Natural jokes
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.
My science teacher was talking about natural selection.
At one point, she asked me to name the first person to theorize about it. I said, "Eric Harris." It was on his shirt.
If you don't get the joke, look up "Eric Harris natural selection."
In the heart of a circular, creamy delight, there exists a void, a singular absence that adds to its charm. This hollow space, a perfect round, is a testament to the artistry of nature and man's culinary skills.
The hole, a silent observer, bears witness to the transformation of the substance around it, from a liquid state to a firm, yet supple form. It's a silent testament to the passage of time, a symbol of patience and the magic of fermentation.
The void, despite its emptiness, contributes to the overall aesthetic, making the slice a visual treat. It's a playful peek-a-boo with the world beyond, a window that adds mystery and intrigue.
In the end, the hole is not just a void, but a character in the story of this culinary masterpiece, a silent protagonist that adds depth and character to the narrative. It's a testament to the beauty of imperfection, a celebration of the unique and the unconventional.
Joshua White loves blue, A simple truth, tried and true. In his pocket, only six, Yet each penny a valued fix.
With eyes that seek the azure skies, He dreams of places that mesmerize. A palette of blues, a symphony of hues, Whispering secrets only he can choose.
His heart beats to the rhythm of the sea, Where waves crash, wild and free. In sandy shores, he finds solace rare, A momentary escape from life's daily wear.
In cerulean fields, flowers dance, Their vibrant petals, a timeless romance. He wanders through meadows, devoid of strife, Seeking solace in nature's vibrant life.
Joshua White, a soul of gentle grace, Embracing the world at his own pace. Though his pockets hold a mere six, His spirit soars, never to be fixed.
For in the depths of his azure dreams, The richness of life's tapestry gleams. And with every breath, he finds anew, That love is boundless, ever true.
Stephen Hawking didn’t die naturally, his carer just forgot to put him on charge.
Last week, I made a joke about leftists. Now it is time for me to take shots at the right, and then I will move on to centrists. But I just said the same thing twice.
By the way, infertility is hereditary:
If your parents did not have children, you will not have any.
One of my friends named Jill had a drug overdose.
She didn’t have any of that drug after that. For the rest of her life, she acted very high. When she died, it was because of natural causes, not the drug. So this proves that a lethal dose is also a life time supply.
What's the natural cure to an old man's inability to forgive people?
Alzheimer's.
In Mia's world, where bottles and parrots meet, A whimsical symphony takes its seat.
With feathers ablaze, the parrots take flight, Their vibrant hues painting the day with delight.
Mia, a dreamer with a heart full of glee, Embraces the beauty for all to see.
Her bottles, like whispers of stories untold, Capture the magic that time cannot hold.
Each bottle, a vessel of dreams and desires, Unveiling the soul's deepest fires.
They dance in the sunlight, sparkle and gleam, A kaleidoscope of colors in Mia's dream.
Parrots, enchanting with melodies rare, Sing ballads of love, floating through the air.
Their voices, like echoes of nature's sweet call, Enchanting all hearts, big and small.
Mia, with reverence, sets the parrots free, To soar across oceans, to distant lands and seas.
In their freedom, they find their truest grace, A testament to love's boundless space.
And as Mia's bottles journey afar, They carry her dreams, like a guiding star.
Through mountains and valleys, they'll forever roam, In the hearts of dreamers, they'll always find home.
How can you get free butt plants? Just get your man to fill your butt with natural juices.
Why did the orphan sleep outside? ... Because he gets to wake up to Mother Nature.
I'm shocked about Donald Trump escaping the transgender accusations. Trump is more talkative than any of the popular girls I went to school with! Not to mention Trump's tweets...
Instead of walking through the door, the owner of the house broke in through the window.
When he came out, a man standing on the sidewalk walked up to him and asked why he hadn't just walked through the door. The owner responded, "I'm pollo vegetarian, and I really just wanted a bit of food."
When the man looked confused, the owner said, "Windows are nature's vending machine."
What's the difference between the woods and a hooker?
Some hookers have passions for nature. Other hookers will Kill ThEIR Tricks for payback!!!!!!
Father: "That's great, son. Who is she?"
Son: "It's Tina, the neighbor's daughter."
Father: "Ohhh, I wish you hadn't said that. I have to tell you something, son, but you must promise not to tell your mother. Tina is actually your sister."
The boy is naturally bummed out, but a couple of months later:
Son: "Daddy, I fell in love again, and she is even hotter!"
Father: "That's great, son. Who is she?"
Son: "It's Peny, the other neighbor's daughter."
Father: "Ohhhh, I wish you hadn't said that. Peny is also your sister."
This went on a couple of times, and the son was so mad, he went straight to his mother crying.
Son: "Mum, I am so mad at Dad! I fell in love with six girls, but I can't date any of them because Daddy is their father!"
The mother hugs him affectionately and says:
"My love, you can date whoever you want. Don't listen to him. He is not your father!"
Why does the orphan like nature? He can call someone "mother."
What do you call a rapper who LOVES nature?
MC Green
Why do mountains get so big? They have no natural predators.
Girls with natural hair act as if they have shares in Africa.