It was in terrible taste.
A. Teach it proper manners!
It was really crude.
A woman asked me to check her balance, so I pushed her over.
They did not like my crude humor. I'll have to refine it.
Is it crude to make oil jokes now ?
Bringing forth a new era of crude spaceflight
Now I have gas money
"maned missions" was getting pretty crude.
Crude
Didn't c that coming Huh?
...but it's crude humor.
when there was a terrible accident. The fire in his forge had gone out of control and set fire to the shop. The blacksmith nearly lost his life. He was bedridden for many months and relied on the help of his children and grandchildren to feed him, bathe him, and take care of all of his needs. Eventually he was able to get back on his feet, though his outlook on life had turned quite grim. He was now able to take care of himself, but he had lost much of his strength and dexterity from the injuries he sustained and he was unable to practice his trade. He fell into a deep depression and he spent most of his days sitting at home in front of the fireplace gazing into the flames, longing for the days when his strong hands could grasp a hammer and strike a hot piece of iron, slowly forging it into a beautiful piece of work.
One evening when the old man was sitting in front of the fire, he heard a knock at the door. It was his granddaughter, whom he hadn't seen in many months. She had overheard her father talking to her mother about how her grandfather was slowly slipping away into depression and hopelessness and she wanted to help. To the old man's surprise, she had brought him a puppy. "I thought that since you're always here all by yourself that you might want someone you keep you company," the granddaughter said. The old man's eyes welled up with tears and the little puppy instantly jumped into his arms and began licking the tears from his face. The old man and his granddaughter spent the next several hours sitting on the floor of his house watching the puppy chase around a rubber ball, bouncing, jumping, panting, and licking. In that short time, the old man had made complete turnaround from being sad, lonely, and hopeless, to smiling from ear to ear, full of joy with his new-found companion. As the hours grew late and the puppy grew tired, the granddaughter said "Well Opa, I'm glad you like your puppy, but it's late and I should be heading home. By the way, what are you going to call him?" "Life," said the old man, "because he has given me a new meaning and joy to mine." The granddaughter kissed her grandfather on the cheek, wished him goodnight, and she left.
Many years passed and all the while, the old man and his little dog were inseparable. Everywhere the old man went, Life was always with him whether it was the post office, the grocery store, and even when the old man went to the barber shop, the little dog would sit patiently until the last hair on
... keep reading on reddit β‘The sun shone into my office through the lowered blinds all clumsy like, fumbling through the gaps between the venetian slats like a drunk fishing for loose change in his pockets; trying to see if he has money enough for one last drink or maybe the bus ride home.
The dame looked me up and down, clearly disappointed by what sat in front of her. I didnβt blame her. Three days of salt and pepper stubble clung to my my crude boxerβs jaw and the bags under my eyes were so big half the bums downtown could sleep in there and not even know anyone else was with 'em. That was ok. This broad wasnβt hiring me for my looks and I wasnβt looking to her for approval. We both knew what brought her in here, it was the name on the door.
Max Dad P.I. - thatβs me. Private Investigatorβs sure not the profession my mother would have picked out for me, but it keeps me in whisky and it keeps a roof over my head and thatβll do for now. The dame parted those cherry red lips of hers as she took another pull on that just-lit cigarette and nervously stubbed it out in the ashtray. My eyebrows knit together slightly. I hate seeing things go to waste.
βSo as I was saying, Mr Dad,β she began.
βPlease, call me Maxβ
βAlright, Maxβ¦ well, as I was saying, my bag is missing. Stolen, I think. I urgently need it back. Shall I describe it to you?β
βNo thatβs alright miss. You got nothing to worry about,β I replied, sliding a bottle out of the desk drawer and pouring a big slug of scotch into to my morning coffee, βIβm sure itβll be a brief case.β
Back in the 90s, I remember playing some N64 after school when my dad came home from work. He comes into the living room and asks me what's up and, as a teen, I say "nuthin" and keep playing while he just stands there. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see he's looking at me with a stupid grin on his face that's he's trying to suppress poorly. Finally, he asks me to pause the game. I turn to him and he asks "You want a Hertz donut?" I obviously know this joke, but to make it worse, he's already making a fist, ready at his side. I roll my eyes and say "No, I do not want a Hertz donut." He just relaxes his hand and says surprised "Oh, you don't? You sure?" I say I'm sure and he says okay and walks back out to his car, leaving me to return to my GoldenEye. A few seconds later, he comes strolling back in the room, with a box of a dozen donuts in his hand, while he's eating one, with the same stupid grin on his face. On the box of donuts, "Dunkin" has been crudely crossed out and Hertz written beneath it in Sharpie marker. He walks into the kitchen saying "Guess you won't be having these Hertz donuts!" I'm in awe. I follow him into the kitchen and he finally relents and lets me take a donut. I ask him "So, you bought these donuts, and just put this joke together on the way home?" He says he thought of the joke earlier in the day at work and had to buy the donuts for the bit. I start laughing hysterically thinking about him sitting at work itching to leave to pull this off. As we sit there, quietly eating these donuts, he breaks the silence with a mouth full of donut, with "Had to stop at CVS to pick up a Sharpie too." I almost choked on the donut jimmies.
TLDR: Dad offered a Hertz donut, should've taken him up on it.
Dad: We should sell the house and just store oil somewhere..... Then again that'd be a rather crude way to live!
He then began chuckling to himself for 5 minutes.
My son is 5. He was cutting out paper and put it in the shape of a (very crude) gun.
"Dad, what kind of gun does this look like?"
I dunno son - it kind of looks like a hand gun.
Son: "A gun that shoots out hands?"
..........he got me.
...but it's crude humor.
