Like jokes
Roses are red, just like your lips.
Mountains are big, just like your tits.
Fat people are like the Twin Towers. Once they go down, they don’t come back up.
Why are there more female history teachers than male?
Because women like to bring up the past.
My first time sex was like buying my first used, crappy car.
I didn't want it, but Dad gave it to me anyway.
My wife treats me like God!
She takes no notice of my existence until she wants something.
She said she wanted me to treat her like a dishwasher. So I loaded her up, ran her through a rough cycle, and left her wet and broken on the floor.
What does Michael Jackson like?
Teabags.
Why does Michael Jackson like football, baseball, and tennis? Because of the "balls".
What gets long when you put it, slides into holes, and likes to squeeze between boobs?
A seatbelt.
I have no problem with prostitution.
It's like an Air BnB for your dick.
A vagina is like the weather. Once it’s wet, it’s time to go inside.
In Jr. high, we all had to do a report on euthanasia. I misunderstood and wrote a report on how I'd really like a Korean girlfriend.
Why doesn't The View have anyone on it who is trans? They just look like they are.
I don’t like to play games, actually. There is one game: It’s Barbie. Of course, I’ll be Ken, and you’ll be the box cum in.
What do you call lesbian twins?
Lick-A-Likes.
There are people weirder looking than me.
Like who?
Like people with Down syndrome.
Why are orphans so bad at baseball?
Because they don’t know what a home looks like.
Why is pounding your mom like playing video games?
Because once you start, you just can’t stop until you win!
Lemme tell you a little story.
It’s night. You’re in your room, trying to sleep. But you keep hearing it—scratching. Soft at first. Like fingernails on wood. You tell yourself it’s rats, or the house settling. But it keeps going. Slow… then faster.
So finally, you get outta bed. You get on your hands and knees, put your ear to the floor. And you hear it. A voice. Whispers. Crying.
Your heart’s pounding. You grab a crowbar. You pry up the floorboards. One by one. Your sweat’s dripping into the dust. The noise gets louder.
And finally… you peel back the last plank.
And you see these eyes. Wide and terrified. And a pale little face staring up at you.
BOOOOOOO!!!!
It’s Anne Frank.
Q: How do you know you're at a gay barbecue? A: All the hot dogs taste like shit.