Neck Jokes

Why is a giraffe's neck so long?

Because his head is so high up in the air.

What's black and white and can't turn around in a corridor? A nun with a javelin through her neck.

Can't anyone relate to this? BEAT WATERSHARKY!!! -Oops!-By- Air Attack Productions and Yung Gravy-Ayy, supercalifragilisticexpiali dope shit Supercalifragi lick my ex be on some ho shit Superman, I get dem bands but ain't gon' buy you roses Super-duper get them cougars, took my wrist and froze it Super-duper hoes Y'all got Oompa Loompa hoes I ain't never knew ya hoes Prolly still ran through 'em, though

Oh, wait, wait, I, I do know your ho? You talkin' 'bout, you talkin' 'bout Tracy? Nah, you mean like, like, Tracy with the ass? Tracy with the, with the Honda? Shit, well

Oops, baby Fuck up on your bitch, like oopsy daisy Never knew that was your boo, baby Hit her five times in the coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie daisy Oops, baby Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy I just tryna hit, it's my duty, baby Sippin' on the goose, like Boosie, baby Yeah, I said oops, baby Fuck up on your bitch, like oopsy daisy Never knew that was your boo, baby Hit her five times in the coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie daisy Oops, baby Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy I just tryna hit, it's my duty, baby Sippin' on the goose, like Boosie, baby

Lil' bitch, I'm happy and I know it so I clap them fuckin' cheeks, yeah I'm happy and I show it to your momma in the sheets And I'm happy she's a freak ho, happy so my teeth glow Yeah, my bitch elite, I be clapping every week My neck, my back, got your momma on my sack My checks, my racks, it's the return of the motherfuckin' mack And I stay with the pack, though Clap, clap, then I'm out the backdoor Lil' Pillsbury, I stack dough Walkin' with a limp, like a crack ho

Yeah, I said oops, baby Fuck up on your bitch, like oopsy daisy Never knew that was your boo, baby Hit her five times in the Coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie daisy Oops, baby Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy I just tryna hit, it's my duty, baby Sippin' on the goose, like Boosie, baby Yeah, I said oops, baby Fuck up on your bitch, like oopsy daisy Never knew that was your boo, baby Hit her five times in the Coupe, Mercedes, whoopsie daisy Oops, baby Gravy hit my bitch, yeah, whoopsie daisy I just tryna hit, it's my duty, baby Sippin' on the goose, like Boosie, baby

What do blondes and beer bottles have in common? They are both empty from the neck up

How to get your woman to come upstairs say you are necked

(Bob holds Deric's neck) Deric: "Water(what are) you doing?"

The moment came. The starter dropped his red flag. "They're away!"

Not for one second did Agba need to hunt for Lath in that flying stream of horseflesh. He did not even look for the scarlet and white stripes of the jockey's body-coat. His eyes were fixed on the littlest horse, the littlest horse that got away to a bad start!

The field was far out in front. The big horses were whipping down the steep slope to Devil's Dyke, skimming along the running gap, leaping up the opposite bank and across a long flat stretch. They were beginning to bunch, making narrow gaps. Lath was coming up from behind. He began filling in the gaps. He went through them. He was a blob of watercolor, trickling along the green turf between the other colors.

For a brief second the horses were hidden by a clump of hawthorn trees. Agba's knees tightened. He felt Sham quiver beneath him, saw white flecks of sweat come out on his neck. It was well the grooms were there to hold them both!

The horses were coming around the trees now. The golden blob was still flowing between the other colors. It was flowing beyond them, flowing free!

In full stride, Lath was galloping down the dip and up the rise to the ending post. He was flying past it, leaving the "lusty" horses behind.

"The little horse wins!"

"Lath, an easy winner!"

"Lath, son of Godolphin Arabian, wins!"

People of all ages and all ranks clapped their hands and cheered in wild notes of triumph.

Agba never knew how he and Sham reached the royal stand. But suddenly, there they were. And the Earl of Godolphin was there, too.

"I am pleased to give," Queen Caroline was saying in her sincere, straightforward manner, "I am pleased to give and bestow upon the Earl of Godolphin, the Queen's Plate."

Everyone could see it was not a plate that she held in her hands at all. It was a purse. But only Agba and the Earl knew how much that purse would mean to the future of the horse in England. The Earl looked right between the plumes in the Queen's bonnet and found Agba's eyes for an instant. Then he fell to his knees and kissed the Queen's hand.

A hush fell over the heath. The Queen's words pinged sharp and clear, like the pearls that suddenly broke from her necklace and fell upon the floor of the stand. No one stooped to recover them, for the Queen was speaking.

"And what," she asked, as she fixed one of her own purple plumes in Sham's headstall, "what is the pedigree of this proud sire of three winning horses?"

Agba leaned forward in his saddle.

There was a pause while the Earl found the right words. "Your Majesty," he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "his pedigree has been...has been lost. But perhaps it was so intended. His pedigree is written in his sons."

How the country people cheered! An unknown stallion wearing the royal purple! It was a fairy tale come true.

The princesses clapped their hands, too. Even the King seemed pleased. He puffed out his chest and nodded to the Queen that the answer was good.

Agba swallowed. He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Quickly, before anyone noticed, he raised his hand to brush it away. His hand stopped. Why, he was growing a beard! He was a man! Suddenly his mind flew back to Morocco. My name is Agba. Ba means father. I will be a father to you, Sham, and when I am grown I will ride you before the multitudes. And they will bow before you, and you will be King of the Wind. I promise it.

He had kept his word!

For the first time in his life, he was glad he could not talk. Words would have spoiled everything. They were shells that cracked and blew away in the wind. He and Sham were alike. That was why they understood each other so deeply.

The Godolphin Arabian stood very still, his regal head lifted. An east wind was rising. He stretched out his nostrils to gather in the scent. It was laden with the fragrance of wind-flowers. Of what was he thinking? Was he re-running the race of Lath? Was he rejoicing in the royal purple? Was he drawing a wood cart in the streets of Paris? Or just winging across the grassy downs in