This is the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, after the story ends. After chopping down the beanstalk, Jack realizes that he’s actually pretty damn good with an axe, and casual vegetative vandalism really struck his fancy, so he began chopping down other trees for a living. He became a traveling woodsman, and he enjoyed many years of his simple life of manual labor.
One day, as he chops wood, he hears screams from a nearby cottage. Hurriedly breaking in (because recall: jack has no problem with entering houses uninvited), he sees a cross dressing lycanthrope attempting to devour a little girl dressed all in red and her little grandmother too. Wielding his trusty axe, Jack murdered yet another fantasy creature, and safely led Little Red all the way back home. Answering the door was a beautiful woman of around his age. After sending Little Red to bed, the two of them talked for hours.
One thing led to another, and a year later they were married with a child on the way. They had a beautiful little boy named Jack Junior who followed in his father’s steps to become a woodsman. This was fortunate, because as Junior grew up, Jack was feeling the pain of his previous adventures. An old back injury from jumping from the beanstalk was haunting him, and over time his posture grew more and more hunched. He had a tough time working, but at least Junior was becoming a strapping young man.
One day, Jack and Junior took the long road to the grandmothers place to bring her a meal, just like that fateful trio Red took so many years ago. When they arrived, the grandmother greeted them cheerily, welcoming them in and making conversation. “Oh Junior,” she said, “you’ve grown into such a handsome and strong young man. It’s so kind of you to handle all the work so your poor father, with his bad back and all, doesn’t have to. Why don’t you have a girlfriend yet?” Junior hesitated. “Well Grandma,” he replied. “It’s because... I’m gay”. The close-minded, set-in-her-ways grandma’s expression became stormy. She pulled poor hunched-over Jack into adjacent room, and whispered angrily: “Jack, your life is a mess! Your posture is terrible and your son isn’t giving me any grandsons!” Jack replied: “Ma, we’re happy, you can’t just-“ But she interrupted. “No excuses!” She snapped. “You need to straighten your lumbar, Jack!”
The Pillsbury Doughboy, remembered best as "Pop N Serve", and/or "Pop N Fresh", died yesterday of a severe yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.
Doughboy will be buried in this lightly greased coffin.
Dozens of celebrities will turn out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, the California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies, and Captain Crunch.
The grave site is expected to be piled high with flours.
Aunt Jemima will deliver the eulogy and lovingly describe Doughboy as "a man who never knew how much he was kneaded".
Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers.. He was considered a very smart cookie, but wasted much of his dough on half-baked schemes.
Despite being a little flaky at times, he still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.
Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play dough, three children: John Dough, Jane Dough and Dosey Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop tart.
The funeral will be held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes.
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.
So my dad loves to tell jokes, not one has ever been funny. So one day my GF was over and he decided to share a joke with her. He does. I look at him and I'm like "cmon Dad, that's horrible! U can do better" and laughed kinda like I was pitying him. He goes u think ur so cool huh?" He then got up grabbed me and locked me between his legs. So u all can understand, I'm 16 5"8 and thin. So not many people can't beat me. My dad is 6"3 and jacked. He looks likes mark wahlberg, from pain and gain, and that's not an overstatement. He then goes "what should we do now? How about an old fashioned wedgie!" He grabbed my underwear and pulled as hard as he could. "Why do u want to date a nerd that where's briefs? Haha" he's going. She starts laughing a little. He then goes "let's give u (GF) a better view" he then turns me around and lifts me up with a wedgie, "look at this dork dangle by his undies! Take a picture!" She did then pulled hard again and my underwear tore. He looked at me and went "maybe u shouldn't act like ur top dog kid, it'll get ur undies ripped right off." And she shared the pic around school, and know people come up to me saying "dude ur dad Is like a jock who gives u wedgies!" And makes fun of me for it. A couple of the seniors football player pinned me down and wedgied me so bad in the halls my underwear ripped off. And everyone was laughing. At least it happened at the end of the year so I only had 2 week of teasing. People have forgotten about. IT WAS horrible. And humiliating. So now I laugh at his jokes no matter how cringey they are, cause I fear his wedgies. Because their not regular. There delivered by a man who's biceps are bigger than my head. It's very painful. SO THE LESSON IS TO ALWAYS LAUGH AT DAD JOKES, escpeically if he can dangle u by ur undies!
I recently joined a CSF - a community supported fishery. Once a week, I'll pick up a filet of freshly-caught salmon, a bag of shellfish, or other such delights from the Pacific Ocean and bring it home to my darling wife and children to much joy (or anguish, depending on who you're asking.)
You get to choose your pick-up spot, and I chose a location close to my office, so I could swing by on the way home; it's a nautical-themed bar, appropriate for such a business transaction. "Go to the bartender and ask for the fish", say the instructions; so I did, and he handed me the catch of the day. Gleaming white filets, glorious they were. Then I met a friend of mine, and after chatting for a little while, I went home.
"Jack," says my wife, "what took you so long? You should have been home an hour ago!"
"Sorry," I said. "I stopped by the bar, just for the halibut."
Little brother touching some chains:
Sister: Stop touching those, Jack
Me: Yeah, chain on you!
Brother: That might have been the worst joke I've ever heard...
I'm not a dad but right there I felt like one
