poopy face poopy face poopy poopy poopy face
The American salute starts with your hand facing flat towards the ground on your head.
The British salute starts with your hand against your head just like the American salute.
The French salute starts with your hands in the air.
The Saudi salute starts with you being bent over with a camel tongue in your ass.
How do you get a clown to stop smiling?
You shoot him in the face.
I asked a pretty, young homeless woman if I could take her home. She smiled at me and said yes.
The look on her face soon changed, however, when I walked off with her cardboard box.
After a long labor, a doctor approaches the new mother and says, “Ma’am, I’ve got some good news, and some bad news. What would you like?” After quickly thinking it over, she responds, “I’ll have the bad news first, doctor.”
The doctor replies, “Well, I’m not sure how to put this, and I’m sorry to have to tell you, your child has red hair.”
Relieved, a smile spreads across the mother’s face. “Doctor, if that’s the bad news, what’s the good news?” The doctor replies, “He’s dead.”
The only hood I like is pointy and white.
That's why I can't trust people when I don't see their face at night.
Three dead bodies are delivered to the mortuary one day. Each of them has a great big smile on their face.
The coroner examines the bodies and then calls the police to tell them what has happened.
"First body: Frenchman, 60, died of heart failure while making love to his mistress. Hence the enormous smile, Inspector," says the coroner.
"Second body: Scotsman, 25, won a thousand pounds on the lottery, spent it all on whisky. Died of alcohol poisoning, hence the smile."
The inspector then asks, "What about the third body?"
"Ah," says the coroner, "This is the most unusual one. Billy-Bob the redneck from Oklahoma, 30, struck by lightning."
"Why is he smiling then?" asks the inspector.
"He thought he was having his picture taken."
My face
When you pull out, but the baby's face turns blue.
I made a bet with my friend that I couldn’t create a working car with spaghetti.
You should have seen her face when I drove pasta! 😂
How do you know when your wife is cheating on you?
She comes home with sparkles on her face.
Want to hear something that’ll make you smile? Your face muscles.
I was having sex with my girl, and she said she likes it rough, so I socked her in the face.
That one person who can never bring a smile to your face...
Until you push them down 3 flights of stairs.
What do you call mo on a dating website? Tissue face.
Why do people with Down syndrome always look funny?
It’s their funny face.
My sister argued with me that you can't make a car out of spaghetti. You should have seen her face when I drove pasta!
What do people that can only use half their face and wankers have in common?
They have both had a few strokes.
Ali a's face
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because the chicken had 4 chicks and a cheating hen who all sucked out all his money he got from his extremely boring job, and he finally got some peace for himself and was going to the local bar, which was on the other side of the road.
He walked in the door, wings sagging, feathers catching on his claws. The bartender eyes him as he sits on a bar stool. "Chuck, how ya doin'? The missus doin' good?"
"Just give me the hardest stuff you got. I'm done."
This caught the bartender by surprise. "Chuck, come on, don't be sayin' that. Just look to the future and you'll be fine."
"What future?" Chuck replied in a huff. "My wife and chicks are so goddamn pestering sometimes, you know? But if I leave, they'll all suffer, and I don't want that either. Oh, God, Phil, I don't know what to do."
"You know, you've got a good heart for a rooster your age," Phil answered. "We need that in these parts. I'm tellin' ya, there will be more than what's happenin' right now, ya know, life's got all its gears turning for ya, and there's just a bit slow right now. The gears haven't been oiled in a while, but who's the only one who can fix that?"
Chuck knew the answer. "Me."
Phil returned with his drink. "McClucken's Whiskey, on the house."
Chuck glanced at his glass. He held it up to the light. His face reflected in an aura around it, neither looking forward to the light and not backward, either.
"No thanks, Phil," Chuck sighed, "But thanks anyways."
He went to get up out of his chair. Phil called as he walked out the door, "Just remember to oil the gears every now and then, eh?"
Chuck's comb flapped in a cool breeze brought in by the season. A bench was nearby, staring across to the other side. And he just sat there, sat there thinking. Cars blurred to a colorfully colorless nothingness as he thought in silence.
He could see an open window in his mind, full of chickens: a sassy hen, two identical sportish chick; another, older than the two, and body bristling with blue comb-dye and the latest thing he watched online fresh on his Chickstagram page; finally, the first of the bunch, shy, bookish, with a secretly courageous soul. They all looked... worried, worried for the rooster who guided them, helped them grow, supported them... and all looking out of the window back at him.
A single tear welled in Chuck's eye.
The chicken walked back across the road to his family, to his friends, and to the life he was content with.
