After a brief explanation of what 420 is, my dad responded with:
So it's the pot smoker's cocktail hour.
It's the pottail hour.
Big Farmer
So I moved 6 miles away.
I know my wife loves a boo-K.
But now they have a lot of violins
Because that’s the baby’s crowning achievement.
It was a ground-breaking invention
They really are fucking heroes
Braise the Red Lanternfish
It's a significant body of work.
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.
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.
A significant portion of them would drown
My favorite memory of my parents is going to some...
https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/ar90mx/whats_the_dumbest_thing_your_significant_other/eglz2pb?utm_source=reddit-android
My 3 year old is starting to want to play with the computer. This morning he was trying to type out words we were sounding out and spelling.
He wanted to spell out "octopus," and when we got to the "U," he had trouble locating it. Queue the cry of "I can't find U!" To which I replied "I'm right here!" "No Dad, I can't find U." "I'm right here!"
This went on for several minutes and a significant number of sighs and eye rolls from my patient wife.
I grew up in Vermont. Around my town were plenty of dairy farms, inviting the always wonderful manure aroma. An aroma that nearly forced my father to inhale deeply through his nose, saying, "Ah, fresh Vermont air!"
That's an excellent Dad one liner, as are most dad jokes, but he had another great one that I'm getting to.
You see, the hay bails we saw growing up in Vermont were mostly the cube variety. Hay bailing technology at the time created cubes of hay, so that's what dotted the fields they'd graze in.
As we grew older, we starting noticing the now more common round bails of hay. Dad was not pleased.
I asked him what the problem was or, at least, what his problem was with the round bails. The best jokes are set up when you ask for them.
So, he tells me. New farming technology allowed the round bails to be created more efficiently. They used less fuel in the bailers, took less passes on the field to gather the hay. They used less twine, and even though they didn't fill a truck as well as square bails, there was still a net monetary gain from the efficiency gained elsewhere.
However, studies were done on the bails. The cows approached them differently due to the different alignment of surface area. The way the rain hit the bails and rolled off as opposed to soaking in leached nutrients out of the hay. Some cows even mistook the shape of bail for another animal, and approached them so nervously that their heart rates were known to raise significantly; such a rate that a tinge of acidity could be tasted by those in the know in their milk.
What all of this amounted to... is that with the new round bails of hay, the cows just weren't getting a good square meal.
When I was four years old, my dad and I got into an argument over who should get the remote control. Because I was significantly smaller and younger, my dad won the argument. I was angry, so I walked my little four year old behind to my grandma's house that was across the street. Grandma wasn't home, but the door was never locked, so I made myself a poptart and proceeded to watch nickelodeon until my mom got home from church. Once I had my fill of fruity pastry and child entertainment I walked back to my house where my mom was screaming at my father. "How could you let a four year old just go like that? Unsupervised!". My dad was silent. My mother continued, " it's like you don't care at all about me or our children!" Still nothing from dad. "Well this is the last straw!" my mom shouted, "I'm leaving you! Do you have anything to say for yourself?" My dad spoke softly, "hi leaving you, I'm dad."
There once was a man from the Ukraine named Ivan Ivanavich. Now Ivan and his family were dirt poor, in fact they were so poor, that they had to sell the cockroaches and rats they found in their hovel to make some spare change to to feed their many family members. One day, Ivan decided it was time to travel to the United States to try and have a better life and miraculously he managed to get aboard a ship to the States. Now his journey on this ship was miserable, he was down in the bowels of the ship, which was flooded with rats and feces, but he hunkered down and gave it his all to survive this terrible journey. finally, one day he hears commotion above, they had arrived at last. Ivan walks up to the topside of the old ship and sees the New York Harbor. He stands there amazed seeing such a beautiful sight. Ivan starts his life in New York but he doesn't have a significantly better life than the one he left behind. Nobody is interested in hiring immigrants but eventually he lands himself a gig of selling old newspapers. He would go through garbage cans to find old papers and would sell them to people in the poorer part of town. He makes slightly more spare change, but not really enough to live a better life. In his spare time, which he had plenty, he decides to start free diving in the bay. He goes there each day, and started to get really good at it. One day, an owner of a Circus spots him diving and is amazed at how good he is. He decides to offer Ivan a job at his circus doing performance diving. Ivan eagerly accepts and begins his career as a circus member performing amazing high jumps into really small containers of water. After a few months of doing this he suggests to the owner one amazing jump to wow everyone and put his circus on top of the entertainment world. The owner contemplates this and eventually agrees. He rents a ship much like the one Ivan arrived in and placed the smallest container yet. The radio and tv crews, journalist all arrive to spectate the event of a lifetime. The hour arrives and Ivan begins his climb up a massive lighthouse on the edge of the cliff, and the ship is positioned into place beneath him. Ivan is very nervous but decides it's go time, and jumps from the massive lighthouse. As Ivan falls, he takes perfect form heading straight towards his target. As he dives a sudden wave pushes the ship ever slightly throwing off the careful alignment. Ivan hits the deck and goes straight through the top of the ship. The spectato
... keep reading on reddit ➡As I'm sure many of you can remember (or not), senior prom was one of the most exciting events of our pre-real world existence. However, in order to get to the actual event, there were three significant steps that needed to be taken care of:
- Sober up enough before actually getting to the venue
- Find a date who wasn't even weirder than you were
- Rent a tuxedo This last part posed quite a bit of a problem to me, mostly because tuxedos can be very expensive to come by. Luckily enough for me, a local formalwear shop had a great deal going on; they would give you massive discounts and even hefty prizes for referring as many of your friends as possible to their business. Eager as I was to save a few bucks, I proceeded to text everyone in my phone's contact list. Almost every one of them neglected to respond to my pitiful pleas of financial assistance, not wanting to get caught up in this scam that I myself had meandered into. Finally, my token black friend, Malik, unwillingly took my bait. He tentatively responded, asking more about what he could get out of the deal for himself. After much persistence on my part, he finally declined, trying his best to let me down gently. As my poor little heart finally broke completely in two, I decided to alleviate the social tension, replying to him, "Alright man, well, suit yourself."
Significant other recently dumped me to heal some personal life issues alone. Call the family and explain the situation, tell them that bf was sadly a recovering drug addict.
Go home to enjoy a mom daughter weekend. Bad dad joke ensues.
Dad calls: What are you and your mom up to today? Me: We just finished a manicure pedicure session. Dad: I thought you just got rid of one of those? Me: ...what?.. Dad: A man-to-cure. Me: .....Face palm. Okay dad... That was pretty good.
We were talking about flying planes when one of my friends told a story about how another plane that was significantly faster than his passed him.
Him: "Yeah, man, they flew right by us!"
Me: "Well yeah, how else are they gonna do it?"
I was pleasantly surprised, yet strangely disappointed, to find them laughing instead of groaning.
My dad coached my AYSO soccer team (associated youth soccer organization or something). The games were on saturdays. every year when he was talking to the parents
Dad: "You guys have signed your kids up for AYSO soccer. Which stands for All Your Saturdays Occupied * significant amount of air passes through his nose multiple times*
A significant portion of them would drown...
