Cheek Jokes

What's still together after all the sh*t they've been through? Your butt cheeks.

A Blonde walks into a hospital claiming that everywhere she touches hurts. So she goes into the examination room and the doctor says "Okay I'd like you to point to wherever it hurts". So the Blonde pokes her cheek and says "Here. Ow." She then pokes her arm and says "Here. Ow." She then repeats this with different parts of her body until the doctor finally says that she should stop. The doctor say "I know what's happened to you." "What's happened to me??" The Blonde says, concerned. The doctor simply replies, "You have a broken finger."

Can't anyone relate to this? BEAT WATERSHARKY!!! -Oops!-By- Air Attack Productions and Yung Gravy-Ayy, supercalifragilisticexpiali dope shit Supercalifragi lick my ex be on some ho shit Superman, I get dem bands but ain't gon' buy you roses Super-duper get them cougars, took my wrist and froze it Super-duper hoes Y'all got Oompa Loompa hoes I ain't never knew ya hoes Prolly still ran through 'em, though

Oh, wait, wait, I, I do know your ho? You talkin' 'bout, you talkin' 'bout Tracy? Nah, you mean like, like, Tracy with the ass? Tracy with the, with the Honda? Shit, well

Oops, baby Fuck up on your bitch, like oopsy daisy Never knew that was your boo, baby Hit her five times in the coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie daisy Oops, baby Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy I just tryna hit, it's my duty, baby Sippin' on the goose, like Boosie, baby Yeah, I said oops, baby Fuck up on your bitch, like oopsy daisy Never knew that was your boo, baby Hit her five times in the coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie daisy Oops, baby Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy I just tryna hit, it's my duty, baby Sippin' on the goose, like Boosie, baby

Lil' bitch, I'm happy and I know it so I clap them fuckin' cheeks, yeah I'm happy and I show it to your momma in the sheets And I'm happy she's a freak ho, happy so my teeth glow Yeah, my bitch elite, I be clapping every week My neck, my back, got your momma on my sack My checks, my racks, it's the return of the motherfuckin' mack And I stay with the pack, though Clap, clap, then I'm out the backdoor Lil' Pillsbury, I stack dough Walkin' with a limp, like a crack ho

Yeah, I said oops, baby Fuck up on your bitch, like oopsy daisy Never knew that was your boo, baby Hit her five times in the Coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie daisy Oops, baby Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy I just tryna hit, it's my duty, baby Sippin' on the goose, like Boosie, baby Yeah, I said oops, baby Fuck up on your bitch, like oopsy daisy Never knew that was your boo, baby Hit her five times in the Coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie daisy Oops, baby Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy I just tryna hit, it's my duty, baby Sippin' on the goose, like Boosie, baby

As I’m lying down on the table for a radiation treatment, a small angel lands on one shoulder, a tiny devil on the other shoulder. And then the mind game begins:

Angel: This won’t last long. You are perfectly lined up. The treatment only lasts a few mins. Remember, stay absolutely still.

Devil: Did she just twitch?

A: No. She didn’t twitch.

D: I think I saw her finger twitch.

A: Well, even if it did, it’s her thigh the techs are aiming at.

D: She wants to scratch her face.

A: Stop it! She can handle staying still a few minutes.

D: But her cheek has an itchy spot.

A: She can just let it itch. She doesn’t need to scratch every itch. She will just have to think about something else.

D: Wow...that cheek is really itchy...

A: Think about: Flowers. Acrylic painting. Did the trash get picked up this morning? Her grandson Oliver’s smile...

D: How about a song?

A: Good idea!

D: How about... “Never going to give you up. Never going to let you down....”🎶

A: OMG! You just Rick-rolled her! She’s in the middle of a treatment! You know that’s the only part she knows!

D: That’s okay. She’ll just repeat the words she knows over and over and over and....

A: Don’t be so mean!

D: “Never going to give you up...🎶”

A: Stop it!

D: Her toe! Her big toe! Did you see that? She just twitched it!

A: No, she didn’t.

D: I bet it screwed up the test and they have to start over....

A: She didn’t screw anything up!

D: She totally screwed the test up and they were more than halfway done. If they start over at the beginning, she will get too much radiation, and they will end up slicing her whole leg off!

A: That’s not how it works...

D: Or they just stop all together and she only gets a partial treatment and her tumor won’t get enough radiation.

A: They know what they are doing!

D: ...And it won’t shrink the tumor and the whole thing fails. And the doctor will have to amputate her leg.

A: No! No! No! That’s not how any of this...

D: ...And when they amputate, it will be at the hip and not below the knee because the tumor is in her thigh.

A: Stop this right now!!

D: “Never going to give you up....🎶”

A: Stop!

D: “...never going let you down....🎶”

A: I’m not going to let you...

D: “Never going to give you up...🎶” .

Techs: Okay. That’s it, Tammi! We are finished! How are you doing?

Tammi: ...Oh, I’m fine.....

The moment came. The starter dropped his red flag. "They're away!"

Not for one second did Agba need to hunt for Lath in that flying stream of horseflesh. He did not even look for the scarlet and white stripes of the jockey's body-coat. His eyes were fixed on the littlest horse, the littlest horse that got away to a bad start!

The field was far out in front. The big horses were whipping down the steep slope to Devil's Dyke, skimming along the running gap, leaping up the opposite bank and across a long flat stretch. They were beginning to bunch, making narrow gaps. Lath was coming up from behind. He began filling in the gaps. He went through them. He was a blob of watercolor, trickling along the green turf between the other colors.

For a brief second the horses were hidden by a clump of hawthorn trees. Agba's knees tightened. He felt Sham quiver beneath him, saw white flecks of sweat come out on his neck. It was well the grooms were there to hold them both!

The horses were coming around the trees now. The golden blob was still flowing between the other colors. It was flowing beyond them, flowing free!

In full stride, Lath was galloping down the dip and up the rise to the ending post. He was flying past it, leaving the "lusty" horses behind.

"The little horse wins!"

"Lath, an easy winner!"

"Lath, son of Godolphin Arabian, wins!"

People of all ages and all ranks clapped their hands and cheered in wild notes of triumph.

Agba never knew how he and Sham reached the royal stand. But suddenly, there they were. And the Earl of Godolphin was there, too.

"I am pleased to give," Queen Caroline was saying in her sincere, straightforward manner, "I am pleased to give and bestow upon the Earl of Godolphin, the Queen's Plate."

Everyone could see it was not a plate that she held in her hands at all. It was a purse. But only Agba and the Earl knew how much that purse would mean to the future of the horse in England. The Earl looked right between the plumes in the Queen's bonnet and found Agba's eyes for an instant. Then he fell to his knees and kissed the Queen's hand.

A hush fell over the heath. The Queen's words pinged sharp and clear, like the pearls that suddenly broke from her necklace and fell upon the floor of the stand. No one stooped to recover them, for the Queen was speaking.

"And what," she asked, as she fixed one of her own purple plumes in Sham's headstall, "what is the pedigree of this proud sire of three winning horses?"

Agba leaned forward in his saddle.

There was a pause while the Earl found the right words. "Your Majesty," he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "his pedigree has been...has been lost. But perhaps it was so intended. His pedigree is written in his sons."

How the country people cheered! An unknown stallion wearing the royal purple! It was a fairy tale come true.

The princesses clapped their hands, too. Even the King seemed pleased. He puffed out his chest and nodded to the Queen that the answer was good.

Agba swallowed. He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Quickly, before anyone noticed, he raised his hand to brush it away. His hand stopped. Why, he was growing a beard! He was a man! Suddenly his mind flew back to Morocco. My name is Agba. Ba means father. I will be a father to you, Sham, and when I am grown I will ride you before the multitudes. And they will bow before you, and you will be King of the Wind. I promise it.

He had kept his word!

For the first time in his life, he was glad he could not talk. Words would have spoiled everything. They were shells that cracked and blew away in the wind. He and Sham were alike. That was why they understood each other so deeply.

The Godolphin Arabian stood very still, his regal head lifted. An east wind was rising. He stretched out his nostrils to gather in the scent. It was laden with the fragrance of wind-flowers. Of what was he thinking? Was he re-running the race of Lath? Was he rejoicing in the royal purple? Was he drawing a wood cart in the streets of Paris? Or just winging across the grassy downs in

A politician dies So a politician dies and ends up standing in front of the pearly gates. Saint Peter looks at him for a second, flicks through his book, and finds his name.

"So, you're a politician..." "Well, yes, is that a problem?" "Oh no, no problem. But we've recently adopted a new system for people in your line of work, and unfortunately, you will have to spend a day in Hell. After that, however, you're free to choose where you want to spend eternity!"

"Wait, I have to spend a day in Hell??" says the politician. "Them's the rules," Says St Peter, clicks his fingers, and WOOMPH, the guy disappears...

And awakes, curled up with his hands over his eyes, knowing he's in Hell. Cautiously, he listens for the screams, sniffs the air for brimstone, and finds... Nothing. Just the smell of, is that fabric softener? And cut grass, this can't be, right?

"Open your eyes!" says a voice. "C'mon, wakey, we've only got 24 hours!". Nervously, he uncovers his eyes, looks around, and sees he's in a hotel room. A nice one too. Wait, this is a penthouse suite... And there's a smiling man in a suit, holding a martini. "Who are you??" The politician asks. "Well, I'm Satan!" says the man, handing him the drink and helping him to his feet. "Welcome to Hell!" "Wait, this is Hell? But... Where are all the pain and suffering?" he asks. Satan throws him a wink. "Oh, we've been a bit misrepresented over the years, it's a long story. Anyway, this is your room! The minibar is, of course, free, as is the room service, there are extra towels next to the hot tub, and if you need anything, just call reception. But enough of this! It's a beautiful day, and if you'd care to look outside..." Slightly stunned by the opulent surroundings, the man wanders over to the floor-to-ceiling windows through which the sun is glowing, looks far down, and sees a group of people cheering and waving at him from a golf course. "It's one of 5 pro-level courses on-site, and there's another 6 just a few minutes drive out past the beach and harbor!" says Satan, answering his unasked question. So they head down in the lift and walk out through the glittering lobby where everyone waves and welcomes the man, as Satan signs autographs and cheerily talks shop with the laughing staff. And as he walks out, he sees the group on the golf course is made up of every one of his old friends, people he's admired for years but never met or worked with, and people whose work he's admired but died long before his career started. And out of the middle of this group walks his wife, with a massive smile and the body she had when she was 20, who throws her arms around him and plants a delicate kiss on his cheek. Everyone cheers and applauds, and as they slap him on the back and trade jokes, his worst enemy arrives, as a 2-foot-tall goblin-esque caddy. He spends the day in the bright sunshine on the course, having the time of his life laughing at jokes and carrying on important discussions, putting the world to rights with his friends while holding his delighted wife next to him as she gazes lovingly at him. Later, they return to the hotel for dinner and have an enormous meal, perfectly cooked, which descends into a food fight when someone accidentally throws a bread roll at the next table (where Gandhi is having a game of truth-or-dare with Marylin Monroe). As everyone is falling about laughing and flinging breadsticks at each other, his wife whispers in his ear... And they return to their penthouse suite and spend the rest of the night making love as they did on their honeymoon. After 6 hours of intense passion, the man falls deep into the 100% Egyptian cotton pillows and falls into a deep and happy sleep...

And is woken up by St Peter. "So, that was Hell. Wasn't what you were expecting, I bet?" "No sir!" says the man. "So then," says St Peter "you can make your choice. It's Hell, which you saw, or Heaven, which has choral singing, talking to God, white robes, and so on". "Well... I know this sounds strange, but on balance, I think I'd prefer Hell," says the politician. "Not a problem, we totally understand! Enjoy!" Says St Peter, and clicks his fingers again.

The man wakes up in total darkness, the stench of ammonia filling the air and distant screams the only noise. As he adjusts, he can see the only light is from belches of flame far away, illuminating the ragged remains of people being tortured or burning in a sulfurous ocean. A sudden bolt of lightning reveals Satan next to him, wearing the same suit as before and grinning, holding a soldering iron in one hand and a coil of razor wire in the other. "What's this??" He cries. "Where's the hotel?? Where's my wife??? Where's the minibar, the golf courses, the pool, the restaurant, the free drinks, and the sunshine???"

"Ah", says Satan. "You see, yesterday, we were campaigning. But today, you voted..."