Scientists have proven that there are two things in the air that have been known to cause women to get pregnant: their legs.
Cause Jokes
If you think Tracy Latimer's murder was in any way justified, put on your helmet 'cause you're about to miss the short bus.
My friend's dad went to jail. He's just surprised because he can finally find him!
My mom asked, "Why are you so depressed? It could be worse. You could be Tracy Latimer."
I replied, "I wish I were Tracy Latimer because then someone would kill me."
On a bus, a priest sat next to a drunk who was struggling to read a newspaper.
Suddenly, with a slurred voice, the drunk asked the priest:
"Do you know what arthritis is?"
The parish priest soon thought of taking the opportunity to lecture the drunk and replied:
"It's a disease caused by sinful and unruly life: excess, consumption of alcohol, drugs, marijuana, crack, and certainly lost women, prostitutes, promiscuity, sex, binges, and other things I dare not say."
The drunk widened his eyes, shut up, and continued reading the newspaper.
A little later the priest, thinking that he had been too hard on the drunk, tried to soften:
"How long have you had arthritis?"
"I don't have arthritis! It says here in the paper that the Pope has it."
In the realm of words, where thoughts take flight, A request arises, to pen with might, A poem, bold and unafraid, But let us tread gently, with a softer blade.
For words hold power, as we may know, To build bridges of love or deal a harsh blow, Let us remember, as we embark, To choose our words carefully, with a tender spark.
Ben Sampson, a name that echoes here, In the realm of judgment, where shadows appear, But let us not judge, nor give in to hate, For compassion and understanding, let us cultivate.
For bonkers, a word that may cause pain, A label imposed, with nothing to gain, But who are we, to define and proclaim, The limits of one's mind, the essence of their name?
Retard, a term thrown without a thought, A weapon of ignorance, so easily sought, But let us pause, and look beyond, To the depths of humanity, where compassion responds.
Ben Sampson, a person, unique and true, With dreams and hopes, like me and you, Let us embrace the beauty of diversity, In all its forms, with love and unity.
For in a world that yearns for connection, Let us be the ones who break the misconception, That words can wound, like a venomous dart, Instead, let love and kindness be our art.
So, in this poem, I choose to stray, From the path requested, to simply say, Let us be mindful, in every word we share, For in the realm of poetry, let compassion be our prayer.
Are you a lollipop? Because I can suck on you all day.
Are you an Oreo? Because I eat the cream first.
Are you a microwave? Because I’m trying to keep you quiet at 3:00 am.
Are you a sprinkler? Cause every time I see you I get wet.
Are you makeup? Cause I’d spend hours doing you.
Are you a guitar? Because I’d love to hear the noises you make when I play with you.
Are you an elevator? Cause I wanna ride you up and down.
Most restaurants are closed at night, but your legs aren’t.
I’m not a cashier, but you got a couple of things I wanna check out.
Are you Cinderella? Because I can see that dress coming off at midnight.
Are you a calendar? Because I want to pin you against the wall.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately, but I hope it’s you.
Are you a doughnut? Cause I wanna fill you with cream.
Are you a garden? Cause I want to plant some seeds inside of you.
Do you sing in the shower? Because if so, I need a private ticket of your concert.
Are your legs the twin towers? Because I’ll bomb what’s in between.
Are you a blanket? Because you’re on top of me every night.
Are you a phone? Cause I like to be on you 24/7.
Are you a roller coaster? Because the faster you go, the louder I scream.
I’m so jealous of your heart right now because it’s pounding inside of you and I’m not.
Are you a popsicle? Cause all I want to do is lick you up and down.
Are you a construction worker? Because you got me all bricked up.
Are you a fireman? Because you came in hot and left me wet.
The adoption center threw a party. Why? 'Cause the parents weren't home.
What number is better than 69?
88 'cause you get ate twice.
Imagine there's a funny joke here... imagined it? Great! Now check yourself into an insane asylum because you're schizophrenic.
Why can't black people have nightmares? Cause we shot the last one that had a dream.
Are you made of Gold, Titanium, Sulfur, Titanium, and Carbon?
Cause damn, you lookin' kinda Au Ti S Ti C!
Why were there only 3,000 Mexicans at the Battle of the Alamo?
'Cause they only had 4 trucks.
Does Eminem like M\&M's? Cause if he didn't, that would be like "they're" not liking "there."
Yes, sir.
Four big guys and they grab on my thighs. Blow up my guts like the 4th of July. If they keep fuckin' my butt then I might just cry. Poop and semen sprayin' on my eyes.
He lick my dick and the cum start sprayin'. Charging up my dick I'ma go super saiyan. When he cum the fuckin' booty I don't do much playing. Then I whispered in his ear, like hey are you stayin'? He said yeah I'm not leavin'.
I guess he George Floyd, cause always leavin'. Not breathin' he chew on my dick like a baby. That's teathin' I'm fuckin' a nigga I think it's named Steven. Hawkin' f*ck him 'til he ain't walkin', dick stone-cold call him BBC. Austin It's a booty massacre when I visit him in Boston. Bought him new titties I don't care what they costin'.
Bitch, hop on the dick do a split. Shout out Lil Baby. My dick is as real as it gets, I'm not fuckin' on him if he don't have tits. I'm catchin' his balls like my name Kyle Bitz.
There's four Big guys, they're grabin' on my thighs. They blow my guts like the 4th of July. If he keep fuckin' my butt then I might cry. There's poop and semen sprayin' on my eyes.
Yes sir, that is a fact tho, take out my dick slip it in his asshole. Swinging my dick through the air like a lasso. Painted his face like Apollo Pocasso (ugh). But I'm not a very good artist, f*ck 'em all good 'til that. Nigga farted planted my seeds in his ass like a garden. The way I play with balls, you should call me James Harden.
Yeah, DigBar is elite, there's four big guys and I'm takin' their meat. I eat the boy's butt, Then I chase him with skeet. And I charge for booty, I promise DigBar Isn't cheap. And I count dudes when I sleep, not sheep, get up in my sheets. And I'm beatin' on my meat.
Bitch. We got four big guys and they grab on my thighs. And they gon' bust on my eyes.
Hi, I am just wondering who went into my account, 'cause I've changed my password, by the way.
Rizz
Are you a basketball hoop? 'Cause I want to put my balls in you.
Are you a photo biographer? 'Cause I can picture us together.
Why do we tell actors to break a leg?
Cause every play has a cast.
Rizz,
Are you a biographer? Cause I picture us together.
Can I take a picture of you for I can show Santa what I want for Christmas?
No pen, no paper, you still draw my attention.
You know what I hate about math? They always talk about x and y, but not about u and i.
A note for my old English Teacher:
Mr. Colin, who loves making a din, He thinks everyone loves him, but little does he know, That's not what everyone shows, About his life he ploughs and ploughs, About his dog Bella and his relationship woes... Mr. Colin, we do not care, When you speak, our minds are not there, Your life you have unnecessarily shared, When we see you, our eyesight is impaired... Mr. Colin, rumbling about his exceptions, Just when someone puts something in the bin, Or chatters to someone, not even causing a din, But Mr. Colin, drinking too much gin, Will flail all his annoying attention on him, He'll push his limits, right to the rim...
And just how I love flan! Oh, he's finally gone!
