Roses are red, your eyes are brown; never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.
(BILL is sitting in the waiting room, fidgeting with his tie. MR. SMITH enters with a clipboard.)
MR. SMITH: (sternly) Good morning, Bill. Ready for your interview?
BILL: (nervously) Uh, yes, sir! I’ve prepared a lot for this!
MR. SMITH: (raising an eyebrow) Great! Let’s start with an easy question. Why do you want this job?
BILL: (confidently) Well, I want to help your company succeed! I believe in hard work and dedication!
MR. SMITH: (nods) Good to hear. Now, what’s your biggest weakness?
BILL: (eyes widening) I tend to be overly honest.
MR. SMITH: (leaning in) That’s not really a weakness.
BILL: (smirking) I don’t care what you think!
(MR. SMITH pauses, surprised, then bursts out laughing.)
MR. SMITH: (laughing) Okay, you’re hired! We need more honesty around here!
What do you call a dear with no eyes?
I have no eye idea!
My attitude doesn’t have to be the only reason I yell and roll my eyes in the back of my head
I went to see my doctor today and I asked him how come every time I I have sex my eyes hurt. He said that’s a common reaction to pepper spray.
I'm so good at sleeping, I can do it with my eyes closed.
Yeah, Asians have squinty eyes, but that's because they have had the displeasure of seeing so many ugly obese Americans in one place.
Why are black men's eyes always red after sex?
From the mace
Little Johnny walked into class with a black eye and the teacher said, "Why do you have a black eye?" Johnny said, "Well, me and my parents have to share a bed, and my dad asked me if I was asleep and I said no, so he smacked me." The teacher said, "Well tonight, don't say anything." The next day, Johnny walked in with another black eye and the teacher said, "Why do you have another black eye?" Little Johnny said, "Well, last night, I did what you said and didn't say anything when my dad asked me if I was asleep. A few minutes later, my dad said he was coming, and my mom said she was coming too. They usually don't go anywhere without me so I said 'Wait for me, I'm coming too."
What are three things you can't give a black guy?
A fat lip, a black eye, and a job
I know why asain's eyes are always closed. It's because Americans are so fat and ugly
What did the cops say when someone called him racist?
How can I be racist my wife’s eye is black
I went to a restaurant and a waiter took my order. She had two black eyes, so I ordered real slow.
Because obviously she doesn’t listen
The 6th-grade science teacher, Mrs. Parks, asked her class, “Which human body part increases to ten times its size when stimulated?”
No one answered until little Mary stood up and said, “You should not be asking sixth-graders a question like that! I’m going to tell my parents, and they will go and tell the principal, who will then fire you!”
Mrs. Parks ignored her and asked the question again, “Which body part increases to 10 times its size when stimulated?”
Little Mary’s mouth fell open. Then she said to those around her, “Boy, is she going to get in big trouble!”
The teacher continued to ignore her and said to the class, “Anybody?”
Finally, Billy stood up, looked around nervously, and said, “The body part that increases 10 times its size when stimulated is the pupil of the eye.”
Mrs. Parks said, “Very good, Billy,” then turned to Mary and continued.
“As for you, young lady, I have three things to say: One, you have a dirty mind. Two, you didn’t read your homework. And three, one day you are going to be very, very disappointed.”
One Easter Sunday, a man goes to church and returns home with two black eyes.
His wife inquires as to how he got the black eyes.
The man goes on to say, “a lady stood up in front of me during mass, I saw her dress was stuck in the butt crack, so I reached out and tugged it out. She whirled around, became furious, and punched me in the eye.”
“That explains one black eye,” the wife says, “but what about the other?” The man explains, “I figured she must have liked her dress stuck up in her butt crack, so when she turned around I stuffed it back up there”
The Drunk and a priest
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."
a little boy decided to burn a house down. the father put his arm around his wife, tears in his eyes, saying, "thats arson"
In the realm of poetry's grace, Where words dare to embrace, A request comes with a quirky plea, To give life to what the eyes may see.
"Pussy lussy cussy," it begins, A playful phrase that surely spins, And though the words may raise a smile, Let's craft a verse that goes the extra mile.
In free verse, we'll dance and sway, Allowing thoughts to have their say, For poetry knows no bounds or rules, It's a canvas for expression, where freedom fuels.
But let's remember, dear friend, To keep our words kind and lend, Respect to all, in every line, For poetry's power can truly shine.
So, let's journey on this poetic quest, With words that honor and truly impress, For in the realm of art and verse, We find beauty, in each line immersed.
And though "Pussy lussy cussy" may make us smile, Let's seek inspiration that runs deep, mile after mile, For poetry's magic lies in its ability, To touch hearts, souls, and set thoughts free.
In this short verse, may you find delight, As we paint with words, both bold and light, So let us write, with grace and art, A poem that sings straight from the heart.
Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A man with a spirit untamed, untold. With eyes that pierce through the darkest night, He walks a path that's far from light.
His steps are loud, his presence strong, A force of nature, where he belongs. Through the chaos, he finds his way, Leaving footprints that never fade.
A rebel soul, unafraid to speak, His words drip with passion, so unique. He dances with danger, embraces the unknown, Challenging limits, into the wild he's thrown.
No rules can bind him, no walls can contain, Frank Bulgin sets fire to the mundane. He paints the sky with vibrant hues, A kaleidoscope of dreams he pursues.
In his mind, a symphony of thoughts, An artist's palette, where inspiration is sought. He weaves words like a masterful bard, Creating tapestries that leave us marred.
With each verse, he unravels his soul, Unveiling the depths that make him whole. His poetry, a window to his essence, A glimpse into a world of fearless presence.
Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A maverick, a legend yet to be told. His spirit roams, forever untamed, A beacon of courage, never to be tamed.
In the realm of whispers and shadows, Where dreams dance on the edge of reality, There resides a peculiar soul, Known as Alexander Fisher.
With eyes that hold secrets untold, And a heart that beats to its own rhythm, He tiptoes through the night, On a quest to embrace the extraordinary.
His hands, delicate as a feather's touch, Reach out to the heavens above, Grasping at ethereal strands of wonder, In the form of vibrant, floating balloons.
With each step, the balloons whisper, Carrying tales of forgotten dreams, And the untamed yearnings of the heart, Alexander Fisher's silent companions.
He creeps through moonlit streets, An enigma in a world seeking answers, As the balloons trail behind him, Painting the night with magic's hues.
Together, they wander through the darkness, Where imagination blooms and thrives, In a delicate ballet of dreams, Alexander Fisher's fantastical symphony.
The world watches, captivated, By this balladeer of whimsical desires, As he weaves his spell, one balloon at a time, Enchanting souls with his ethereal art.
For in his delicate grasp, balloons become more, They transcend their earthly existence, Becoming vessels of hope and joy, Guiding hearts towards the realm of possibility.
Alexander Fisher, the dreamer, the poet, Creeps through life, a gentle force, With his balloons as his faithful companions, He reminds us to embrace the extraordinary.
