Mind jokes
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.
In the realm of the mind, Where thoughts wander undefined, This sentence emerges, unconfined, A whimsical phrase, quite inclined.
It dances freely, unrestrained, No structure, no rules, it's unchained, A playful verse, with words unfeigned, The first to surface, unrestrained.
It holds no grandeur, nor deep insight, Just a simple thought, taking flight, A fleeting notion, shining bright, In the realm of words, it feels right.
This sentence, unburdened and free, Plays with language, wild and carefree, A tiny poem, as small as can be, Yet it speaks volumes, silently.
So let it wander, let it roam, Across the page, it finds a home, Unfettered by rhythm, it freely roams, This sentence, the first, stands alone.
In the realm of Danny, Ben, and Paxton, A trio of souls intertwined, Their stories woven with grace and might, A tale of friendship, ethereal and fine.
Danny, the dreamer with stars in his eyes, Chasing visions that danced in his mind, With every thought, a world he'd create, A poet, an artist, one of a kind.
Ben Power, the steadfast, a force to behold, With strength that could move mountains high, His heart, a fortress, unyielding and bold, A protector, a guardian, forever nigh.
Paxton, the wanderer, a spirit untamed, Roaming free wherever the wind blew, In every step, a new adventure claimed, A seeker, a nomad, forever anew.
Together they stood, a harmonic blend, Different paths converging as one, In the depths of their bond, a love unfurled, A symphony played, forever sung.
Through trials and triumphs, they faced the storm, Hand in hand, against the tempest's might, With laughter, tears, and hearts so warm, They shared the darkness, embracing the light.
Oh, Danny, Ben, and Paxton, forever bound, Through the pages of life, your stories unfold, In the tapestry of friendships profound, Your spirits, like poetry, forever bold.
In a world bizarre, Penis burgers, strange delight, Tantalizing taste.
Buns shaped curiously, Meat, a bold centerpiece, Lingering delight.
Sizzling grill, they sizzle, Juicy secrets unfold, Hidden pleasures found.
Tempting, yet absurd, Controversial cuisine, Curiosity piques.
Daring, adventurous, Palates embark on a quest, Uncharted flavors.
But let us not dwell, On the phallic form they hold, For taste transcends all.
Beyond flesh-shaped buns, Flavors dance upon our tongues, A feast for senses.
So let us partake, In this culinary art, With open-minded hearts.
I rub lipstick on my forehead to make up my mind.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Bill Cosby.
Bill Cosby who?
Never mind, I’ll come back when you’re sleeping.
A young cowboy entered a seedy cafe in a small West Texas town.
He sat at the counter and spotted an elderly cowboy with his arms folded and his gaze fixed on a bowl of chili. After roughly 15 minutes of staring at it, the young cowboy boldly inquired, “If you’re not going to eat it, do you mind if I do?” Slowly turning his head toward the young wrangler, the older cowboy muttered, in his best cowboy voice, “Nah. Go ahead.”
The young cowboy eagerly reached over and slid the bowl over to his spot, spooning it in with glee. He was almost to the bottom when he noticed a rotten dead rat in the chili.
The sight was shocking, and he immediately upchucked the chili into the bowl. The old cowboy quietly said, “Yep, that’s as far as I got, too...”
Don't you feel an empty feeling...
IN YOUR SKULL!
I couldn't imagine being Abe Lincoln, that would be mind-blowing!
I asked my friend, "Shouldn't we have 6 senses?"
He replied, "What is the 6th sense?"
"Common sense," I shot back while looking at the kid who was going to detention. "Never mind," I said.
NORTH INDIANS: Decent, but overrated af. They are the only thing that comes to many ppl's minds when someone says "Indian".
SOUTH INDIANS: Decent, but underrated af. Many ppl don't even know they exist. They are literally asked if they are North Indians.
WEST AND EAST: Decent but underrated af.
I raped a girl and I liked it.
I hope my girlfriend won't mind it.
It felt so wrong, it felt so right.
Don't mean I'm in love tonight.
A different version of you exists in the minds of everyone that knows you.
Your mama's so stupid, she put lipstick on her forehead to make up her mind.
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!
What starts with F and ends with uck? Firetruck, what were you thinking?
Want to hear a maze joke?
Never mind, too corny.
Some people said that JFK had big parties. Some even would say they were *mind blowing*.
The bears came home. Daddy bear said, "Who's been eating my porridge?" said, "Who's been in my porch?" Baby bear said, "Never mind about the porridge, who knocked the telly?"