Himself jokes

A man comes into the pharmacy to get a flu shot. The pharmacy nurse prepares one of the shots. The man gets the shot, and the nurse cleans the shot area.

The next day, the man comes back and gets another shot. Before he paid, the nurse said, “Don’t you realize if you get another shot you may die from overdose?” The man said, “Don’t you realize if you don’t shut up I’ll give you a shot of lead?” The nurse got scared and quit her job.

The nurse was relaxing, looking for a vacation to book, when all of a sudden she hears an odd noise. It sounds like someone cocking a gun. The man was hiding behind the nurses bushes. “In return for you giving me shots, here are yours,” said the man as he was chuckling like a psycho. The man shot the nurse in the leg so she couldn’t escape, then he shot her left hand, which is the lady’s dominant hand, so she couldn’t call the cops. For the finishing move, the man curb stomped the fucking life out of her until her head was as flat as paper.

9 years later......

All along, this man, this psycho, escaped a mental hospital. He went on mass genocide, killing 20,000 people in just 3 years. This man is more than human, more than alien, more than god himself. It was Satan reborn.

I entered Kian's house. At the top of the stair, I was greeted by my greatest fantasy, JOHN. He said in a manly tone, "Hello there." I walked slowly up the stairs and greeted him back. As I walked past his room, I felt uneasy. I walked into Kian's room to find no one. I turned around and gasped. John is standing there, a bulge had appeared and poked me as he got nearer. He pushed me onto Kian's bed. The bed was that bad it broke as I fell onto it. John says, "A broken bed is nothing to worry about." I look up at him in disbelief, he's more masculine than I thought. He thrust himself onto me, his crotch area sticky to the touch. He then ripped a fart as he bent over, at this point I knew it was too late John, the fart he ripped (sticky to the touch) had me so in shock I wasn't ready for what was next, he picked and jumped on my head ripping the most monstrous, enormous, deadly, sticky to the touch fart I'd ever seen, it knocked me out. I awoke to find I was in the WALLS. I looked out to find I was in the glory hole, my worst nightmare had become reality, I fully understood my purpose in life was to the holy glory hole, I heard "GRANDAD CAN I GET SOME V-BUCK" I then knew I was in for some Kian treats.

The end

Sultan Khan was a courtier in Akbar's court. He wanted to make his son the royal treasurer, but his cunning plans always failed.

Sultan Khan thought that Birbal was the cause of his son's misfortune, so he looked for an opportunity to get rid of Birbal. One day, Birbal was late to the emperor's court. Seeing this, Sultan Khan said, "Your Majesty, don't you think that Birbal is taking advantage of his position because he has been late these days?"

"This must be another plan to trap Birbal," said Akbar. So he decided to wait and see what Birbal would do. Akbar sat next to Suman Khan and said, "Yes, he must be punished."

Suman Khan was amazed to see his plan work this time. "From now, you should not agree to anything he says today," Akbar replied, "Agreed."

Soon, Birbal came to court. "Please spare me for being late. My wife was unwell." Akbar immediately said, "No."

Birbal was surprised. He tried again by saying, "But that's the truth. Please believe me." Again, Akbar replied, "No."

"There must be something going on," thought Birbal to himself. Then he asked, "Can we discuss important matters today?" Akbar immediately replied, "No, we will not."

"Then may I go home?" asked Birbal. Akbar said, "No, you will stay here this evening," said Akbar, enjoying himself. Birbal understood what was happening.

"Oh, so this is my game. The emperor is saying no to all my questions." He looked around and saw Suman Khan smiling, seeing him in trouble. "This must be his idea. Let me teach him a lesson."

The clever Birbal thought to Akbar, "Very well," he said. "But I have a last request. Will you please listen to me?" Akbar saw what Birbal had done.

He was very pleased and called loudly, "No, I will not listen to you." That is all Birbal said before returning to his seat. Suman Khan was stunned and angry, and Birbal had outwitted him, so he could not make his son the treasurer.

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.

Jack opened his drying eyes, awoken by a piercing ray of sunlight shining through crooked blinds. A gentle smell wafted in from the corner of what his temporarily blinded eyes knew to be a dilapidated kitchen. It was the one good thing about his life, that smell. He closed his eyes once more and awaited his call.

“Jacky, breakfast time!” beckoned that oh-so-familiar girlish voice. “Oh, silly me, the handcuffs!”

The same footsteps he always heard, the only ones, tapped along the tile floor as each one of Jack’s limbs were freed from the cold metal that imprisoned them. He’d learned not to resist it, and the acceptance was blissful.

Jack slowly dragged himself to the kitchen table, still adjusting his eyes to the light. Moments later, a bowl was slid over to him by a hand he’d become all too familiar with. Oatmeal with little bits of dried apple mixed in. Even after four years, he still liked it.

“Thank you, Randy,” Jack muttered.

“Jill,” said the girl’s voice across from him. The girl’s voice vanished.

“You call me Randy when I’m having my way with you, boy. Understood?” said the balding, sweat-stained man from whom Jill’s voice came.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now hurry up and eat your food. I want to have some more fun before you expire.”

Jack ate obediently, but deep down he grew concerned. Expired? What could Randy mean by...expired?

He thought back to the day everything went wrong. The day he was deceived. His 14th birthday.

Four years...already? Was Jack really about to be an adult? Then expired means...

Jack stood up quickly, hitting his knees on the table with a thud.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Which one?”

“The one you don’t like to watch,” Jack replied. Randy waved him away dismissively.

Jack paced around the small shack searching for the bathroom door. He passed the heavily locked front door, each lock a memento of his past escape attempts. Finally, he entered the bathroom. No lock, he had to be fast.

Jack searched desperately around the room for anything he could use. If this was his last round before Randy was through with him, it might be his only chance to escape. He opened drawers, scrounged through cupboards, scoured every inch of the floor, but found a small mirror.

“Almost done, Jacky?” called the voice of Jill. “Don’t keep daddy waiting.” grumbled Randy.

Startled, Jack lost his grip on the mirror. Jack froze the second it fell to the floor and shattered.

“Shit...shit!” he whispered sharply, trying to brush the mess away. In doing so, he found a shard large enough to be held. “This’ll have to do...”

Jack slid the shard in his pocket and returned to the living room he had woken up in. The same old deflated mattress was still there, iron bars and all. Randy lay sprawled across it, a pink lace bra covering his hairy chest, matching panties withholding his dense, greasy bush. His waist had grown so fat they hardly fit, until...

SNAP!

The panties seemed to vanish as the waistband broke, springing his embarrassing, already erect penis from side to side.

“Oopsies,” he cooed.

Jack took off his clothes, as was the ritual, and laid them at the foot of the mattress. His sore knees pressed into the stained fabric while he inched closer to Randy’s pulsating cock. Licking his lips, Jack bent down and took the member into his mouth. Randy groaned with pleasure as Jack’s tongue swirled around his tip, diving into the lining of his foreskin to gather what curds of smegma were present. Jack’s nausea at this had vanished long ago, he was merely going through the motions before enacting his plan.

As he throated Randy’s dick over and over again, the man who had trapped Jack for so long began to thrust upward into his mouth, lightly scratching his face with the overgrown pubes that lined the base of his cock. Jack wiggled his tongue in Randy’s urethra, just how he liked it. Anything to get this over with quicker.

“Ungh, fuck...don’t stop Jack, you dirty little whore...I’m so close,” Randy moaned.

Jack sucked harder and harder, faster and faster, all while his hand slowly inched toward the makeshift blade in his pants behind him. With the weapon in hand, Jack gave it everything he had.

“MMMPH FUCK YES, CMON BABY GIVE IT TO ME! OH JACK, OH, OH FUCK, I’M G-GONNA CUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!” screamed Randy, closing his eyes tightly.

He threw his head back and Jack took his chance. With one fell swoop of the glass shard, he sliced Randy’s dick clean off, spitting the half of it still in his mouth out. Jack lunged at the injured Randy, glass still in hand.

“AAARRGGHHHHHH, FUCK! HAAH...FUCK!” Randy cried, semen oozing out of his bloody stump of a penis. He opened his eyes just as Jack thrust the blade straight into his right one, then his left. Left weak from the orgasm, Randy could hardly fight back.

(To be continued in comments)

There's a man crawling through the desert. He'd decided to try his SUV in a little bit of cross-country travel, had great fun zooming over the badlands and through the sand, got lost, hit a big rock, and then he couldn't get it started again. There were no cell phone towers anywhere near, so his cell phone was useless. He had no family, his parents had died a few years before in an auto accident, and his few friends had no idea he was out here. He stayed with the car for a day or so, but his one bottle of water ran out and he was getting thirsty. He thought maybe he knew the direction back, now that he'd paid attention to the sun and thought he'd figured out which way was north, so he decided to start walking. He figured he only had to go about 30 miles or so and he'd be back to the small town he'd gotten gas in last. He thinks about walking at night to avoid the heat and sun, but based upon how dark it actually was the night before, and given that he has no flashlight, he's afraid that he'll break a leg or step on a rattlesnake. So, he puts on some sun block, puts the rest in his pocket for reapplication later, brings an umbrella he'd had in the back of the SUV with him to give him a little shade, pours the windshield wiper fluid into his water bottle in case he gets that desperate, brings his pocket knife in case he finds a cactus that looks like it might have water in it, and heads out in the direction he thinks is right. He walks for the entire day. By the end of the day he's really thirsty. He's been sweating all day, and his lips are starting to crack. He's reapplied the sunblock twice, and tried to stay under the umbrella, but he still feels sunburned. The windshield wiper fluid sloshing in the bottle in his pocket is really getting tempting now. He knows that it's mainly water and some ethanol and coloring, but he also knows that they add some kind of poison to it to keep people from drinking it. He wonders what the poison is, and whether the poison would be worse than dying of thirst. He pushes on, trying to get to that small town before dark. By the end of the day he starts getting worried. He figures he's been walking at least 3 miles an hour, according to his watch for over 10 hours. That means that if his estimate was right that he should be close to the town. But he doesn't recognize any of this. He had to cross a dry creek bed a mile or two back, and he doesn't remember coming through it in the SUV. He figures that maybe he got his direction off just a little and that the dry creek bed was just off to one side of his path. He tells himself that he's close, and that after dark he'll start seeing the town lights over one of these hills, and that'll be all he needs. As it gets dim enough that he starts stumbling over small rocks and things, he finds a spot and sits down to wait for full dark and the town lights. Full dark comes before he knows it. He must have dozed off. He stands back up and turns all the way around. He sees nothing but stars. He wakes up the next morning feeling absolutely lousy. His eyes are gummy and his mouth and nose feel like they're full of sand. He so thirsty that he can't even swallow. He barely got any sleep because it was so cold. He'd forgotten how cold it got at night in the desert and hadn't noticed it the night before because he'd been in his car. He knows the Rule of Threes - three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food - then you die. Some people can make it a little longer, in the best situations. But the desert heat and having to walk and sweat isn't the best situation to be without water. He figures, unless he finds water, this is his last day. He rinses his mouth out with a little of the windshield wiper fluid. He waits a while after spitting that little bit out, to see if his mouth goes numb, or he feels dizzy or something. Has his mouth gone numb? Is it just in his mind? He's not sure. He'll go a little farther, and if he still doesn't find water, he'll try drinking some of the fluid. Then he has to face his next, harder question - which way does he go from here? Does he keep walking the same way he was yesterday (assuming that he still knows which way that is), or does he try a new direction? He has no idea what to do. Looking at the hills and dunes around him, he thinks he knows the direction he was heading before. Just going by a feeling, he points himself somewhat to the left of that, and starts walking. As he walks, the day starts heating up. The desert, too cold just a couple of hours before, soon becomes an oven again. He sweats a little at first, and then stops. He starts getting worried at that - when you stop sweating he knows that means you're in trouble - usually right before heat stroke. He decides that it's time to try the windshield wiper fluid. He can't wait any longer - if he passes out, he's dead. He stops in the shade of a large rock, and takes the bottle. "BETTER NATE THAN LEVER!!!"