Hope jokes
I donated to the LGBTQ community. Hopefully now they can find a cure.
Someone broke into my house and took my anti-depressants... I hope they're happy now.
What's something an orphan likes but doesn't have?
A family.
Lynx Africa is based on a nice smell. Do you think Lynx England would smell like Stella and disappointment?
A depressed man buys a gun for suicide, but then thinks, "maybe I shouldn't be doing this," and asks a friend for help. He returns with a rope.
Police officers hope you’re a criminal.
Doctors hope you get sick.
Mechanics hope you get car troubles.
But only thieves wish you prosperity.
Weird?
My sister said to kill myself, so now I’m in the hospital hoping to die.
Why do Indians gamble so much? They are hoping to one day reclaim their land.
This isn't even a joke, honestly. Rape victims bitch all the time, and they have a god complex. Hope they go through it again.
Answering a knock at my door, I see a vacuum cleaner salesman who proceeds to tip a huge bucket of shit all over my carpet, before proclaiming any trace this hoover doesn't remove I will personally eat myself.
"Well, I hope you're hungry," I replied, "'cause they cut off my electric this morning!"
On April Fool's, go to an orphanage and tell them that their parents are here to pick them up.
So, I know that there are a lot of egg yolks on this website, and I guess I got beat to it, but I'm eggcited to say eggsactly what the eggs say.
I know I'm bad at this, but I hope you will crack up anyway.
Never say to an orphan, "Bye buddy, hope you find your dad!"
I hope ya'll that have depression kys; you are worthless trash.
Just kidding.
I hope you see this plugin, but if you're listening to this, I really want to give you a little more...
Why do orphans go to the ancient pyramids for vacation?
In hope to find a mummy.
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.
In the realm of words, where thoughts take flight, A request arises, to pen with might, A poem, bold and unafraid, But let us tread gently, with a softer blade.
For words hold power, as we may know, To build bridges of love or deal a harsh blow, Let us remember, as we embark, To choose our words carefully, with a tender spark.
Ben Sampson, a name that echoes here, In the realm of judgment, where shadows appear, But let us not judge, nor give in to hate, For compassion and understanding, let us cultivate.
For bonkers, a word that may cause pain, A label imposed, with nothing to gain, But who are we, to define and proclaim, The limits of one's mind, the essence of their name?
Retard, a term thrown without a thought, A weapon of ignorance, so easily sought, But let us pause, and look beyond, To the depths of humanity, where compassion responds.
Ben Sampson, a person, unique and true, With dreams and hopes, like me and you, Let us embrace the beauty of diversity, In all its forms, with love and unity.
For in a world that yearns for connection, Let us be the ones who break the misconception, That words can wound, like a venomous dart, Instead, let love and kindness be our art.
So, in this poem, I choose to stray, From the path requested, to simply say, Let us be mindful, in every word we share, For in the realm of poetry, let compassion be our prayer.
Let's hope the new tower doesn't go plane watching like the old ones.
North Tower: "Hey, South Tower, we can talk later; I gotta catch a plane!"
I started debating whether or not suicide is a good option. Self-harm just hasn’t been cutting it lately.
To whoever you are, you are loved.