Leaf Jokes

What is the best way to make a leaf. Go down back around and stir up a tree. Make it spin watch again. Oven baking ding we're done!

aight imma make like a tree and leaf

*****u have to leave right after u tell this joke****

What did the tree say when spring finally arrived? What a re-leaf.

An emo and a leaf fall from a tree, which hits the ground first

The leaf because the emo got caught by the rope

What is red, orange, and yellow but doesn’t feel anything when it falls? Autumn leaves. 🍁

awww

A cat is looking forward, holding a leaf in its mouth. Text on the image reads: She was constantly staying near the fish market and watching people come to buy fish. She took a leaf that fell from the tree and came to the owner. On the first day, surprised, he took her "money" and gave her a fish. From that day on, every morning she comes with a leaf to "buy" fish.

One time an ant was collecting food. Suddenly, a wind pushed the ant into the river. The ant said, "Help! Help!" and a pigeon heard it. Then, he grabbed a leaf and threw it in the river. The ant climbed on it, and then the pigeon and the ant became best friends. But one time, a hunter came to kill the pigeon. When the ant saw him, she bit his leg and the pigeon flew away from the arrow, and that's how friends are, everybody.

Gumball: What's that? Is it a twig?

Banana Joe: No.

Darwin: Is it a leaf?

Banana Joe: No.

Gumball: What is it then?

Banana Joe: It's my BUTT!!!

Knock knock who is there old lady old lady who?

I DID NOT KNOW YOU CAN YOLDL

I despise lumberjacks. They are always barking up the wrong tree, all bark and no bite.

They just need to leaf people alone or stick with something nicer.

You’ll parsley believe how many puns I have. Hopefully your funny-bone isn’t broken because these are real rib-ticklers.

In the realm of words, I shall embark, To craft a verse, both bold and stark, Thomas Bulgin, a name that ignites, A tale of length and moist delights.

Free from the chains of structured rhyme, I wander through this realm, sublime, Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so strange, Evoking thoughts that rearrange.

Long, it stretches, like a winding road, Leading us to depths, yet to be bestowed, In syllables, it dances and it plays, A journey we embark, in myriad ways.

Moist, a word that teems with life, A touch of nature, amidst the strife, It whispers of raindrops on tender leaves, Of dew-kissed petals and gentle heaves.

Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so surreal, Unleashing emotions, that time cannot seal, In this short verse, I strive to convey, A glimpse of what these words might say.

So let us ponder, the mystery untold, Of Thomas Bulgin, both long and bold, For in the realm of poetry's sweet embrace, Even the unusual finds its rightful place.

What do you call a flat cabbage?

A leaf pile.

What do orphans call a holiday?

A bit of soil and some leaves as a blanket.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

I live inside my own world of make-believe. Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities. I see the world through eyes covered in ink and bleach. Cross out the ones who heard my cries and watched me weep. I love everything. Fire's spreading all around my room. My world's so bright. It's hard to breathe, but that's alright. Hush, shh.

Tape my eyes open to force reality (oh no, no). Why can't you just let me eat my weight in glee? I live inside my own world of make-believe. Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities. Some days I feel skinnier than all the other days, And some days I can't tell if my body belongs to me. I love everything. Fire's spreading all around my room. My world's so bright. It's hard to breathe, but that's alright. Hush, shh.

I wanna taste your content. Hold your breath and feel the tension. Devils hide behind redemption. Honesty is a one-way gate to hell. I wanna taste consumption. Breathe faster to waste oxygen. Hear the children sing aloud. It's music 'til the wick burns out. Hush.

Just wanna be carefree lately, yeah. Just kicking up daisies. Got one too many quarters in my pockets. Count 'em like the four-leaf clovers in my locket. Untied laces, yeah. Just tripping on daydreams. Got dirty little lullabies playing on repeat. Might as well just rot around the nursery and count sheep.

Jayden March, a name so bold, Never knew the joy of cookies untold. In a world of sugar and sweet delight, He stood apart, an unusual sight.

While others indulged in sugary bliss, Jayden abstained, dismissing the kiss Of chocolate chips and dough so divine, His willpower strong, his resolve intertwined.

No oatmeal raisin or double fudge, Could tempt his taste buds, not even a nudge. For Jayden March, a different path he took, In a world of cookies, he never partook.

His reasons unknown, a mystery untold, Perhaps he sought something purer than gold. Or maybe he craved a different kind of treat, One that couldn't be found in a cookie sheet.

But as the years passed by, curiosity grew, Whispers of wonder, questions anew. Why did Jayden March deny such delight? Was there a secret hidden in his resolute fight?

Some say he found solace in nature's embrace, In the rustle of leaves and the wind's gentle pace. Others believed his heart sought a different reward, In acts of kindness, love freely poured.

Jayden March, a man of mystery and grace, Marched to a beat only he could embrace. In a world of cookies, he found his own way, Leaving us wondering, pondering day by day.

For though he never tasted the sweetness of a treat, Jayden March's story remains incomplete. A reminder to us all, to explore and define, Our own desires, our own paths to find.

So let us celebrate Jayden's unique choice, And listen to the whisper of our own inner voice. For in a world of cookies, may we remember, That sometimes it's the journey, not the taste, we treasure.

GRAVEYARD SAVINGS:

While leafing through our local newspaper, I noticed this classified ad: “For sale: one used tombstone. Splendid opportunity for a family named Dingle.”