Red Jokes

Roses are red Your blood is tooyou look like a monkey and belong in a zoo Do not worry i will be there too not in a cage but laghing at you

Q, Why did the elephant paint his toenails red? A, To hide up cherry trees. Q, What's the loudest noise in the jungle? A, Giraffes eating cherries.

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 lets 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 atleast we did it!

friend:whats 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 id be glass because im see through and i can shatter with the minimum difficulty immediately!

my parents sometimes say im their sunshine! . . . because im 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:whats the best way to end a game? me:with death friend: . . . hmmm now that you think about it yeah! thats the best way!

when your about to jump down a cliff but you realize that you cant litter there

google says that your about 75% water but im make 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 dont work it will just make you more depressed and thats 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 im 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 dont 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 theres 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 isnt 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 ive lived about a decade depressed and suicidal that i dont struggle with it now, im good at it and its all normal

hope you enjoyed

The moment came. The starter dropped his red flag. "They're away!"

Not for one second did Agba need to hunt for Lath in that flying stream of horseflesh. He did not even look for the scarlet and white stripes of the jockey's body-coat. His eyes were fixed on the littlest horse, the littlest horse that got away to a bad start!

The field was far out in front. The big horses were whipping down the steep slope to Devil's Dyke, skimming along the running gap, leaping up the opposite bank and across a long flat stretch. They were beginning to bunch, making narrow gaps. Lath was coming up from behind. He began filling in the gaps. He went through them. He was a blob of watercolor, trickling along the green turf between the other colors.

For a brief second the horses were hidden by a clump of hawthorn trees. Agba's knees tightened. He felt Sham quiver beneath him, saw white flecks of sweat come out on his neck. It was well the grooms were there to hold them both!

The horses were coming around the trees now. The golden blob was still flowing between the other colors. It was flowing beyond them, flowing free!

In full stride, Lath was galloping down the dip and up the rise to the ending post. He was flying past it, leaving the "lusty" horses behind.

"The little horse wins!"

"Lath, an easy winner!"

"Lath, son of Godolphin Arabian, wins!"

People of all ages and all ranks clapped their hands and cheered in wild notes of triumph.

Agba never knew how he and Sham reached the royal stand. But suddenly, there they were. And the Earl of Godolphin was there, too.

"I am pleased to give," Queen Caroline was saying in her sincere, straightforward manner, "I am pleased to give and bestow upon the Earl of Godolphin, the Queen's Plate."

Everyone could see it was not a plate that she held in her hands at all. It was a purse. But only Agba and the Earl knew how much that purse would mean to the future of the horse in England. The Earl looked right between the plumes in the Queen's bonnet and found Agba's eyes for an instant. Then he fell to his knees and kissed the Queen's hand.

A hush fell over the heath. The Queen's words pinged sharp and clear, like the pearls that suddenly broke from her necklace and fell upon the floor of the stand. No one stooped to recover them, for the Queen was speaking.

"And what," she asked, as she fixed one of her own purple plumes in Sham's headstall, "what is the pedigree of this proud sire of three winning horses?"

Agba leaned forward in his saddle.

There was a pause while the Earl found the right words. "Your Majesty," he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "his pedigree has been...has been lost. But perhaps it was so intended. His pedigree is written in his sons."

How the country people cheered! An unknown stallion wearing the royal purple! It was a fairy tale come true.

The princesses clapped their hands, too. Even the King seemed pleased. He puffed out his chest and nodded to the Queen that the answer was good.

Agba swallowed. He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Quickly, before anyone noticed, he raised his hand to brush it away. His hand stopped. Why, he was growing a beard! He was a man! Suddenly his mind flew back to Morocco. My name is Agba. Ba means father. I will be a father to you, Sham, and when I am grown I will ride you before the multitudes. And they will bow before you, and you will be King of the Wind. I promise it.

He had kept his word!

For the first time in his life, he was glad he could not talk. Words would have spoiled everything. They were shells that cracked and blew away in the wind. He and Sham were alike. That was why they understood each other so deeply.

The Godolphin Arabian stood very still, his regal head lifted. An east wind was rising. He stretched out his nostrils to gather in the scent. It was laden with the fragrance of wind-flowers. Of what was he thinking? Was he re-running the race of Lath? Was he rejoicing in the royal purple? Was he drawing a wood cart in the streets of Paris? Or just winging across the grassy downs in

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