And jokes

Sorry for the interruption. I am ALYA, and I am disappointed in you guys. You shouldn't bully or make fun of orphans. They didn't choose their life or what happened in their life. What happens if you were an orphan and people were making fun of you? Would you like that?

"Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!"

How do you know you are blessed by God?

You don’t laugh at, make light of, or enjoy the evils and suffering people are inflicting on themselves and upon each other.

What's the similarity between dogs and poor people?

They both eat from trash.

What do orphans and Trump supporters have in common?

No one likes them.

What do you tell your butt cheek when you need to use the bathroom? "Hold it in, so you won't get constipated and die."

I'm doing a new thing where you say an object in the comments, and I will try to make a joke based off the object.

If you are interested, you can submit an object in the comments.

I will give the person credit each joke I do.

So I walked into this bar and thought, "Wow, this is a dull joke."

I don't like jokes.

I went to the market to get eggs, and my sister thought that I meant my balls.

Marriage is like buying a car. You see one that you like and then you buy it. But over the years, it gets older, rusty, and certain parts stop working.

Then you walk into a dealership and look at all the new ones and you're still stuck with the old one. You look over and go, "But I just wanna sit in it. Just once. It's even got leather interior, it's chrome, it doesn't even have oil or gas leaks! And it doesn't squeak!"

Lil Johnny went to school and said, "Teacher, if you let me poop my pants, I will let you have my dad and his money. Will you do it, Mrs. Johnson?"

What do you call a Down syndrome kid who has been physically abused by older teenagers and her parents for a total of 16 years and has red marks all over their body?

Not funny because Down syndrome jokes aren't funny ;)

A man is out west driving and on the edge of town comes across a tourist stand and sitting in front is an Indian chief right out of central casting. Dour look, full headdress, a glass jar and a sign that says "Indian chief know all! $5". So the fellow's curiosity gets the better of him and he goes up to the chief, puts $5 in the jar and asks "What did I have for breakfast on this day 10 years ago?" Chief taps his chin for a moment and says "Hmmm eggs. You had eggs!"

"Eggs?" shouts the guy "Everybody has eggs! I've been had!" throws his hands in the air and leaves in a huff.

Ten years on, as fate would have it the fellow has occasion to be driving through the same town and sure enough he comes across the same stand, Indian chief, sign, and jar. So he stops the car and saunters across the road, goes up to the chief like a smart-ass, holds up his hand and says "How". Chief taps his chin for a moment and says "Poached."

I was staying over at my friend's; for the purpose of the joke, he shall be called Kian. It was 03:00 am and everyone else was asleep when I heard a soft banging on the wall. I left the room to inspect it. Kian lived with his grandad John Hauge; it was thought he had a huge slong.

The banging was getting louder, and so too was my heartbeat. I opened John's door and ventured into the room. John was fully naked. There was a glory hole through the wall where I could make it Kian's ass. This is what I have been waiting for. I rip off my shorts, which Ali G bought for me, and silently moved towards John. I shoved [my] 1-inch wonder in his ear. John furiously turned around and slapped me with his cock, "You little gimp, get on the bed."

Kian came in the room with a 2-litre bottle of Irn Bru. He demanded, "What the fudge are you doing?"

I replied smoothly, "Kian, you tracksuit warrior, you have a camel toe!"

Kian fires back, "Shut it, Paul, you have genital warts!"

John screams, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

He then gives us it so rough I can't walk the next day, but [I] feel pleasured for eternity.

By Lewis

One day a fh iufh uig8v cdy ufh pufvbf ufiu pofiu9fh fiv9fd and a ihefipuivbrivbvhbuirhvbifbvirvueuvgevuebvuerevheubyebubv8ub and a uhckebckjebicbevivhcbehvhbeuybvuebvubvbevcb and one uchercvievciouevihevc98f9p8r78797t587t987dbgioubriogbrihj and they all say we are hacks.

How do you make Holy Water?

Get regular water and boil the devil out of it.

Little Johnny stooped down to lick my balls and deep dick my throbbing knob.

So I was at a class at school, and then boom, explosion. Lots of dead.

I shoot at the people too, haha, goodbye class. Scary.

One day a local pastor was visiting the home of some parishioners who had a teenage son. The parents were worried about what career their son would choose, so the pastor said he had a simple test that could predict what would become of him.

He would put three objects on a table and let the young man choose whichever one he wanted to have: a Bible, a wallet, and a bottle of scotch. If the boy chose the Bible, he would probably become a priest; if he chose the wallet, he'd be a banker; and if he chose the bottle, he'd become a worthless bum.

So the parents called their son into the room, and the pastor told him he could have whichever object he wished. When the boy promptly picked up all three, the pastor cried out, "Heaven forbid! He's going to be a Jesuit!"

In the realm of words, I shall embark, To craft a verse, both bold and stark, Thomas Bulgin, a name that ignites, A tale of length and moist delights.

Free from the chains of structured rhyme, I wander through this realm, sublime, Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so strange, Evoking thoughts that rearrange.

Long, it stretches, like a winding road, Leading us to depths, yet to be bestowed, In syllables, it dances and it plays, A journey we embark, in myriad ways.

Moist, a word that teems with life, A touch of nature, amidst the strife, It whispers of raindrops on tender leaves, Of dew-kissed petals and gentle heaves.

Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so surreal, Unleashing emotions, that time cannot seal, In this short verse, I strive to convey, A glimpse of what these words might say.

So let us ponder, the mystery untold, Of Thomas Bulgin, both long and bold, For in the realm of poetry's sweet embrace, Even the unusual finds its rightful place.