
Pass-through jokes
An Englishman, a Frenchman, a ravishing blonde, and an old lady are sharing a compartment on a train as it winds its way through the Alps. Every now and then the train passes through a tunnel, during which time the compartment is plunged into complete darkness. On one such occasion, a ringing slap is heard, and as the train passes back into daylight, the Frenchman is rubbing his sore, red cheek.
The old lady thinks, "I bet that dirty Frenchman fondled the blonde, and she struck the pervert."
The blonde thinks, "I bet that filthy Frenchman was looking to grope me in the dark, mistook the old lady for me, and she slapped him."
The Frenchman thinks, "I bet that perfidious Englishman touched up the blonde in the dark, and she slapped me by mistake."
The Englishman thinks, "I can't wait for another tunnel so I can slap that French twat again."
Today, I dreamt about giving head to Johnny Depp.
Then I woke up and realized that I forgot to roll my windows up when passing through the New Jersey Turnpike.
Snover1: You can't pass through Snow Way!
Squirtle: Why can't I pass through Snow Way?
Snover1: There's snow in the way.
Snover2: Yeah, you can't get past through the snow while it's on the way, to continuous.
Squirtle: What? There's snow in here the whole time. What is this? Snow Society?!
"AAAAARRRGGH!!"
Squirtle: Who is that?
Snover2: That is Snow.
Squirtle: What?! That giant snow tree thing is Abomasnow!
Snover2: Oops! Don't be a Halt!
"Haaaaaaaaallllltttt!!!"
"Aaaaaauuuuggghhhh!"
Snovers: That was a JOKE, Squirtle be FROZEN, just let it go, let it go!
What did the neutrino say to the planet?
"Just passing through."
An autistic woman walks into a bar. "A serving of Screaming Banshee, please," she says.
The bartender says, "Ok, you seem to like it, unlike a retired special ed teacher that passed through a few minutes ago."
Humanity.
Slavery and discipline, it's kind of the same thing. You get whipped for doing the wrong thing.
Beans
Follow me.
Dee.
Community talk
If you forget me Poem: I want you to know one thing.
You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now, if little by lit… Read more

