE
They aren’t lost, Dennis. They know exactly where they’re going.

DENNIS
No, Charlie, they don’t know where they’re going, because you keep eating their cheese.

CHARLIE (chewing) I’m barely even eating any, dude.

DEE
Charlie, it’s all you’ve eaten today!

CHARLIE
Well, I can’t help it! It’s aged!

DENNIS
What? No, we got mozzarella.

CHARLIE
Yeah, no, I let it air out in the basement for a few weeks.

DENNIS
That isn’t what aged cheese is at all!

Dee GAGS as A CUSTOMER walks up to Dee and Dennis.

CUSTOMER Excuse me, could I get a-

DENNIS
Oh my god, is this guy serious?

CHARLIE
Yeah, buddy, hey, we’re doing a rat thing today, if you didn’t notice.

DEE (laughing)

Uh, who sees rats at a bar and orders a drink?

The customer sulks away.

DENNIS Unbelievable. Unbelievable.

Frank walks in.

FRANK Bullshit!

He hops up to sit at the bar.

FRANK (CONT'D)
Bull! Shit! You guys see that fancy new bar down the street? The Crypt?

CHARLIE
Oh my god, don’t even get me started on that place, Frank.

DENNIS
Wait a minute, what’s wrong with this place?

CHARLIE
I went in there the other day and all their drinks are like, so expensive. I got a beer and it was ten bucks.

FRANK
It ain’t good. We can’t let some bullshit elitist bar charge an arm and a leg for a beer.

DEE
Now, hold on. If some bar down the street is asking ten bucks for a beer, why don’t we just do that?

FRANK
Deandra, that’s not how it works. If we start charging more, then everyone else will too, and then the whole city will be blasting us up the ass. We can’t afford that!

CHARLIE
Frank is right! The whole system could be ruined! What if this place is so fancy, and they have a nice bathroom, and Paddy’s loses our customers?

DENNIS
Every other bar already has nicer bathrooms than us, Charlie. If you’re so worried about the bathrooms, you should actually clean them.

CHARLIE
Well now you’re just missing the point!

DEE
I think what

Said if she ever hosts a gender reveal party, when it comes time to pop the balloon she'll spray everyone with water.

Gender is fluid.

Two muffins are in an oven, one muffin looks at the other and says "is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

Then the other muffin says "AHH, TALKING MUFFIN!!!"

Don't you know a good pun is its own reword?

For context I'm a Refuse Driver (Garbage man) & today I was on food waste. After I'd tipped I was checking the wagon for any defects when I spotted a lone pea balanced on the lifts.

I said "hey look, an escaPEA"

No one near me but it didn't half make me laugh for a good hour or so!

Edit: I can't believe how much this has blown up. Thank you everyone I've had a blast reading through the replies 😂

Because she wanted to see the task manager.

But that’s comparing apples to oranges

And boy are my arms legs.

But let me give it a shot.

He’s the new temp.

Hi ladies.

So I finally got my induction date, it will be 4th March when I'll be 37 weeks. The Obstetric Consultant agreed to pencil me in this early due to my PGP getting worse, however I am seeing her the week before, so if I can manage, we can push the induction back a week.

Anyway, on to my question: I will have to stay in hospital for four or five days after giving birth; due to the medication I take (for the PGP and a prior chronic pain condition), Leo will have to be monitored for signs of withdrawal, which I totally understand.

I know the basics of what to pack in my hospital bag (this is my third baby, but its been nine years so my memory has gone a bit lol); vests, babygros, coming home outfit, nappies, wipes, socks and mittens for him; a change of clothes, nursing bra, comfy PJ'S, dressing gown, breast pads and toiletries for me.

But what quantities of these things should I take? I'm taking a small suitcase for myself and then a changing bag for his things. How many of each item do you think I'll need? I've had a Google but it only gives lists for a short stay, as in giving birth then leaving.

If anyone has any advice I would most appreciate it 😊

Edit: spelling mistake

The doctor says it terminal.

We told her she can lean on us for support. Although, we are going to have to change her driver's license, her height is going down by a foot. I don't want to go too far out on a limb here but it better not be a hack job.

He lost May

Now that I listen to albums, I hardly ever leave the house.

It really does, I swear!

And now I’m cannelloni

Amy

Put it on my bill