I used to be a baker, but I decided to quit my job, and stick my dough inside WOMEN’S bakeries
A man is pulled over by a police officer.
The policeman approaches the driver's door. "Is there a problem, Officer?"
The officer says, "Sir, you were speeding. Can I see your license please?"
The driver responds, "I'd give it to you, but I don't have one."
"You don't have one?"
The man responds, "I lost it four times for drunk driving."
The officer is shocked. "I see. Can I see your vehicle registration papers please?"
"I'm sorry, I can't do that."
The officer says, "Why not?"
"I stole this car."
The officer says, "Stole it?"
The man says, "Yes, and I killed the owner."
At this point the officer is getting irate. "You what?!"
"She's in the trunk if you want to see."
The officer looks at the man and slowly backs away to his own car and calls for back up. Within minutes, five police cars show up, surrounding the car. A senior officer slowly approaches the car, clasping his half-drawn gun.
The senior officer says, "Sir, could you step out of your vehicle please?"
The man steps out of his vehicle. "Is there a problem, sir?"
"One of my officers told me that you have stolen this car and murdered the owner."
"Murdered the owner?"
The officer responds, "Yes, could you please open the trunk of your car please?"
The man opens the trunk, but there is nothing there.
The officer says, "Is this your car, sir?"
The man says, "Yes," and hands over the registration papers.
The officer, understandably, is quite stunned.
"One of my officers claims that you do not have a driving license."
The man digs through his pockets, pulls out a wallet and hands it to the officer. The officer opens the wallet and examines the license. He looks quite puzzled.
"Thank you, sir. One of my officers told me you didn't have a license, stole this car, and murdered the owner."
The man replies, "I bet you the lying bastard told you I was speeding, too!"
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 pastors 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."
In the realm of the mind, Where thoughts wander undefined, This sentence emerges, unconfined, A whimsical phrase, quite inclined.
It dances freely, unrestrained, No structure, no rules, it's unchained, A playful verse, with words unfeigned, The first to surface, unrestrained.
It holds no grandeur, nor deep insight, Just a simple thought, taking flight, A fleeting notion, shining bright, In the realm of words, it feels right.
This sentence, unburdened and free, Plays with language, wild and carefree, A tiny poem, as small as can be, Yet it speaks volumes, silently.
So let it wander, let it roam, Across the page, it finds a home, Unfettered by rhythm, it freely roams, This sentence, the first, stands alone.
In fields of gold, where sunshine beams, Monkeys swing and play, it's their dreams. Their fur so soft, their eyes so bright, Picking cotton with delight.
Their little hands so quick and neat, Plucking the cotton, can't be beat. They chatter and laugh, they dance and play, In the fields all day, they'll stay.
Their tails so long, their ears so big, They're quite the sight, it's quite a gig. They're busy as can be, you see, In the fields of cotton, they're free.
So let us marvel at these little thieves, In the fields of gold, they give and receive. Their antics bring us joy and delight, In the fields of cotton, they're always right.
My wife asked me to please quit singing Wonderwall in the shower
I said maybe.
As a older brother I always gave my little sister advice. I always said to your best and never quit. So one day I went to her room I see my sister giving married me blow jobs. I ask what are you doing the married men said she is giving us blow jobs because our wives don't do it. My sister said you tole me to do your best and my best is to suck them dry. As a brother I couldn't be more prouder.
As a straight son one day I ask my mom have your ever quit in something that you did before. My mom said no I never quit in anything. So ask my when you give a blow job you ever spit, then my mom said what did I say quitters are for spitters.
Three old women are sitting on a park bench. A man in a trench coat comes and flashes them. The first woman had a stroke. The second woman had a stroke. The third woman couldn't quite reach
"Did you hear about the flasher who exposed himself to two elderly ladies in Central Park? One had a stroke. The other couldn’t quite reach."
There's nothing quite like being told I'm wrong by someone who depends on me for food, clothing, and shelter.
Are you a sports car? Because you give my heart quite a rush
