A drunk guy is showing friends his new apartment.
The last stop is the bedroom, where a big brass gong sits next to the bed.
"What's that gong for?" the friend asks him.
"It's not a gong," the drunk replies. "It's a talking clock."
"How does it work?"
The guy picks up a hammer, gives the gong an ear-shattering pound, and steps back.
Suddenly, someone on the other side of the wall screams, "For God's sake, you asshole, it's 3:30 in the god damn morning!"
Why did the pedophile cross the road?
Because there was a school on the other side.
Why did the orphan cross the road?
To die on the other side.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
To get to the other side.
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
The chicken.
Why did the Russian cross the road?
To get to the other side.
Why did the rapper cross the road?
To get to the other side of the TRACK.
Hey Hunter, Thomas here.
Why did the plane cross the road?
To get to the other side.
Thanks guys, remember to like it, means a lot!
Why did the chicken cross the road to get to the other side?
Why did Trump's brain cross the road?
Oh wait, there is no other side.
Why did the impostor vent... to get to the other side?
I want to die to see the other side, but if I die I won't know anybody on the other side.
What did the beer can say to the other? "Open me, please!"
What did the coconut say to the other? "Crack!"
Why did the jalapeño cross the road? I got spicy!
Why did the hubcap cross the road? Crack!
Why jazz, Jr. Get to the other side of the creek? Don’t break a leg!
What did the tornado cross the road? Let’s spin again!
Why did the turkey get to the other side of the creek? Don’t break a leg!
What did the bunny get to the side of the road? Get furry!
Why did the orphan cross the road?
His parents were on the other side!
Q: Why did the duck cross the road?
A: To get to the other side.
Why is Uranus like paper? Because you do see the other side.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because the chicken had 4 chicks and a cheating hen who all sucked out all his money he got from his extremely boring job, and he finally got some peace for himself and was going to the local bar, which was on the other side of the road.
He walked in the door, wings sagging, feathers catching on his claws. The bartender eyes him as he sits on a bar stool. "Chuck, how ya doin'? The missus doin' good?"
"Just give me the hardest stuff you got. I'm done."
This caught the bartender by surprise. "Chuck, come on, don't be sayin' that. Just look to the future and you'll be fine."
"What future?" Chuck replied in a huff. "My wife and chicks are so goddamn pestering sometimes, you know? But if I leave, they'll all suffer, and I don't want that either. Oh, God, Phil, I don't know what to do."
"You know, you've got a good heart for a rooster your age," Phil answered. "We need that in these parts. I'm tellin' ya, there will be more than what's happenin' right now, ya know, life's got all its gears turning for ya, and there's just a bit slow right now. The gears haven't been oiled in a while, but who's the only one who can fix that?"
Chuck knew the answer. "Me."
Phil returned with his drink. "McClucken's Whiskey, on the house."
Chuck glanced at his glass. He held it up to the light. His face reflected in an aura around it, neither looking forward to the light and not backward, either.
"No thanks, Phil," Chuck sighed, "But thanks anyways."
He went to get up out of his chair. Phil called as he walked out the door, "Just remember to oil the gears every now and then, eh?"
Chuck's comb flapped in a cool breeze brought in by the season. A bench was nearby, staring across to the other side. And he just sat there, sat there thinking. Cars blurred to a colorfully colorless nothingness as he thought in silence.
He could see an open window in his mind, full of chickens: a sassy hen, two identical sportish chick; another, older than the two, and body bristling with blue comb-dye and the latest thing he watched online fresh on his Chickstagram page; finally, the first of the bunch, shy, bookish, with a secretly courageous soul. They all looked... worried, worried for the rooster who guided them, helped them grow, supported them... and all looking out of the window back at him.
A single tear welled in Chuck's eye.
The chicken walked back across the road to his family, to his friends, and to the life he was content with.
Btw friend here also wants to do suicide.
Friend: Why did I cross the road? Me: To get to the other side. Friend: True!
Friend: Hey let's go hang out at the forest today! Me: Ok *grabs ropes for the both of us and rushes outside bc this is a lucky day* Friend: Hey at least we did it!
Friend: What's the best thing about me? Me: You will eventually end. Friend: Hmmmmmm . . . true!
Friend: What historical time influenced you the most? Me: The great depression.
If I could be an object I'd be glass because I'm see-through and I can shatter with the minimum difficulty immediately!
My parents sometimes say I'm their sunshine! . . . because I'm painful if you look at me.
Teacher: What does km/s mean? Me+like almost all of the class: *in unison* It means kill myself but misspelled.
Friend: What's the best way to end a game? Me: With death. Friend: . . . Hmmm now that you think about it yeah! That's the best way!
When you're about to jump down a cliff but you realize that you can't litter there.
Google says that you're about 75% water but I'm made of 101% depression 101% anxiety 101% suicidal 101% stress.
Brain be like will_to_live.exe, happiness.exe, and many more others not found also you have now got crippling_depression.exe, anxiety.exe, suicide_thoughts.exe, suicide_attempts, and stressful_life.exe so so so much many more.
How do you keep weeds away? Just put a bucket of crippling depression and suicidal thought and attempts in the soil and then they just kill themselves. Problem solved.
When you take antidepressants but they don't work it will just make you more depressed and that's a fact.
A bored depressed suicidal person: *sees a dying person* Dying person: P-l-pls c-c-c-call m-me a-an amb-b-bulancccee *wheeze* *dies* Bored depressed suicidal person: Hmmmm ur an ambulance Dying person: *manages to get back up* Bored depressed suicidal person: Oooooohh goddddd Dying person: *in a demonic tone* BUT NOT FOR ME~
Roses are red, Inside I'm dead, I have crippling depression, Some one pls shoot my head.
When you finally open up to a person who you think will care and understand but it turns out that they don't. You: *panickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanickingpanicking*
The only time you should lift your spirits up is when your gonna hang yourself.
A made-up story starting now. So I went to school as usual. There's a school shooting. All the depressed suicidal people: *crave death* *walks up to shooter* all say KILL ME A made-up story starting ending.
In this one the friend isn't suicidal. Friend: Wanna play a game? Me: Life wait no a game has a meaning. Friend: . . . *crickets* Friend: Calls suicide hotline. Me: Wait no!!!!!
Me: *has crippling depression* *asks mom why I was born* Mom: Hmmm I think I was drunk and on a lotta drugs. Me: Hmmm tysm *gets the rope* Mom: *making hanging puns* Me: *hurries to the trash truck*
Me: At this point I've lived about a decade depressed and suicidal that I don't struggle with it now, I'm good at it and it's all normal.
Hope you enjoyed.
