Perfect jokes
As I’m lying down on the table for a radiation treatment, a small angel lands on one shoulder, a tiny devil on the other shoulder. And then the mind game begins:
Angel: This won’t last long. You are perfectly lined up. The treatment only lasts a few mins. Remember, stay absolutely still.
Devil: Did she just twitch?
Angel: No. She didn’t twitch.
Devil: I think I saw her finger twitch.
Angel: Well, even if it did, it’s her thigh the techs are aiming at.
Devil: She wants to scratch her face.
Angel: Stop it! She can handle staying still a few minutes.
Devil: But her cheek has an itchy spot.
Angel: She can just let it itch. She doesn’t need to scratch every itch. She will just have to think about something else.
Devil: Wow...that cheek is really itchy...
Angel: Think about: Flowers. Acrylic painting. Did the trash get picked up this morning? Her grandson Oliver’s smile...
Devil: How about a song?
Angel: Good idea!
Devil: How about... “Never going to give you up. Never going to let you down....”🎶
Angel: OMG! You just Rick-rolled her! She’s in the middle of a treatment! You know that’s the only part she knows!
Devil: That’s okay. She’ll just repeat the words she knows over and over and over and....
Angel: Don’t be so mean!
Devil: “Never going to give you up...🎶”
Angel: Stop it!
Devil: Her toe! Her big toe! Did you see that? She just twitched it!
Angel: No, she didn’t.
Devil: I bet it screwed up the test and they have to start over....
Angel: She didn’t screw anything up!
Devil: She totally screwed the test up and they were more than halfway done. If they start over at the beginning, she will get too much radiation, and they will end up slicing her whole leg off!
Angel: That’s not how it works...
Devil: Or they just stop all together and she only gets a partial treatment and her tumor won’t get enough radiation.
Angel: They know what they are doing!
Devil: ...And it won’t shrink the tumor and the whole thing fails. And the doctor will have to amputate her leg.
Angel: No! No! No! That’s not how any of this...
Devil: ...And when they amputate, it will be at the hip and not below the knee because the tumor is in her thigh.
Angel: Stop this right now!!
Devil: “Never going to give you up....🎶”
Angel: Stop!
Devil: “...never going let you down....🎶”
Angel: I’m not going to let you...
Devil: “Never going to give you up...🎶”
Techs: Okay. That’s it, Tammi! We are finished! How are you doing?
Tammi: ...Oh, I’m fine.....
Why did the rapper bring a map to the studio?
Because he was searching for the PERFECT FLOW.
Patient: Doctor, every time I look in a mirror, I feel ill, as if I'm about to throw up. What's wrong with me?
Doctor: I don't know, but your eyesight is perfect.
Four cows went to the county fair. They saw a sign that said that next year animals can enter a singing contest. They decided that they would enter next year. So they called their group the "4 Cs Quartet" since their names were Clementine, Candy, Cookie, and Columbine.
They discovered how they could win. After a discussion, they decided to eat as much corn as possible, so they would sing in perfect 4 part hominy.
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.
Your hairline is like the McDonald's logo. It's forming a perfect M.
My wife's dyslexic, but hey, nobody's perfect.
A politician dies. So a politician dies and ends up standing in front of the pearly gates. Saint Peter looks at him for a second, flicks through his book, and finds his name.
"So, you're a politician..." "Well, yes, is that a problem?" "Oh no, no problem. But we've recently adopted a new system for people in your line of work, and unfortunately, you will have to spend a day in Hell. After that, however, you're free to choose where you want to spend eternity!"
"Wait, I have to spend a day in Hell??" says the politician. "Them's the rules," says St Peter, clicks his fingers, and WOOMPH, the guy disappears...
And awakes, curled up with his hands over his eyes, knowing he's in Hell. Cautiously, he listens for the screams, sniffs the air for brimstone, and finds... Nothing. Just the smell of, is that fabric softener? And cut grass, this can't be, right?
"Open your eyes!" says a voice. "C'mon, wakey, we've only got 24 hours!". Nervously, he uncovers his eyes, looks around, and sees he's in a hotel room. A nice one too. Wait, this is a penthouse suite... And there's a smiling man in a suit, holding a martini. "Who are you??" The politician asks. "Well, I'm Satan!" says the man, handing him the drink and helping him to his feet. "Welcome to Hell!" "Wait, this is Hell? But... Where are all the pain and suffering?" he asks. Satan throws him a wink. "Oh, we've been a bit misrepresented over the years, it's a long story. Anyway, this is your room! The minibar is, of course, free, as is the room service, there are extra towels next to the hot tub, and if you need anything, just call reception. But enough of this! It's a beautiful day, and if you'd care to look outside..." Slightly stunned by the opulent surroundings, the man wanders over to the floor-to-ceiling windows through which the sun is glowing, looks far down, and sees a group of people cheering and waving at him from a golf course. "It's one of 5 pro-level courses on-site, and there's another 6 just a few minutes drive out past the beach and harbor!" says Satan, answering his unasked question. So they head down in the lift and walk out through the glittering lobby where everyone waves and welcomes the man, as Satan signs autographs and cheerily talks shop with the laughing staff. And as he walks out, he sees the group on the golf course is made up of every one of his old friends, people he's admired for years but never met or worked with, and people whose work he's admired but died long before his career started. And out of the middle of this group walks his wife, with a massive smile and the body she had when she was 20, who throws her arms around him and plants a delicate kiss on his cheek. Everyone cheers and applauds, and as they slap him on the back and trade jokes, his worst enemy arrives, as a 2-foot-tall goblin-esque caddy. He spends the day in the bright sunshine on the course, having the time of his life laughing at jokes and carrying on important discussions, putting the world to rights with his friends while holding his delighted wife next to him as she gazes lovingly at him. Later, they return to the hotel for dinner and have an enormous meal, perfectly cooked, which descends into a food fight when someone accidentally throws a bread roll at the next table (where Gandhi is having a game of truth-or-dare with Marylin Monroe). As everyone is falling about laughing and flinging breadsticks at each other, his wife whispers in his ear... And they return to their penthouse suite and spend the rest of the night making love as they did on their honeymoon. After 6 hours of intense passion, the man falls deep into the 100% Egyptian cotton pillows and falls into a deep and happy sleep...
And is woken up by St Peter. "So, that was Hell. Wasn't what you were expecting, I bet?" "No sir!" says the man. "So then," says St Peter "you can make your choice. It's Hell, which you saw, or Heaven, which has choral singing, talking to God, white robes, and so on". "Well... I know this sounds strange, but on balance, I think I'd prefer Hell," says the politician. "Not a problem, we totally understand! Enjoy!" Says St Peter, and clicks his fingers again.
The man wakes up in total darkness, the stench of ammonia filling the air and distant screams the only noise. As he adjusts, he can see the only light is from belches of flame far away, illuminating the ragged remains of people being tortured or burning in a sulfurous ocean. A sudden bolt of lightning reveals Satan next to him, wearing the same suit as before and grinning, holding a soldering iron in one hand and a coil of razor wire in the other. "What's this??" He cries. "Where's the hotel?? Where's my wife??? Where's the minibar, the golf courses, the pool, the restaurant, the free drinks, and the sunshine???"
"Ah", says Satan. "You see, yesterday, we were campaigning. But today, you voted..."
In the heart of a circular, creamy delight, there exists a void, a singular absence that adds to its charm. This hollow space, a perfect round, is a testament to the artistry of nature and man's culinary skills.
The hole, a silent observer, bears witness to the transformation of the substance around it, from a liquid state to a firm, yet supple form. It's a silent testament to the passage of time, a symbol of patience and the magic of fermentation.
The void, despite its emptiness, contributes to the overall aesthetic, making the slice a visual treat. It's a playful peek-a-boo with the world beyond, a window that adds mystery and intrigue.
In the end, the hole is not just a void, but a character in the story of this culinary masterpiece, a silent protagonist that adds depth and character to the narrative. It's a testament to the beauty of imperfection, a celebration of the unique and the unconventional.
The toaster, otherwise the perfect bath bomb.
Two simple steps to get 15,000 people to follow you:
Step 1: Buy a bottle of water (doesn't matter the size).
Step 2: Run through Africa with that bottle of water.
Perfect! Now you got yourself half the population there following you!
James Bond gives all the ladies he's met the perfect birthday gift: Chlamydia.
You can find perfectly cooked Kobe in a Japanese restaurant, but you can only find burnt Kobe in Calabasas.
Stop with the emojis. They kinda just make the joke cringy. For example: How many ppl 🤷🤷🤷🤷🤷🤷🤷🤷 does it take to have 🥒🍑🍑🍑🍑🍑???? Well, it takes at least 1 🤷 and 1 👰 and they make a perfect ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤. See how cringy it is. I mean sure, it's a dumb example, but still, just at least less emojis.
When you hear Michael Jackson talk about his "perfect 10," make sure you hide your 10-year-old son.
I've been told I've got a perfect cock.
She sure was hard on me when I took it from her, though.
Hi Gwen, how is life!
A. Bad, lame, and suckish.
B. Good, awesome, and you are loved!
C. Perfect!
I'm guessing that your life is NOT B nor C! Man, you're such an asshole!
I caught my mom licking up and down and deep throating a banana. I said, "Why are you doing that?" She replied, "I’m doing it for practice for who could suck the best dick contest in the neighborhood."
I tried to explain to my 4 year old son that it's perfectly normal to accidentally poop your pants. But he's still making fun of me.
First Date: HE: "I work with animals every day!" SHE: "Oh how sweet! What is it that you do?" HE: "I’m a butcher." SHE: "Perfect! I work with humans, I just kill them by cutting them up!"
HE: "So it's you in the newspaper?" SHE: "Yes, it was, wanna be next?" HE: "No!"