She filled a cup of water placed it on her head and began to violently and rapidly breathe in and out. The force is strong with her.
Hugs not pugs.
Dad replies from the other room, "Are you sure son?!"
I say, "Yes, I'm choking!"
Dad: "If you say so. You're a doctor!"
I call it the: Measure Mint
Smells like teen spirit
Ofcourse it does! With my salary I can't afford any Champagne!
Breathe, damn it! Breathe!
Breathe grandpa, or they will have to put you in the box! (Raisin joke on top)
"I'm breathing underwater."
I've never been prouder.
It wouldn't be very long, but I could do it.
I said it's so dark I can't breathe has anyone got a nut cracker I can't breathe
"Once upon a time there was this lobster..."
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 ➡Like the holes in a container,
To let the the characters breathe and live.
No, I’ve been eating frogs’ legs...what you smell is the hops.
The son said, “What’s slash dad jokes?” Kids, right!
Bump…
Bump…
Bump…
Walking faster, he looks back and through the fog he makes out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street toward him.
Bump…
Bump…
BUMP…
Terrified, the man begins to run toward his home. The casket still bouncing quickly behind him.
Faster…
Faster…
FASTER…
Bump…
Bump…
BUMP…
He runs up to his door, fumbles with the keys, opens the door, rushes in and slams and locks the door behind him.
Rushing up the stairs to his bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding. His head is reeling. His breath is coming in sobbing gasps.
With a loud CRASH the casket breaks down the door. Bumping and clapping towards him.
The man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is cough syrup!
Desperate, he throws the cough syrup as the casket!
And…
The coffin stops….
Yesterday my daughter balanced a bottle of Poland Springs on her head and then exclaimed, “Help Daddy! I can’t breathe underwater!!"
I call it:
THE A-TONE-MINT!!!!!
Cos you sure as hell took my breath away, girl!
I’m afraid I might be assmatic.
I told him i breath in and out.
Stop eating dogs.
Terrible Underwater Breathing Apparatus
Edit: good lord, I didn’t know someone else posted this previously. I thought it was funny as heck and my kids rolled their eyes when I told it SO THERE.
He says, “Miss, can I please use the bathroom?”
The teacher says to him, “Okay, but only if you say your ABCs first”.
The boy is visibly bursting for the toilet and is crossing his legs while standing. He takes a deep breath.
“A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O Q R S T U V W X Y Z”
The teacher says to him, “Where’s the P?”
The boy replies, “It’s running down my leg”.
Gandhi, by the time he died, he was a very thin and elderly man who had walked almost everywhere he went barefoot causing thick pads on the bottom of his feet. He was also an extremely wise man who many considered a seer, and he ate ethnic Indian cuisine causing bad breath........Turns out he was a super fragile calloused mystic hexed by halitosis.
“How do you breathe through something so small?”
"The rest of my life probably"
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 ➡Trevor loved tractors. And I mean, really loved tractors. Forget any obsessions or high-level interests you may have, chances are they pale in the face of Trevor’s love for tractors.
Every day Trevor would get up, in his tractor-themed bedroom in his tractor-themed house, with its tractor-themed wallpaper and tractor-themed carpets, and he would make his bed with its tractor-themed duvet and tractor-themed sheets. He would go downstairs in his tractor-themed pajamas into his tractor-themed kitchen, with its tractor-themed tiles and cupboards, and he would eat his breakfast while perusing the latest tractor-themed magazine or annual.
Trevors’s degree in Agricultural Engineering hung on his living room wall, along with a copy of his thesis, which centred around (you guessed it) tractors. The living room was decorated with all sorts of tractor-related trinkets, including die-cast models, paintings and drawings.
The hedges in Trevor’s front garden were trimmed in the shape of tractors. His lawn was vividly decorated with tractor-driving garden gnomes, and his garden furniture was constructed from various parts from vintage tractor designs.
Trevor just had one thing missing from his otherwise tractor-centric life; he had never actually owned, nor driven, a real tractor.
Not for his lack of trying, of course. Trevor had been to many tractor shows over the years, and visited many farms with friends of his, but none of the tractors he had seen had ever been quite right. Trevor was so knowledgeable about tractors that every single one he had come across had possessed some hidden trait that he wasn’t keen on. His first experience of driving a real tractor had to be perfect.
One day, Trevor was flicking through one of his favourite publications, Powertrain Quarterly, when there was a knock at the door. Trevor answered, and it was his friend and fellow tractor enthusiast, Jeff.
Trevor welcomed Jeff in, and over tea and crumpets served on tractor-themed crockery, they discussed the merits of aluminium drawbars and front-end loaders. Eventually Trevor pressed Jeff to explain the reason for his visit.
“Well” said Jeff, “As I’m sure you know the convention comes to town later”.
The convention. Trevor had been thinking of little else the past three weeks. The neighbouring town annually threw a convention for farmers, particularly farmyard machinery. There would be combine harvesters, lawnmowers, and of course, tractors.
“Yes of course” replied Trevor
... keep reading on reddit ➡On average, this guy walked 11+ miles per day for 40 years. WITHOUT SHOES.
Dude fasted frequently, too, so he didn't get a lot of the nutrients that most people get on a daily basis and presumably had bad breath.
That being said, Gandhi was...
A SUPER CALLOUSED FRAGILE MYSTIC HEXED WITH HALITOSIS.
Me: “Hey mom what’s puree ?
(Before she even takes a breath my dad pipes up)
Dad: “That’s a Canadian”
The headline was, "Super California Lipstick Vexes Halitosis"
It always leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
"Hey, barkeep!" he says, struggling to keep control of his quarry. "Any room for me and my friends?"
The bartender smiles and sets down some plastic cups. The man plops his friends inside, but the cups are too small.
"Um...barkeep?" the man says, pulling them out again. The bartender reaches for some larger mugs, but as he places them next to the cups, it becomes obvious that even these will be too small for the pigs.
Seeing the man struggle to continue holding them, the bartender runs to the kitchen for help.
A cook emerges, holding several large measuring cups. "Sorry, I just used these to make a batch of cheese dip, but they're all yours!"
The man carefully plops each pig into its respective gooey yellow cup.
Arms exhausted, breathing heavily, he drops into a stool at the end of the bar, between his tiny friends and a beautiful girl.
He glances her way, gasping coyly. "Hey...I'm...Tom."
She smiles, having watched the whole ordeal. "Hi Tom, I'm Liz. And if you don't mind me asking..." she laughs, looking over his shoulder, "what was that all about?"
He glances back at the bar. "Yeah...sorry," he pants. "I wanted...to impress you, but...it turned out to be...a pretty cheesy...pig-cup line."
He's panting like he'd just been for a run
Asks for a drink
Bartender asks what he was up to, why's he so out of breath?
Horse says "I was trying to get out of the Reins"
BREATHE! JUST BREATHE!
BREATHE, YOU IDIOT!! BREATHE!!!!
Breathe!
Breathe idiot, breathe!
For Terrible Underwater Breathing Apparatus
Breathe you fool breath
How do you breathe out of that thing?
