Hand jokes

Have you ever had a friend who masturbated many times? I had one who did a lot, but he had no imagination... when he masturbated, he imagines his hand.

A man walks into a pharmacy and asks the pharmacist, "May I have a bottle of arsenic, please?" She is shocked. "Why would you want something like that?" The man calmly tells her, "I want to poison my unfaithful wife and her lover." The pharmacist is now horrified. She said, "I can not possibly give you that. It is completely illegal and I would lose my license and be prosecuted for conspiracy and murder!" At this point the man hands the pharmacist a photo of his unfaithful wife having sex with the pharmacist's husband. She examines it then looks up at him. "Oh. I didn't know you had a prescription."

Why does Jesus hate Skittles?

Because they fall through his hands.

An old woman goes to the doctor complaining of extremely smelly gas.

"I don't understand it, Doc," she said, "I have this terrible, terrible gas." "Thankfully," she added, "they are at least silent when I fart."

Doctor hands her a bottle of pills, tells her take them all and then come back to see him.

The old woman returned a short time later extremely mad. "I took those pills like you said and not only is my gas smelly, but now when I fart they are obnoxiously loud!", she yelled.

The doctor said, "well, now that we've solved your hearing problem, let's see what we can do about that gas".

What do you call a man with no hands? Clapless.

I asked this kid for a high five, but he could not reach my hand.

Today was like every other day. It was so terribly long and so terribly dreary. I fear these feelings will never end. I’ll always feel so dark, feel so hopeless. Sometimes all I want is for it to end. For all of it to end, for all of my thoughts to end. I despise the way that always comes to mind. But I feel so lost, feel so hopeless. If something would just work. But nothing has worked. Nothing can fix this. These feelings will pass. These days won't feel so endless... or so absolutely heavy. Just give it some time. Just give it some hope... and some belief. The ‘happy pills’ will work. The doctor says they'll help... they'll help it go away. Just dump the pill in your hand. Let yourself place the little white thing on your tongue... Let yourself throw your head back and swallow. It'll make this better. It should make me feel better.

Everything has changed! The world is so bright— The world is so loud! I don’t know how I never noticed! The sun is so warm— The grass is so green! I feel so awake! I feel so content— I feel so happy! It’s so strange! I’m not anxious— I’m not overthinking! I guess those pills really worked! I think I’m really getting better— I think I’m really going to be happy!

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Knock knock.

WHO'S THERE?

*Starts putting up hand signs.*

What did Hellen Keller do when she fell in a hole?

She screamed until her hands got tired.

The bright side of this pandemic is now both my hands look equally chapped and raw.

There once was a man who beat his wife, And before he even knew it, he ended her life. His hands were a mess, all red and bloody, He had to find somewhere to hide the body.

What did the robber say to the clock? Hands up!

My friend: I want to cut myself.

Me: No, don’t do that. *hands lighter* Do this instead.

Tell an orphan: if you got no parents, clap your hands.

I'm funny but sad, I submit jokes you'll love. Look for my name in jokes you've read. Anyway.

What did the man with no hands get for his birthday? Gloves. Just kidding, he didn't have the chance to open the gifts.

To whoever has my voodoo doll, please hold its hand.

Now you should let your imagination work... imagine naked Jesus with an erection... and nail holes in his hands...

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.

I once saw a one-handed man in a second-hand store.

I said to him: "I don't think they have what you're looking for, sir."

If I were addicted to masturbation, and then became addicted to sex, would it be safe to say that my addiction got out of hand?