Can't Elope
They were completely booked
She won’t talk to me
He sadly died at c
It was two triggered.
An announcement was made by the Center for Dizzies Control.
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 ➡Because her grades were always under the C.
There would be 10 but they lacked 8
An Axe to Grind
A boy begs his father to get him a Christmas tree this year.
Each year, the boy asks and the father tells him, "I don't
want to pay for it."
But the son kept begging. Unable to bear his son's whining,
he picks up his axe one day and heads out of the house.
Thirty minutes later he returns with a great big Christmas tree. "How did you cut it down so fast?" his son asks.
"I didn't cut it down," the father replies.
"I got it at a tree lot."
"Then why did you bring an axe?"
"Because I didn't want to pay."
Can’t say that I‘m surprised
Kant
Because they're too heavy
They usually have a lot on their plate.
It was stainless steel
Because he had NO-LAN!
Will free will free Will?
Tony Stuck
Behind you is a lion running at the same speed as you and the horse in front of you.
What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?
Get off the merry-go-round!
I was playing with our toddler when for whatever reason Humpty Dumpty popped in my head. I started trying to think of a funny rhyme about Dumpty cracking open and being unable to pay for US medical care and thus now lives a pain-addled, poor life. Yeah, idk.
Anyway, I couldn’t think of the original second half of the rhyme and so I asked my wife. She told me the rhyme and I said thanks. After a short silence goes by she goes,
“What are you doing, trying to think of another lame dad yolk?”
I didn’t know my son had two dads but I know now
Edit: typos
Sorry, that we were unable to reattach it to your duck.”
Incompotent.
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 ➡Cos he was Haydn.
That's a pair-o-lies.
A few weeks into their journey, they ran out of food. Unable to find plants to eat, and after an entire day of discussion, they decided that if they found meat before plants, the would eat it.
A day later, in the distance, they saw a small tree. As they got closer, they saw that there were strips of perfectly cooked bacon hanging from the bare limbs.
The first vegan grew excited. "Look! It's a bacon tree! Food!" And with that, he took off running toward it.
The other vegan hung back, looking at it suspiciously. "No, wait!" he called. "That's not a bacon tree!"
"Sure it is! It's a bacon tree!" the first vegan yelled over his shoulder. When he reached the tree, he jumped, trying to reach the bacon from the lower branches, but before he could, a pair of wild boar darted out from behind the tree and skewered him on their tusks.
The other vegan shook his head. "I tried to tell you it wasn't a bacon tree. It was just a hambush..."
A cantaloupe.
Does that make you a Venetian blind?
So this surgeon always posts pictures of the masks he wears during his surgery on Instagram. He does this every single time he has a surgery, and his nurses can never understand why. Eventually, he garners a massive following on Instagram. So, he goes into his supervisor's room, and he says, "Hello, it's a pleasure to see you". The supervisor says, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The surgeon says, "Well, my Instagram business is really taking off. I think it would be better for me to quit being a surgeon and focus on Instagram full time". The supervisor thinks he's a little crazy but decides to let him do what he wants. The former surgeon now goes and buys as many masks as he can to sustain his Instagram account. Eventually, he becomes so wealthy that he is able to buy all these lavish things and not have to worry about economic failure. However, one day, he decides to begin posting pictures of medical needles on his Instagram account instead of masks at about the same time that he gets a horrible sickness that is almost always fatal. Because he posts pictures of masks now, his account begins failing, and even though he tries to save it, he's unable. He no longer has any money to treat the illness and is on his deathbed. His entire family is surrounding him, and his father leans in to hug him. As this happens, the ex-surgeon says in a weak voice, "Dad, where did I go wrong?" The dad, with tears in his eyes, seeing what his son has been reduced to and sadly knowing his dear son's death is imminent says, "You post syringe, you lose subscriber"
He had no attachments.
After making it, we opened the fridge to cool it. After being unable to find space for it, I suggested we move the steaks that my mom is saving for dinner. As we put them on a higher shelf, I looked at her and said “The steaks have been raised”
Deep in the villain’s super secret base, he noticed that his 10” concrete filled steel walls looked bare. He asked his minions why was there no large, artistic rendering of his terrifying logo hanging behind his desk.
His minions replied, “We’ve tried everywhere, but we’ve been unable to find a sketchy artist.”
And I just KNOW if I were up there I would be physically unable to keep myself from responding "Dragon to Mission Control, I read with my eyes, over." I wonder how many times before they airlock me.
Joaquin Phoenix
In my opinion we should beat the shit out of constipated people because:
-
Laxatives are an unhealthy way of dealing with feces. On the other hand, beating the shit out of someone is a good way to practice sports activities like, running, grip strength, punching techniques etc.
-
Other methods of dealing with feces take alot of money. Laxatives aren't cheap in our flawed healthcare system! On the other hand, there are people that are willing to pay you to beat the shit out of you. By using this method you can become richer and deal with your shitty problems.
-
Constipation requires being in the bathroom for a long time. This can be very lonely for the people involved. However, beating the shit out of others can be done in any place. Your home, the local park, or even the shady street corner! Not only that it's a very social activity, requiring a minimum of at least 2 people, but usually done in groups of 2-5 people.
Although some people might say, that beating the shit out of each other is violent, most of them have never been to a public toilet and hence are unable to realize how much more painful and violent the alternative is.
In summery, beating the shit out of people is a good, legitimate, and affordable alternative to laxatives and is a better, more progressive way, to deal with constipation.
The stonefruit was almost ready for harvest when he was hit with a bout of laryngitis that left him unable to talk. Despite the doctors orders for bed rest, he went into the orchard early one morning to find all of his mature peach trees had been stolen. He was peachless."
"Greetings, comrade." says the spy, but before he could finish his sentence, the Russian says, "I think you are American spy."
The spy is alarmed, but being a skilled, trained, spy, he says, "That is not true! I am the proudest Soviet there is! I can sing the anthem more beautifully than any other man in the country!"
He then proceeds to sing the Soviet anthem, so melodically and beautifully, that everybody in the bar cheers.
"Very good, very good!" says the politician. "But I still think you are spy."
The man continues to keep his cool.
"I am a historian! I can tell you everything about this glorious country!"
He then spends about two hours recounting the Revolution, the Great Patriotic War, about how superior to the Russia is in terms of technology compared to America and makes a great argument about how communism is beneficial to society.
"Amazing! You are skilled!" says the politician.
The spy smirks.
"But I still think you American spy."
The spy is getting frustrated, but still unfazed.
He replies, "I am good drinker, a true Russian! Let us drink, and see who can come out top!"
The bar turns its attention to the politician and the spy, who are now in a drinking contest.
The bartender serves drink after drink of vodka.
After about an hour of drinking, the politician nearly passes out, unable to hold as much liquor as the spy, to a resounding cheer amongst the bar.
In the midst of the cheering, the Russian politician gets up, smiling, and in a slurred speech, repeats, "You are good, you are good... but I still think you are spy."
The American spy, piss drunk, loses his skill and gives up.
"Okay, you got me. I am an American. But what made you think that way, after all this time?"
The Russian politician replies, "There aren't many black people in Russia."
Because he was blind
But I was unable to handle the reaper cushions.
The fire department did they’re best to deal with the fire at the bakery but were unable to save the employees because it was already too late. They were toast.
I’m unable to deal with the current situation.
Me: "You mean reduckulous..."
There was once a communist dictator who was unable to fulfill his promises of peace, land, and bread. Angered, the citizens of his country demanded he apologize and tell them his plans for the future. All night, he thought about what he would say. When he finally got on the stage, the crowd was eager to hear him — but he didn’t speak. Why?
I don’t know. He was just Stalin.
I’m unable to maintain a full election.
