I must be missing some bowels.
Beatlejuice
I asked them, "Accordion to who?"
I said. What is life to you? some kind of a lime joke.
Pome-GRANITE Juice!
I guess that's a little disheartening...
"Why? Does it do tricks?"
I need to concentrate.
That was soda pressing.
He committed traisin.
Tomorrow they will give a special press release.
Head and Shoulders on my knees and toes, knees and toes
She's been a sourpuss about it ever since.
You can tune a piano, but you can’t piano a tuna. What about the glue? I knew you’d get stuck on that.
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 ➡They suck squeeze bang blow
Getting llaminated.
In fact, it was gourdjuice
I just couldn’t concentrate.
She asked the pastor of a local church if he knew of any houses with rooms to rent that were close to town, but out in the country. The pastor kindly drove her out to see a house with a room to rent. She loved the house and decided to rent the room. Then, the lady returned to her home in England to make her final preparations to move to Switzerland.
When she arrived back home, the thought occurred to her that she had not seen a “W.C.” in the room or even down the hall. (A W.C. is short for “water closet” and is what the English call a toilet.) So she immediately emailed the pastor to ask him where the “W.C.” is located.
The Swiss pastor had never heard of a “W.C.,” and so he Googled the abbreviation and found an article titled “Wayside Chapels.” Thinking that the English lady was asking about a country church to attend near her new home, the pastor responded as follows:
Ms. Smith,
I look forward to your move. Regarding your question about the location of the W.C., the closest W.C. is situated only two miles from the room you have rented, in the center of a beautiful grove of pine trees. The W.C. has a maximum occupancy of 229 people, but not that many people usually go on weekdays. I suggest you plan to go on Thursday evenings when there is a sing-along. The acoustics are remarkable and the happy sounds of so many people echo throughout the W.C.
Sunday mornings are extremely crowded. The locals tend to arrive early and many bring their lunches to make a day of it. Those who arrive just in time can usually be squeezed into the W.C. before things start, but not always. Best to go early if you can!
It may interest you to know that my own daughter was married in the W.C. and it was there that she met her husband. I remember how everyone crowded in to sit close to the bride and groom. There were two people to a seat ordinarily occupied by one, but our friends and family were happy to share. I will admit that my wife and I felt particularly relieved when it was over. We were truly wiped out.
Because of my responsibilities in town, I can’t go as often as I used to. In fact, I haven’t been in well over a year. I can tell you I really miss regularly going to the W.C. Let’s plan on going together for your first visit. I can reserve us seats where you will be seen by all.
Sincerely,
Pastor Kurt Meier
A pump? No, I just refill a smaller squeeze bottle to fit in the fridge.. but I relish all the comments you guys made. - Bryan (59)
He had a vice vise vice.
It helped him put the squeeze on suspects.
Shouldn’t it be called “takeout”?
Me: No. Why?
Him: To get the ketchup out.
Told to me by my grandfather-in-law as I was banging on the side of the ketchup bottle.
So I woke her up at 12:59 for a chat.
An engine can suck, squeeze, bang, blow, but my girlfriend can’t as she doesn’t exist.
It's her new mane squeeze.
Big jugs pack a lot of punch.
I learned this from an old girlfriend's dad when he did it to her little sister.
Dad: Puts his hand on top of kid's head and squeezes to imitate a rhythmic suction. Then he says "You know what this is?"
Kid: "No what?"
Dad: "It's a brain sucker, you know what it's doing?"
Kid: "Sucking my brain."
Dad: "Nope! It's starving!"
This one gets me every time!
A daddy mole, a momma mole, and a baby mole. One day the daddy mole popped his head out of the ground and said, "I smell cookies!" The momma mole squeezed through the opening of the hole next to daddy mole and said, "I smell ice cream!" The baby mole tried popping out of the hole, but couldn't squeeze between his parents. He said, "All I smell is molasses..."
Here's a joke my dad told me. Sorry if you've heard it, but I found it hilarious, and I think you might enjoy it.
In a small town in the suburbs, there was a small family of balloons. There was a mummy balloon, a daddy balloon, and a small child balloon. Every night the boy would sleep between his parents, but his father had had enough.
"son, I know you love sleeping between us, but you're getting a bit too old for it., " the father said. "You're nearly 8, you're a big boy, and your mother and I think you should sleep in your own bed from now on. You can stay tonight but starting tomorrow we want you in your own bed. Do you understand?"
"Yeah dad, I understand..." the boy said with a maudlin tinge to his voice.
"okay son, I love you."
"love you too dad"
The next night the boy tried sleeping in his own bed, but there was a storm outside. It was a dark, ominous storm - the kind of storm that sounds like a cataclysm for the end of the world.
The boy was scared, so he went to sleep in his parents room. However when he tried to squeeze between them, he found he didn't fit. He felt defeated. He felt scared. He felt alone.
But then an idea struck him. He decided he'd just let a little bit of air out of his father. He tried to squeeze in again, but had no such luck. So he let a little bit of air out of his mother. He tried again. Still no luck. Finally, he decided to let some air out of himself. Success! He squeezed in tightly and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning his parents were furious. His father was feeling particularly angry, and screamed at his son.
"son, I told you not to sleep in our room. I told you to sleep in your own bed! Didn't I say that Hun?"
"yes dear," the mother said, feeling slightly deflated.
"so son, what do you have to say for yourself?" the father asked in anger.
"it was dark and stormy and..." the boy tried to spit out.
"I don't care son!" the father interrupted. "you can't keep doing this! I'm very disappointed. You've let me down, you've let me down, but worst of all..."
Shoot it with a blue elephant gun. How do you kill a pink elephant? Squeeze it’s trunk until it turns blue, and then shoot it with a blue elephant gun.
...and he found just the pair he wanted on a market stall, so he asked the price and was told, "like, eighty dollars, man". He turned to his old lady for the bread and she was staring open-mouthed, and she whispered, "John, they're too much!". So John turned back to the stallholder and said, "crazy, man, I'll take two pairs".
How do they squeeze an hour out of that?
Alright so quick synopsis of what I do for a living is treating industrial waste water for oil fields. Part of our process is removing solids from the water and using a hydraulic press to squeeze the water out of it and dispose of the dry cakes. Once a day, a waste company rolls in large trucks to remove the big bins where we store the cakes, and put in fresh ones.
Today I was talking with the driver of the truck as he replaced my last bin. I wished him well on the road since we live in California and lordy knows nobody understands how to drive in the rain. As I was turning away from him I said
"If you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to."
And immediately started up the steps to our press building, laughing the entire time.
I was trying on some really old pants, and this particular pair of pants were fucking tight. Like, squeeze my soul out tight.
I remarked- " Good god, when did we buy these? 1947? (I usually say this when I'm talking about something old. Independence and whatnot)
And my dad goes " Yeah. Your gramps passed it on to me, and now its yours. That's why they're called Jeans."
My mom got annoyed.
Wife to friend who does mammograms: "Do you have to schedule a mammogram or can you walk-in?"
Mammography tech friend: "It's best if you make an appointment."
Me: "So you're saying that you might be able to squeeze her in?..."
Dad joke, boob joke, and the room actually laughed - I just had my 4th kid and I'm really feeling on point.
Tomorrow they will give a special press conference
