it's jokes
It's the 1940s.
The chink was counting his shillings. The chink was bitching. His wife got raped in Nanking. The chink counts his shillings.
The chink gets sook chinged!
How do you stop a baby from crying?
You drown it.
Shipmate: Captain, there’s an iceberg and we need to steer around it right now!
Captain: My momma didn’t raise no pussy. Either that iceberg is gonna move or I am.
So I found out a rainbow is basically where a guy ejaculates in a female's mouth and she swallows her period juice and they both kiss each other, swishing it together in each other's mouth, and it forms a rainbow.
And a strawberry shortcake is basically where a dude ejaculates on a female's face and then punches her in the nose, causing her to bleed. That's why it's called a strawberry shortcake.
Have you ever tried sex when camping?
It's f***ing intense.
What do you say when a handicapped man forgets something? "He knew it like the back of his hand."
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 burnt down an orphanage and then showed an orphan the orphanage that I burned down, and he loved it. Not really, though.
I would tell a pussy joke, but you would never get it.
One time the dog got bit by a snake, so my dad had to shoot it. My dad said to me, "This is what's going to happen to your little brother." "What little brother?" Exactly.
So we all know why 6 was afraid of 7, because 7 ate 9, but why was 10 scared? It was in between 9/11.
Nevermind, it's retarded.
A woman's husband has a yearly conference. The first night he's away from home, their teenage son Tommy comes into their room at night and starts to make love to her, but she knows that it can be dangerous to wake a sleepwalker, so she doesn't say anything. He does this every night for two weeks and stops when his father comes home.
She realizes she's pregnant and has a baby boy.
The next year the same thing happens, she gets pregnant again, and has a baby girl.
The third year, she's feeling very guilty, and after thirteen nights of incredible passionate lovemaking she sits Tommy down and tells him, "Every time your father leaves town on business, you sleepwalk into my bedroom and make love to me. Bobby and Anna aren't just your brother and sister, you're their father!"
Tommy said "You think I was sleepwalking?"
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.
Why can't you give Elsa a balloon?
She will let it go!! 😂🤣
How does Jesus make tea? Hebrews it.
What happens if a boy bumps into a dog?
It’s a bumper team.
Why did the baby cross the road?
Because it was stapled to a chicken.
Haha, my life is a joke, but it ain't funny.
I just found out I'm colorblind. It came out of the yellow.