Patients effected by this claim it's super callused fragile lips that smell like halitosis
I replied, 'of course it's thick. Envelopes and pieces of paper do not tend to have a very high IQ'.
...he tells the owner and bartender that he’s a surgeon down at the hospital and he just wants to forget about everything for awhile.
Dick knows just the thing. He quickly whips up a thick, exotic beverage and places it in front of the worn out doctor. He takes one sip and his eyes light up. “What IS that?” “That’s my signature almond daiquiri”, Dick tells him. The surgeon tells him it’s delicious, pays his bill and comes back the next day and the next day at the same time for the same thing: An almond daiquiri.
Before long, like clockwork, Dick is able to have it ready for him just before he comes in. But, one day as he is preparing the drink, he realizes that he’s run out of almonds! With no time to lose, he quickly substitutes the almonds with hickory nuts and sets the beverage on the bar.
The surgeon pops in, takes a big gulp, and immediately spits it all over the bar. He looks at the bartender and says, “That’s not an almond daiquiri, Dick!” And Dick says, “No, it’s a hickory daiquiri, Doc!”.
“Santa: you’ve been around since the 4th century, seen alphabets and languages rise and fall. Do you have a favorite letter?”
Claus thinks about it, scratches his thick white beard and says: “A B C D E F G H I J K M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z”
“Well Santa, I just asked for one. What does that mean?”
“And I gave you one! My favorite letter of the alphabet is the most Christmasy one out there! No-L!”
It was a brisk Saturday morning when Gerald arrived at “The Café,” a hip coffee shop right down the street. Wearing his large, burly black coat, he stared hesitantly at his watch. Thick glasses adorned his bright blue eyes, his gaze like starlight in a clear night sky. He was waiting, intently twiddling his thumbs. After a buzz of his phone, the message from Dad popped up: “Parking now, be there in 5.”
“Dad,” he whispered under his breath, swiping the message away to once again reveal the image on his lock-screen: a hazy picture of an ultrasound.
Gerald had not spoken to his father for three years. They had had a falling out, over which he did not remember. To him it was a competition of who could wait the longest without calling or sending a text. Who could wait the longest: him without a father, or his father without a son? The idea of friction in the relationship hurt like a thorn; piercing his soul more and more everyday. Until recently, out of the blue, “Dad” popped up on his phone. The rest is history. The rest leads to that Saturday morning, at The Café.
Bang! A car door rang out not too far from where Gerald stood. Gerald saw him. His father wore his tweed jacket like a coat of armor. His strut was now weaker than before they stopped talking; a weakness evident in his cane which supported every right step. His shortly trimmed white beard juxtaposed against his uncut, curly grey hair gave him the image of a wise wizard from a fairytale. He used to be that figure to Gerald, yet instead of a nice ancient being acting like a stone to keep him grounded, Gerald had felt as though his father was a rock pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of monotony. Holding him back from his true potential. Maybe that was why he left? He still did not know.
“Hello, son,” came the withered voice Gerald had sook for so long, yet now that it had arrived wanted to avoid. “I can’t believe it’s been so long!”
“Yeah,” said Gerald, allowing a smile to grace his face. “Too long!”
Then they hugged, signifying a change in their relationship. Gerald had hoped something could happen to bring them closer together. He did not want to go on wondering what could have been. The regret and sadness weighed him down. Before starting a new family, Gerald wanted to be reacquainted with his own.
After finding their table and sitting down, the two began to discuss life. It was like old friends catching up after a long break. Although it took some time, Gerald began to warm u
... keep reading on reddit ➡Halfway through the show, the music stops and Bono stands middle stage clapping his hands every few seconds. "Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies" Without missing a beat, from somewhere in the front of the crowd a man bellows out in a thick Irish accent: "Well stop fucking doing it ya evil bastard!"
They're thick and tired of it.
The insect police force was tracking one of these malaria-mosquitos, when the mosquito fled to a farm. First, she tried to hide in the house, until the farmer chased her away with a newspaper. She tried to hide in the barn with the horses, but the barn cat took a few swipes at the mosquito, and chased it from the barn.
Finally, the mosquito set eyes on sheep in the pasture.she decided all that thick wool would be the perfect place to hide from the insect police force.
The police force arrived shortly after. They first went to the house. No mosquito. They searched the horses. No mosquito. Finally, they got to the pasture with the sheep. After searching and searching, they could not find where the mosquito had hidden.
The mosquito was on the lamb.
In the not too distant future, web censorship is pervasive; speech and freedom are strangers to one another; while pirates sail the seas with impunity, digital pirates are incarcerated by the busload.
Anyone who speaks out against this ban on open-dialogue or the free-sharing-of-ideas is ground down and hidden away, and the resistance is loosing its will.
A small group of contributors to reddit, huddled together in a bunker beneath barely-waving flags of Snoo, worked tirelessly to repost new ideas from around the internet, to release ideas from their chains, and make speech free ... again!
But it was not to be - a gang of the governments anti-piracy enforcers descended on this, the last bastion of humankind's will to share-freely. Arriving in an armored bus, ten shock-troopers breached the bunker and it looked like the day was lost.
Fortunately for us all, one brave redditor led the collective out a back entrance and they circled to the driveway. This leader told the other redditors to wait in the bushes while he overpowered the one soldier left guarding the transport. There was a flash of movement, a crack from a fallen branch as it struck the guard, and then, stolen keys in hand, the hero revved the engine and told the redditors to pile in.
He had to will himself ignore the gas gauge as he floored the accelerator on the 25,000 pound ticket to freedom - there was only survival or defeat, and nothing in between. Sirens came alive behind him as he rushed for the border to the promised land, to the Free-North.
As the engine begins to cough, the titanic weight of the transport cleaves the barricades asunder and the pursuing vehichles have to hard-brake to avoid skidding beyond their corrupt jurisdiction. Both exhausted and elated, the redditors follow their hero to the freedom promised by their new surroundings ... but their peril is not yet passed.
Though most of the pirate-hunters glower from the south-side of the border, one special agent has crossed over and is speaking with the border guards. The tension is thick. A long-faced guard turns to the newcomers, clearly troubled by what he must do.
"Folks," he says, a pained look on his kindly face, "I'm sorry, to do this, don't cha' know, but I got no choice, eh!"
Confused, the redditors look to one another, and tremble as they notice the agent's smug expression, greedy eyes fixed on the leader of the exodus.
"Look here, now, you are all welcome here, of course, and since speech is free here, we are
... keep reading on reddit ➡The Duke of Dance: If i don't stop soon, you're really gonna have a bone to pick with me.
The Duke of Dance: I need to stop being such a numbskull.
The Duke of Dance: help.
Sans: I gotta write these down.
The Duke of Dance: I don't have enough backbone to deal with my own shit
The Duke of Dance: but that's tibea expected.
Sans: I find this humerus.
The Duke of Dance: damn
The Duke of Dance: stole my next one.
The Duke of Dance: I'm not fibulaing you when i say, i'm running out of material. I'm really trying to think of more puns here, but i'm patellaing you, i'm out.
Sans: I don't even know this many bone names.
The Duke of Dance: My cranium is empty. i'm running bone-dry here.
The Duke of Dance: But you'r quite sternum in your wanting of these puns.
The Duke of Dance: don't worry, i'll stop temporalily. Not really tho.
The Duke of Dance: I'm taking these puns to the maxilla.
Sans: Can you make a pelvis pun?
The Duke of Dance: Not really. I can't think of any. So no hip hip hooray here.
Sans: That was alright.
The Duke of Dance: Are you having a femury time?
The Duke of Dance: I find myself sacruming to the need to make puns.
The Duke of Dance: helpican'tstop
Sans: I'm having a pun time.
The Duke of Dance: I'm gonna turbinate my puns, cuz i'm on my last leg-bones here.
The Duke of Dance: i'm getting desperate, you can tell.
The Duke of Dance: I didn't name a specific bone.
The Duke of Dance: Which is almost completely mandableitory.
The Duke of Dance: I have made more puns tonight than i have in a LONG time.
The Duke of Dance: Throw me a bone here, have i made enough skeleton puns?
Sans: There will never be enough skeleton puns. Mind makin' a list for me?
The Duke of Dance: Do
The Duke of Dance: Do you want me to write everything i just said down for you?
The Duke of Dance: I'm quivering at the thought of coming up with more skeleton puns.
Sans: I don't see any arrows.
Sans: Don't be a lazy bones, come up with more.
The Duke of Dance: I'll see you later, my vertebrah.
Sans: Have you any backbone?
The Duke of Dance: I already made that one.
The Duke of Dance: :3
Sans: SCREW IT, I'M MAKING ANOTHER
The Duke of Dance: Not so easy coming up with fresh material, is it?
The Duke of Dance: Also, "quiver" is another name for one of your joints.
The Duke of Dance: I'm just really looking at medical sites for this shit.
Sans: CURSE YOU GOOGLE.
The Duke of Dance: it's tibea expected. <Favorite skeleton pun, using it again
... keep reading on reddit ➡John Deavensmit was not having a good time. After an incident involving a coffee spill, he'd been sued for $50 million, and somehow the jury had ruled against him. There was no way he could pay that much money; he'd go bankrupt.
Naturally, he filed for an appeal, but the winner of the case was already beginning to hound him for money, hoping to get at least something before the judgement was overturned. John was nearly at his wit's end before he found an unusual package in his mailbox.
It was from a couple of his friends, who all went on to law school when John left to create a startup. They'd all been very successful, and had gone on to be justices at various levels, from courts in a small county in Wisconsin all the way to the Supreme Court. When he opened it up, he was surprised to see an ink drawing of a thick wooden stick. It was signed by his friends, and accompanied by a note:
> Hey John, > > We're sorry to hear about your loss in court last month. We met up at a judge conference in the Davison Center, and we thought that we'd do something special for you. We met up in the Grapefruit Room and all worked together to draw this. We hope you enjoy it! > > Your friends
Now, John had been to D.C. a few times, and knew about the Davison Centre. It was renowned for its very offbeat architecture. The Grapefruit Room was one of the weirdest: it had been constructed by taking a world-record grapefruit, carving out the flesh, and preserving the rind. The result was a walk-in fruit, and it always smelled of citrus.
It took John a while to work out the significance of the gift, but when he realized it, he was overjoyed. His good friends had seen fit to grant him a stave judge-men penned in a peel.
So my dad and I are trying a pomelo for the first time. He's cutting the peel off and it's quite thick. I ask:
"What's that kind of, fluffy white stuff on the inside of the peel called."
"It's called the pith." He responds
"Oh ok."
"Oh pith off!"
We stare at each other and just burst out laughing.
Good times.
A man in Switzerland is trying to get his grandfather clock fixed, and brings it into a clock shop.
The clock shop attendant asks the man "What seems to be the trouble?"
"Well, the clock tells time just fine. However, as you can hear, it ticks... But doesn't tock."
"Hmm, I think our Horologist will need to take a look at your clock. Please bring it into the back."
So the man wheels his clock into the back room, and there is an old, balding man, wearing a lab coat and thick horn rimmed glasses. He asks the man in a thick German accent "What seems to be the problem?"
"Well, you see, this clock ticks, but it doesn't tock."
"I see," says the horologist. He turns on a single light bulb, and turns off the lights to the room, and pulls out some pliers from his labcoat, and says, in his thick German accent...
"We have ways of making you tock."
I went to the convenience store on my college campus because I needed to get some nail clippers. A girl I knew walked in and this exchange was had after we had started talking:
Me: The only good clippers they had were in this pack with this other body care stuff, do you want any of it?
Girl: Sure, but those are toenail clippers. There are some fingernail clippers over there (very small ones).
Me: I have very thick nails, so those won't cut it.
The look she gave me told me how close she was to groaning.
Edit: Spelling
We're hanging a circuit breaker panel, me and the old Daddio.
Dad: Cut me a scrap of that flooring for a spacer. Three and a half inches thick so I can nail it to this stud.
Me: Sure. How long do you need it?
Dad: Oh... we're probably gonna need it for as long as the house is here.
Girlfriend: I just finished reading a really thick chapter of copyright law. Let me take a break It was really heavy.
Me: Do you need a lighter?
She’s thick and tired of it.
Because they're thick and tired of it
