Why was the rapper always in shape?
Because he dropped so many BARS, he had to stay fit to pick them up!
How do you fit a baby in a glass?
A blender
How do you get it out?
Explosives!
I’m sorry deez nuts can’t fit in your mouth.
What do you call a dick that doesn't fit in an asshole?
A misfit.
Hi guys, so today I am going to do another blog. It's just for fun, and yeah. Enjoy!
So, this morning, when I woke up, I heard that I was getting new grips. I was so excited. (In case you guys don't know what grips are, they are sort of like gloves that go on your hands and they are for gymnastics bars.) I was excited because my old grips don't fit me anymore and my coach was like, "Oh I can get you some new ones since we have a meet in a week." And so I was like, "Oh, that's fine. My parents ordered me some. Thank you though." And she was like, "Okay, that's fine. Just make sure you have them by next week." So long story short, I have new grips now.
Your mom is so fat she won't be in a coffin when she dies. She won't fit in it.
Why did my dad bring a bomb vest to fit in with his Taliban brothers?
Why did the pirate go to the gym?
To improve his booty strength!
How does a booty stay in shape?
It works its glutes off!
What did Goodlife Fitness say to LA Fitness? "I guess it's just not 'working out'!"
Yo mama so fat,
She doesn't fit in a Titan's mouth.
(Attack on Titan; Shingeki no Kyojin)
How many dicks can fit inside of a hooker? I don't know, ask your wife.
Your forehead is so big it can't even fit in the garage!
Yo mama so hot, she can fit in a mug.
Student: There are 505 rocks in a car. If 8 fall out, how many are left?
Teacher: There will be 497 rocks left.
Student: Ok!!
Student: How do you put an alligator in a closet?
Teacher: You can't, it won't fit.
Student: No!! Just open the door, put the alligator in, then close the door.
Teacher: Ohhh, now I get it.
How did Santa fit down the chimney?
He buttered it.
Thomas Bulgin loves McDonald's dollars, A man of simple tastes, he hollers, With every visit, his heart does flutter, For golden arches, a fast food lover.
Those crispy fries, so perfectly fried, And burgers stacked, oh so high, The smell of grease, it fills the air, Thomas Bulgin, he'll always be there.
A dollar menu, his saving grace, A feast for him, a smile on his face, He counts his coins, with eager eyes, To savor each bite, a little prize.
In this world of fast-paced lives, Thomas Bulgin, he surely thrives, For in those golden arches, he finds, A moment of joy, that forever binds.
He cares not for gourmet cuisine, Nor fancy plates, fit for a queen, For in his heart, a simple truth, McDonald's dollars, his fountain of youth.
So let him eat, and let him feast, Thomas Bulgin, the fast food beast, For in those golden arches, he's found, A taste of happiness, unbound.
Your forehead is so big we could fit the whole alphabet on there
Why did the rapper join a gym?
To get those SICK BARS.
In a world of feline folly, There lived a cat with a secret, A taste for adventure and mischief, And a love for KFC's golden treat.
With eyes like emerald jewels, And fur as black as night, This feline prowled the streets, In search of a savory delight.
Oh, how it yearned for chicken, Crispy and finger-lickin' good, But the cat knew it had to be sly, To satisfy its craving like it should.
Through alleyways it stealthily tiptoed, With nimble paws and a stealthy glide, Until it stumbled upon a secret, That made its hunger amplified.
A stash of KFC's golden eggs, Hidden away from prying eyes, An accidental treasure trove, A feast fit for a feline paradise.
With each stolen egg devoured, The cat's satisfaction grew, The taste of crispy breading, And juicy chicken, it knew.
Word soon spread of this food bandit, A legend of a cat so bold, Whispers echoed through the town, Of the one who stole the KFC gold.
But the cat with the KFC get eggs, Remained a mystery to all, A phantom of the night it became, Leaving no trace, no trail to recall.
And so, it continues its nightly quest, For chicken that satisfies its soul, The cat with the KFC get eggs, Forever on the prowl, never to be controlled.
