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Limited jokes

Sex

What is the speed limit for sex? 68, because if you go any faster, you’ll have to turn around.

A cop pulls over a carload of nuns.

The cop says, "Sister, this is a 55 MPH highway. Why are you going so slow?"

The Sister replies, "Sir, I saw a lot of signs that said 41, not 55."

The cop answers, "Oh, Sister, that's not the speed limit, that's the name of the highway you are on!"

The Sister says, "Oh! Silly me! Thanks for letting me know. I'll be more careful."

At this point, the cop looks in the backseat where the other nuns are shaking and trembling. The cop asks, "Excuse me, Sister, what's wrong with your friends back there? They are shaking something terrible."

The Sister answers, "We just got off Highway 101."

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.

Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A man with a spirit untamed, untold. With eyes that pierce through the darkest night, He walks a path that's far from light.

His steps are loud, his presence strong, A force of nature, where he belongs. Through the chaos, he finds his way, Leaving footprints that never fade.

A rebel soul, unafraid to speak, His words drip with passion, so unique. He dances with danger, embraces the unknown, Challenging limits, into the wild he's thrown.

No rules can bind him, no walls can contain, Frank Bulgin sets fire to the mundane. He paints the sky with vibrant hues, A kaleidoscope of dreams he pursues.

In his mind, a symphony of thoughts, An artist's palette, where inspiration is sought. He weaves words like a masterful bard, Creating tapestries that leave us marred.

With each verse, he unravels his soul, Unveiling the depths that make him whole. His poetry, a window to his essence, A glimpse into a world of fearless presence.

Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A maverick, a legend yet to be told. His spirit roams, forever untamed, A beacon of courage, never to be tamed.

Yo mama so fat that when she tried to get on the train, it said, "Weight limit passed, everyone get off!"

Life is better without my dad annoying me (him smacking me, screaming for something useless, limiting my screen time, and much more).

A note for my old English Teacher:

Mr. Colin, who loves making a din, He thinks everyone loves him, but little does he know, That's not what everyone shows, About his life he ploughs and ploughs, About his dog Bella and his relationship woes... Mr. Colin, we do not care, When you speak, our minds are not there, Your life you have unnecessarily shared, When we see you, our eyesight is impaired... Mr. Colin, rumbling about his exceptions, Just when someone puts something in the bin, Or chatters to someone, not even causing a din, But Mr. Colin, drinking too much gin, Will flail all his annoying attention on him, He'll push his limits, right to the rim...

And just how I love flan! Oh, he's finally gone!

People always ask what the secret of our family's happiness is. It is simple really.

1. Television and computer games are limited to a couple of hours each week.

2. We all give each other a hand when needed.

Last but not least, we play Twister.

What are four ways a condom is like a Republican elephant?

1. It stands for inflation.

2. It limits production.

3. It encourages cooperation.

4. It gives you a feeling of security even though you know you're being screwed.

What’s the speed limit in bed?

It’s 68. Once you hit 69, you have to turn back around.

What’s the difference between being a genius and being an idiot?

Being a genius has its limits.