Worst Jokes Ever
Say what you want about Jeffrey Epstein, but at least he knew how to take out the trash.
What does a physicist call it when a suicidal person is high up? Potential energy.
Why didn't Michael Jackson get away with messaging with kids? Because they were all juveniles.
Why are orphans so bad at baseball?
Because they don’t know what a home looks like.
Did you hear about the lesbians who are suing their contractor?
He used nails when they wanted tongue and groove.
My doctor told me I had Alzheimer’s.
I said to him, “I don’t remember asking.”
What has four legs and one arm?
A Rottweiler in a children’s playground.
The only thing funnier than the shooting of that healthcare CEO is imagining the look on his wife's face when she got the hospital bill.
What do you call a gay T-Rex?
A tyranno-sore-ass!
I’d pound your mom so fast, even Sonic would get jealous!
What’s the worst thing about having a daughter with cancer?
You can’t pull on her hair when you’re raping her.
I'm so jealous of babies with anencephaly.
They can eat all the ice cream they want and never get brain freezes.
Why did the straight white caucasian male cross the road?
Because a black person was approaching.
What happens if a cookie turns emo?
It becomes a cookie cutter.
What do you call a tent for lesbians?
Finger Hut.
Why is pounding your mom like playing video games?
Because once you start, you just can’t stop until you win!
How do you stop all homophobic heterosexual white men from using all public men's restrooms at a rest area?
Make sure that all public men's restrooms at the rest area are always occupied with gay men that have long and thick big cocks, regardless of skin color.
Lemme tell you a little story.
It’s night. You’re in your room, trying to sleep. But you keep hearing it—scratching. Soft at first. Like fingernails on wood. You tell yourself it’s rats, or the house settling. But it keeps going. Slow... then faster.
So finally, you get outta bed. You get on your hands and knees, put your ear to the floor. And you hear it. A voice. Whispers. Crying.
Your heart’s pounding. You grab a crowbar. You pry up the floorboards. One by one. Your sweat’s dripping into the dust. The noise gets louder.
And finally... you peel back the last plank.
And you see these eyes. Wide and terrified. And a pale little face staring up at you.
BOOOOOOO!!!!
It’s Anne Frank.
I took my pony to the vet because I thought he was making a funny noise when he neighed. The vet said everything was okay and he was just a little horse.
How do you know when you have been invited to a gay barbecue?
When you are unable to distinguish foot-long hot dogs from long and thick big dicks, regardless of skin color.