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A Canadian, an American, and a Mexican were tasked by a billionaire with teaching his stubborn pet parrot how to speak within 2 weeks.

They were given everything they needed to succeed, and a large sum of money was offered to the one who made the parrot talk first.

The Canadian played documentaries for the parrot through the whole duration. He spent all his time citing the alphabet and reading stories for the parrot.

The American showered him with the finest food, brought him all the females that he can mate with, and made sure to spoil the parrot as much as he can.

The Mexican locked the parrot in a dark room, barely gave him any food or water, and beat the shit out of him every single day.

When the time was up, the billionaire returned to find the parrot still unable to speak, so he asked the 3 trainers about their progress.

The Canadian goes: "I have tried everything. I spent all my time and energy teaching him the alphabet and reading books to him! Nothing worked."

The American agrees: "I have spoiled him beyond belief, gave him all the luxury he can possibly get, and yet he won't speak!"

The Mexican confirms: "I have showered him with love and luxury as well, tried to teach him words day and night, spent all my time and energy spoiling him with everything I had!"

The parrot looks at the Mexican with disbelief and yells out: "You lying motherfucker!"

An old man goes to church.

One Sunday morning, an old cowboy entered a church just before services were to begin. Although the old man and his clothes were spotlessly clean, he wore jeans, a denim shirt, and boots that were very worn and ragged. In his hand, he carried a worn-out old hat and an equally worn-out Bible.

The church he entered was in a very upscale and exclusive part of the city. It was the largest and most beautiful church the old cowboy had ever seen. The people of the congregation were all dressed in expensive clothes and accessories.

As the cowboy took a seat, the others moved away from him. No one greeted, spoke to, or welcomed him. They were all appalled at his appearance and did not attempt to hide it.

As the old cowboy was leaving the church, the preacher approached him and asked the cowboy to do him a favor. "Before you come back in here again, have a talk with God and ask him what he thinks would be appropriate attire for worship."

The old cowboy assured the preacher he would.

The next Sunday, he showed back up for the services wearing the same ragged jeans, shirt, boots, and hat. Once again, he was completely shunned and ignored. The preacher approached the man and said, "I thought I asked you to speak to God before you came back to our church."

"I did," replied the old cowboy.

"If you spoke to God, what did he tell you the proper attire should be for worshiping in here?" asked the preacher.

"Well, sir, God told me that He didn't have a clue what I should wear. He said He'd never been in this church."

The pastor of the local church calls on the congregation for volunteers for Bible sales.

A gentleman with a severe stutter approaches the pastor after Sunday service.

"I-i-i... I-i-id like to v-v-v-v-vol-vol-vo-volunteer to s-s-s-se-sell b-b-b-bi-b-bibles, f-fff-f-f-fa-fa-father..."

"That would be wonderful, my son. We'll start you with one box. Please go door to door throughout the community and sell what you can. You can give these away, but donations are always accepted since the word of God is the most important message."

"T-t-t-t-th-th-th-thank you f-ff-f-f-f-fa-fa-fath-father... i-i-i-i-i-i-I'll s-s-s-s-se-se-sell what I c-c-c-cc-can..."

The pastor sends the man on his way.

About an hour later to the pastor's surprise, the stuttering man returns with an empty box and $200 cash.

The pastor is completely shocked, but is ultimately filled with joy as the church could use the funds more than ever, not to mention the community is that much closer to God's message.

So without asking questions, he happily sends the stuttering man on his way with 2 more boxes of Bibles.

"T-t-t-t-t-t-th-th-th-th-tha-thank you f-ff-f-f-f-fa-fa-fath-father, i-i-i-i-i-i-I'll be back s-s-s-s-s-soo-soo-soo-soon."

Exactly 2 hours later the stuttering man returns, only this time carrying 2 empty boxes and $500 cash.

The pastor is at a loss for words. So much so, that he's questioning whether the stuttering man is coming across these funds legitimately.

He pulls the man aside and asks, "Son, while myself and the church thank you for your efforts in selling these bibles, we want to make sure not to take advantage of common people. Most of my volunteers take upwards of a month to sell a single box of Bibles, and you've sold 3 boxes in a few hours. May I ask what you're telling these people when you approach their home?"

"W-w-w-w-we-we-well f-ff-f-f-f-fa-fa-fath-father it-it-it-it-its qui-q-q-q-qui-quite s-s-s-s-s-s-si-sim-simple."

"I ju-ju-ju-ju-just ask the-the-th-th-th-the-them if th-th-th-th-the-the-they'd l-l-l-l-li-li-li-li-lik-like to b-b-b-b-b-b-b-bu-bu-buy a b-b-b-bi-bi-bi-bible or if they w-w-w-w-w-wa-wa-wa-wan-want me to re-re-re-rea-read it to them."

Why don't nurses like giving old people baths or showers?

Because they don't want their vegetables to get soggy.

I walked in on my dad fucking my little brother. I don't know what was worse: the fact that he was fucking my brother, or the fact that the abortion clinic let my parents take the fetus home....

Why was the orphan so successful?

When the options were either go big or go home, he only had one option :(

Why did the chicken cro-

UM, ACTUALLY, THE CHICKEN CAN'T CROSS THE ROAD UNLESS IT'S UNDER SOME ROOSTER OR HEN SUPERVISION OR ELSE THE CAR WILL CRASH THE CHICKEN, AND THEY WILL DIE. 🤓

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.

In the realm of poetry's grace, Where words dare to embrace, A request comes with a quirky plea, To give life to what the eyes may see.

"Pussy lussy cussy," it begins, A playful phrase that surely spins, And though the words may raise a smile, Let's craft a verse that goes the extra mile.

In free verse, we'll dance and sway, Allowing thoughts to have their say, For poetry knows no bounds or rules, It's a canvas for expression, where freedom fuels.

But let's remember, dear friend, To keep our words kind and lend, Respect to all, in every line, For poetry's power can truly shine.

So, let's journey on this poetic quest, With words that honor and truly impress, For in the realm of art and verse, We find beauty, in each line immersed.

And though "Pussy lussy cussy" may make us smile, Let's seek inspiration that runs deep, mile after mile, For poetry's magic lies in its ability, To touch hearts, souls, and set thoughts free.

In this short verse, may you find delight, As we paint with words, both bold and light, So let us write, with grace and art, A poem that sings straight from the heart.

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.

For centuries, Japan’s feudal dictators, called Shoguns, enforced strict laws that kept people from leaving or entering the country. This practice isolated Japan from the rest of the world. By the middle of the 19th century, Japan’s isolationism was creating problems for the United States’ whaling industry whose ships needed coal, food, and water available in Japanese ports. And sailors who were shipwrecked on the coast of Japan needed protection from mistreatment.

In November 1852, President Millard Fillmore sent an expedition to Japan to solve these problems. Led by Commodore Matthew C. Perry, the expedition had both steam-powered and sail-powered warships and several hundred men. Perry’s task was to persuade the Japanese to sign a treaty with the United States that would open Japanese ports and protect shipwrecked sailors. On July 8, 1853, the Perry expedition sailed into Edo Bay about thirty miles from the city of Edo (modern Tokyo).

During talks with the Shogun’s representatives, the idea of a treaty was repeatedly rejected. But Perry didn’t give up. Finally, in February 1854, the Japanese agreed to negotiate a treaty. The Treaty of Kanagawa established peace between the two countries, opened two ports to U.S. shipping, and protected shipwrecked sailors. It was signed on March 31, 1854.

Perry’s expedition also opened Japan to the rest of the world. Within two years, Japan signed similar treaties with Russia, Holland, and Britain.

Joke time!

Now, Heaven or Hell?

Heaven: we got clouds.

Hell: we got a frickin' private yacht!

Who would win in a fight, in a boxing ring? Mike Tyson or Helen Keller with a Tommy gun?

Mike Tyson. Helen Keller never heard the bell.

A couple is on their first date.

Man: How do you feel about sex?

Woman: I like it infrequently.

Man: I see. Is that one word or two?

"How would you describe a really bad skeleton?"

"Bad to the bone!" (Or "Rotten to the bone" if you want.)

(Note: this joke is not one of the worst jokes ever because it is obscene or offensive; it’s just a bad joke.) Why can’t you hear a pterodactyl go to the bathroom? Because they’re dead.