His ghoul-friend.
She was only the whiskey makers daughter, but I did love her still
The swallow.
...there’s no place like home for the hollandaise.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Now no one can get down.
They crept in. It was pitch black and stone quiet. They were suddenly starting to regret this dare. Stupidly, only one brought a flash light. The aggressive darkness and inky black yielded with grudging compliance but always seeming to push back. They moved cautiously onward amid the dust and cobwebs. The floor creaked. They breathed in tight, quick breaths. You could hear a pin drop.
Suddenly, there was a deep moan. "OOOOOOOOUUUUU". It seemed from below them. The house had been abandoned for years. Who or what could make such a sound? The boys looked at each other, but continued on, hearts pounding in their chests.
As they proceeded into the kitchen they encountered a swarm of flies. Buzzing and beating their necks and faces, they rushed and stumbled to the door, not stopping to see what they were truly feasting on. They slammed the door behind them. Maybe a body? But no way were they going back to find out. And again came the sound, "ooooOOOOOooooOOUUU" but louder this time, and closer.
They proceeded through the dark into the dining room. They saw a fully set dining table covered in cob webs. Dust-covered regal-looking glasses, goblets and silverware adorned the table. Spiders climbed on ivory plates. Clearly a house of privilege and set for a grand feast which never happened.
Or, perhaps, met a fatal end?
They pushed on. But again that unearthly howl.
"oooooOOOOOOOOOOOUuuuuUUUUuuUUOOOOooo".
They found the basement staircase, and from below, the sounds seemed to be emanating. Could they proceed? Would they? Did they dare? Two of the boys looked at each other, faces filled with worry.
But the third said, confidently, "We're going down there." Not wanting to seem the weaker, the other two boys steeled themselves and nodded.
The stairs creaked and groaned evily under their feet. The rickety banister shook in angry defiance. Insects and vermin scattered underneath them with every step. They were descending into hell, they knew, but none would turn back.
And the sound: "oOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUuuuuUUOOOO". Now loud enough to fill not only their heads but seeming to claw at their very souls!
Now at the basement door! The antique, crying squeak of the hinges eeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEee made the boys wince and almost cover their ears. But they had to know. WHAT is making that horrible, terrible sound?
"ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUoooooUUUUUUUOOOOOOO"
In the center of the basement lay an unholy coffin! A twisted artistic expression of murder, decay and
... keep reading on reddit ➡Only a fraction of you will understand that
Edit: I see this joke has been quite divisive! Thank you to everyone who made this joke a thousand times better in the comments, you're all amazing, and thank you for the awards!
I found a recipe in a magazine but I wasn't sure about it because the recipe calls for thyme and a bunch of other spices. I had them all, but unfortunately they were all expired. I decided to make them anyways, took them to a party, and they ended up all being eaten, everyone thought they were delicious. I guess what they say is true.
People love that old thyme Moroccan roll.
It's because they are ice-o-lated.
I’ll only be telling inside jokes
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 ➡If you thought R you’d be wrong. Everyone knows a true pirates first love is always the C.
The mean increases.
I am in you, you in me. We are in each other. True love. ❤️
Then, I saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow.
It was addressed, 'Dad'.
With the worst premonition, I opened the envelope and read the letter, with trembling hands:
"Dear, Dad.
It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you.
I had to elope with my new girlfriend, because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mom and you.
I've been finding real passion with Stacy.
She is so nice, but I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercing's, tattoos, her tight motorcycle clothes and because she is so much older than I am.
But it's not only the passion, Dad.
She's pregnant.
Stacy said that we will be very happy.
She owns a trailer in the woods, and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter.
We share a dream of having many more children.
Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone.
We'll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people in the commune for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want.
In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so that Stacy can get better.
She sure deserves it!
Don't worry Dad, I'm 15, and I know how to take care of myself.
Someday, I'm sure we'll be back to visit so you can get to know your many grandchildren.
Love, your son, Joshua.
P.S. Dad, none of the above is true.
I'm over at Jason's house.
I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the school report that's on the kitchen table.
Call when it is safe for me to come home!"
Yeah, he's a walking Contra-diction.
Alternative for the logic nerds:
Bob is always honest, and he says he doesn't like shoot 'em ups. His identical twin Joe says he loves shoot 'em ups. How do we know Joe is honest? Because if something is true, then so is its Contra-positive.
As the engine sputters and shuts down the woman driving the car steers toward a nearby driveway and honks the horn hoping to get the attention of a guy herding cattle in the distance. Sure enough within a minute the man has ridden his horse over to her. He dismounts and gives a happy “Hello! Sounds like you’re having some car trouble. Can I help at all?” The woman replies that she’s not sure what happened but that she would love some help. They pop the hood and the man says he thinks he can fix the problem but has to run back to his barn to get some tools. The cows have come to see what’s going on and as the farmer gets ready to leave he says “Don’t worry about your car. I’ll have it running in a few minutes. Just head over there to the shade of the tree by the fence. The cows are all friendly. Bessy there likes to have her ear rubbed, Albert likes to look at people, and Mare will just moo a grand ole tune.” All of it is true and within 20 minutes the woman is happily sitting in her car with the engine running better than before. “Thank you so much, you’re a life saver,” she says. The man smiles and lets out a big laugh before saying “I’m glad I could help. But I’m no life saver. I’m just a jolly rancher.”
Every year, the team was in the state championship game, and usually won it handily. Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.
Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.
One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.
As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.
The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:
No Offense, Nun Taken
Just to liven up a boring car journey
>Me: What's a pirates favourite letter?
>Aunt and Dad: [Rolls eyes] Rrrrr!
>Me: Ah you'd think so, but their true love be for the C.
Her: They're changing the SAT again. They're making the essay portion not required.
Me: So it's just the T's now?
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.
(This is a true story.)
Usually this is my Dad. My Mom will be opening presents all day, and Dad is done after he unwraps his three gifts.
We really give him a hard time and he loves it. He's a champ.
Well one year, we're opening gifts, and my brother's got almost nothing in his little pile. He had recently bought a house and his main gift was a garden hose.
This is exciting because we're gonna just tear into him. He is a good sport and he is ready to bask in the glory of his Christmas failure.
We finish the unwrapping and my Dad looks over to him and says "Well son, you really got hosed this year".
P.S. I am x-posting my own comment from an AskReddit thread at someone's suggestion, and definitely NOT in a shameless quest for karma.
It's not R; that is a common misconception about pirates. Like all sailors, their true love is the C.
Puns are my thing at Disney, and when the ride would stop working, I would say over the PA system "I'm sorry everybody, but our ride is Frozen at the moment. I know it's a bit of a fixer upper, but Elsa's giving us the cold shoulder right now, she's really freezing us out. (Or Olaf lost his cool and is having a melt down) Once we can have true love thaw out a Frozen ride, well be back up and running!
Me: whats a pirates' favorite letter? Mom: is it arrr? Me: Aye you'd think it'd be arr. but a pirates true love is for the C! Mom: whats a pirate favorite crime? me: is it arrrson? Mom: ayye you'd think it'd be arrrson but it's piracy.
What is a pirate's favorite letter?
You would think it would be ARRR, but a pirate's true love, is the sea
My family was sitting around the table eating lunch and talking about how it's almost impossible to have true vacation time anymore. My grandma chucks in, "Your time is valuable." My dad immediately replies:
"Thyme is actually pretty inexpensive. Saffron, on the other hand, is quite valuable."
I love my dad.
You might say R, but his true love be the C
R. But his true love be the C.
Every able lad within a few hundred miles wanted to play football for Central Catholic Fighting Knights.
Those who were familiar with the program, knew that the true heart and soul of the Knights football program was Sister Mary Margaret, an aged nun who would, in full habit, get out on the practice field and work on routes with the receivers, give pointers to the quarterbacks on their stances and releases, but most of all, love them like the second mother that she became to all of the boys in that program.
One year, on the eve of the state championship game, some evil malefactors broke into the convent and kidnapped Sister Mary Margaret. Everyone was stunned by the news, but none more so than the Knights of Central Catholic. They were devastated at the loss of their mentor.
As you might guess, the state championship game didn't go very well. For the first time in the history of the football program, the Knights were shut out. The Spartans beat them 42-0.
The next day, the headline on the local sports section read:
No Offense, Nun Taken
You may think it’s R, but a pirate’s true love will always be the C!
Most people think Rrrr but a pirates true love be the C.
You would think it was R, but everyone knows that a pirate's true love is the C.
some may think it's R, but their true love be the C!
