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A robot walks into a bar and orders a martini.

The bartender is flabbergasted that a robot can do that.

"New around here?" said the bartender.

"Nah, been here a while," said the robot.

Bartender "You can talk?"

Robot "Yeah, pretty cool, huh."

Bartender "Why do you want a martini?"

Robot "Oh, I'm just in the mood for one, you know?"

The bartender is shocked to see a robot making completely normal small talk.

The robot seems to be just like a normal human.

"Wow, who programmed you?" asked the bartender.

"The top minds in the world," said the robot.

The robot speaks again, "I have a question for you..."

Bartender, "What?"

"Why did you read this entire story? It does not have a punchline. I just wasted your time. Get bamboozled, nerd!"

My husband left a note on the fridge that said, “This isn’t working.”

I'm not sure what he's talking about. I opened the fridge door and it’s working fine? Anyone know what he means?

To teach kids about democracy, I let them vote on dinner. They picked tacos. Then I made pizza because they do not live in a swing state.

You do 1 line, you're not a crackhead. You drink 1 beer, you're not an alcoholic. But I murder 1 person...

Yo mama so fat the scale said, "I need your weight, not your phone number."

Little Johnny comes down for breakfast because he lives on a farm, and his mother asks if he has done his chores or not.

"Not yet," says little Johnny, so he goes to feed the chickens, cows, and pigs. He ends up kicking the chickens, cows, and pigs and goes inside and asks why he got a dry bowl of cereal. His mother responds with, "I saw you kick the chickens, so no eggs for a week. I also saw you kick the pigs, so no bacon for a week either. I also saw you kick the cows, so no milk for a week either."

Little Johnny's father comes downstairs and kicks the cats. Little Johnny looks at his mother and says, "You want to tell him, or should I?"

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.

Why are orphans not that good at baseball?

They can never hit a homerun.

Thomas Bulgin loves McDonald's dollars, A man of simple tastes, he hollers, With every visit, his heart does flutter, For golden arches, a fast food lover.

Those crispy fries, so perfectly fried, And burgers stacked, oh so high, The smell of grease, it fills the air, Thomas Bulgin, he'll always be there.

A dollar menu, his saving grace, A feast for him, a smile on his face, He counts his coins, with eager eyes, To savor each bite, a little prize.

In this world of fast-paced lives, Thomas Bulgin, he surely thrives, For in those golden arches, he finds, A moment of joy, that forever binds.

He cares not for gourmet cuisine, Nor fancy plates, fit for a queen, For in his heart, a simple truth, McDonald's dollars, his fountain of youth.

So let him eat, and let him feast, Thomas Bulgin, the fast food beast, For in those golden arches, he's found, A taste of happiness, unbound.

Jayden March, a name so bold, Never knew the joy of cookies untold. In a world of sugar and sweet delight, He stood apart, an unusual sight.

While others indulged in sugary bliss, Jayden abstained, dismissing the kiss Of chocolate chips and dough so divine, His willpower strong, his resolve intertwined.

No oatmeal raisin or double fudge, Could tempt his taste buds, not even a nudge. For Jayden March, a different path he took, In a world of cookies, he never partook.

His reasons unknown, a mystery untold, Perhaps he sought something purer than gold. Or maybe he craved a different kind of treat, One that couldn't be found in a cookie sheet.

But as the years passed by, curiosity grew, Whispers of wonder, questions anew. Why did Jayden March deny such delight? Was there a secret hidden in his resolute fight?

Some say he found solace in nature's embrace, In the rustle of leaves and the wind's gentle pace. Others believed his heart sought a different reward, In acts of kindness, love freely poured.

Jayden March, a man of mystery and grace, Marched to a beat only he could embrace. In a world of cookies, he found his own way, Leaving us wondering, pondering day by day.

For though he never tasted the sweetness of a treat, Jayden March's story remains incomplete. A reminder to us all, to explore and define, Our own desires, our own paths to find.

So let us celebrate Jayden's unique choice, And listen to the whisper of our own inner voice. For in a world of cookies, may we remember, That sometimes it's the journey, not the taste, we treasure.

In pixels and polygons, a virtual realm unfolds, A battleground where warriors gather, young and old. A game of wits and strategy, a dance of skill and might, Behold the phenomenon, the world of Fortnite.

What is Fortnite, you ask, this digital sensation? A realm where dreams are forged, in endless animation. A world of endless possibilities, where heroes rise and fall, A tapestry of triumph, where victory calls.

From humble beginnings, a storm begins to brew, A hundred souls drop down, with dreams anew. An island vast and varied, a landscape to explore, From verdant meadows to urban cities, the battles roar.

With pickaxe in hand, we gather resources with haste, Wood, metal, and stone, the foundation of our base. We build and we craft, constructing our fort, A fortress of defense, where enemies are fought.

The storm looms ever closer, a force we can't deny, Pushing us closer together, as time quickly flies. We strategize and plan, our tactics ever shifting, In this ever-shrinking world, our spirits uplifting.

Weapons and loot, scattered throughout the land, We arm ourselves with firepower, take our final stand. Shotguns, rifles, explosives, and more, In this game of survival, we even the score.

But Fortnite is more than just a battle royale, A canvas for creativity, where imaginations set sail. From creative mode to party royale, a world of endless fun, With friends and strangers, united as one.

Yet amidst the chaos, let's not forget, Fortnite is but a game, a virtual vignette. For beyond the pixels and the storms that rage, Lies a world that beckons, beyond the digital stage.

So let us embrace the joy that Fortnite brings, A tapestry of moments, where victory sings. For in this realm of pixels and dreams, Fortnite shines bright, a testament it seems.

So gather your friends, embark on this quest, In the realm of Fortnite, put your skills to the test. For in the end, it's not just about the game we play, But the bonds we form, as we dance and slay.

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.

Did you hear about the story of the husband who told his wife she’d look sexier with her hair back?

Apparently, that’s not a nice thing to say to cancer patients.

A young man cracked a joke about dementia to his friend on the bus. The old man sitting next to him politely asked, “Can you stop making jokes about terminal diseases?”

He replied, “Yes, I cancer.” Then he cracked tumor.

EMINEM: His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.

WebMD: Cancer.

Are you a lollipop? Because I can suck on you all day.

Are you an Oreo? Because I eat the cream first.

Are you a microwave? Because I’m trying to keep you quiet at 3:00 am.

Are you a sprinkler? Cause every time I see you I get wet.

Are you makeup? Cause I’d spend hours doing you.

Are you a guitar? Because I’d love to hear the noises you make when I play with you.

Are you an elevator? Cause I wanna ride you up and down.

Most restaurants are closed at night, but your legs aren’t.

I’m not a cashier, but you got a couple of things I wanna check out.

Are you Cinderella? Because I can see that dress coming off at midnight.

Are you a calendar? Because I want to pin you against the wall.

I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately, but I hope it’s you.

Are you a doughnut? Cause I wanna fill you with cream.

Are you a garden? Cause I want to plant some seeds inside of you.

Do you sing in the shower? Because if so, I need a private ticket of your concert.

Are your legs the twin towers? Because I’ll bomb what’s in between.

Are you a blanket? Because you’re on top of me every night.

Are you a phone? Cause I like to be on you 24/7.

Are you a roller coaster? Because the faster you go, the louder I scream.

I’m so jealous of your heart right now because it’s pounding inside of you and I’m not.

Are you a popsicle? Cause all I want to do is lick you up and down.

Are you a construction worker? Because you got me all bricked up.

Are you a fireman? Because you came in hot and left me wet.

Carrie Underwood and ChatGPT are not the same. ChatGPT is able to create a soul.

Neo-Confederates all claim to be about "heritage" not "hate". Well, if your heritage consists of Kelly Clarkson, riding on siblings, and treating Donald Trump as if he's the second coming, then it really sucks to be you.