Secret Jokes

Son: “Mom, is there a thing called «friendship» between a man and a woman?”

Mother: “No Son, unless if he’s gay.”

Son: “So your friend is gay?”

Mother with herself: «How did he see me with michael omg if my husband discovered my cheating he will kill me»

Mother: “Mmm.. Yes.”

Father loudly: “YES!!!”

Mother: “What in the hell? Are you gay?”

Father with himself: «Am i an idiot why did i yell?! if she discovered I’m gay and her son was made by Paul’s semens she will kill me»

Father: “No what are saying? I’m just talking with myself.”

*A few hours later*

Mother: “I will go to visit my mother.”

Father: “Me too I will go to visit my mother.”

Son: “Not me too I will go to stud with my friends.”

The mother and the father goes to michael’s house and they found their son playing with Michael and Paul is recording them and saying: «that’s why I love you my actual son oh only if your mother knows».

*The End* :D

Why don’t rappers tell secrets?

Because they always end up DROPPING it.

Do you think when the Secret Service heard the gunshot they were like, "Donald Duck"?

If you’ve got me, you want to share me; if you share me, you haven’t kept me. What am I?

Joshua White loves blue, A simple truth, tried and true. In his pocket, only six, Yet each penny a valued fix.

With eyes that seek the azure skies, He dreams of places that mesmerize. A palette of blues, a symphony of hues, Whispering secrets only he can choose.

His heart beats to the rhythm of the sea, Where waves crash, wild and free. In sandy shores, he finds solace rare, A momentary escape from life's daily wear.

In cerulean fields, flowers dance, Their vibrant petals, a timeless romance. He wanders through meadows, devoid of strife, Seeking solace in nature's vibrant life.

Joshua White, a soul of gentle grace, Embracing the world at his own pace. Though his pockets hold a mere six, His spirit soars, never to be fixed.

For in the depths of his azure dreams, The richness of life's tapestry gleams. And with every breath, he finds anew, That love is boundless, ever true.

Why don't rappers tell secrets?

Because they always spill the beats.

In a world of feline folly, There lived a cat with a secret, A taste for adventure and mischief, And a love for KFC's golden treat.

With eyes like emerald jewels, And fur as black as night, This feline prowled the streets, In search of a savory delight.

Oh, how it yearned for chicken, Crispy and finger-lickin' good, But the cat knew it had to be sly, To satisfy its craving like it should.

Through alleyways it stealthily tiptoed, With nimble paws and a stealthy glide, Until it stumbled upon a secret, That made its hunger amplified.

A stash of KFC's golden eggs, Hidden away from prying eyes, An accidental treasure trove, A feast fit for a feline paradise.

With each stolen egg devoured, The cat's satisfaction grew, The taste of crispy breading, And juicy chicken, it knew.

Word soon spread of this food bandit, A legend of a cat so bold, Whispers echoed through the town, Of the one who stole the KFC gold.

But the cat with the KFC get eggs, Remained a mystery to all, A phantom of the night it became, Leaving no trace, no trail to recall.

And so, it continues its nightly quest, For chicken that satisfies its soul, The cat with the KFC get eggs, Forever on the prowl, never to be controlled.

What do you call a cow that is secret?

AnonyMOOus.

1st graders: Ay yo girl, I think you’re beautiful, let’s get married!!

2nd graders: Uhh, don’t tell my mom that we’re dating!! She won’t let me date! Let’s keep this a seeeeecret heeheehee.

3rd graders: Uh, my teacher told me to stay after school because I wrote a poem about you and I’m 9 years old, we have to break up, sweetie.

4th graders: Hey, I think you’re cute!! Wanna date? I don’t think my girlfriend will mind.......

5th graders (they start wearing makeup): Ay girl, your eyelashes are pretty, I like you now, wanna date? Here’s my numberrrrrr.

6th graders: Heyyyyy, I gotta tell you a secret, I got a crush on you!! Don’t tell anyone!! Byeee, ooh, I’ll text you later!

7th graders: We need to make Peyton jealous because she broke up with you!! Wanna date? I mean, you’re not hot, but still, great personalityyyyy, alright, bye now.

8th graders: Hi sweetheart, I got STARRRBUCKKKSSS

Me: UGLY AF AND LITERALLY NO BOYFRIEND.....

My diet consists of Blood Pudding, I love it and have it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my secret ingredient though?

It consists of the blood and insides of my victims, it’s a bit chunky sometimes, some bits chewy, some bits hard, but it’s a hearty meal.

Kariana: Dad and mom, what is this bullshit?

Treon: How did you find that?!

Kariana: It was under the cabinet where you told me to put the streamers. I found these under the cabinet, did she have another sister you didn't tell me about? Now tell the truth, or else!

Petina: Now what have we told you about going into things that are not yours!

Kariana: I just told you to say the fricking truth, now who is Faineni? Where is she? Who is she? What is her date of birth? Why do I have her bra under here and why....IS IT UNDER THE FRICKING CABINET!!!!! ANSWER ME!!!!!!!!!

Treon: We can't!

Kariana: BULLSHIT!!!!!!!!

What did the mama cow say to the baby cow? moooooooo my secret is that it's pasture bedtime, but not pasture bedtime

Yo' mama is so stanky, her Sure deodorant got confused and her Secret deodorant told on her.

Little Timmy walked in on his parents having sex. His parents look at him in fear. Little Timmy asks, "Mom, Dad, what are you doing?"

The mom replies with, "We are playing house. We'll let you play when you're older," the dad says. So the next day Timmy goes over to play with his friend Johnny, who was, ironically, Timmy's neighbor. Johnny asks, "How was your sleep last night?" "I saw my mom and dad playing house last night," Timmy says. "But they told me I could play with them when I'm older."

After a little bit of playing with Johnny, Timmy went home and saw his Dad playing house with his babysitter. "Dad, what are you doing?" Timmy asks. "I'm playing house with your babysitter," Timmy's Dad said. "But I saw you play house with Mom last night," Timmy told his father. "Well, don't tell your mother," his dad said.

1. Full name: John.

2. Proverb: work is not a rabbit, does not run.

3. Favorite meal: the sphinx with the sour cream.

4. Sexual orientation: sexually disorientated.

5. Mental health: mentally retarded.

6. Previous careers: funeral undertaking, after that two years in the circus as the main brown bear, after that in the church school for two years, after this experience five years as a screw in the jail for the worst criminals with the top degree of supervision and now working for the secret services in my home country after gaining the top-secret audit.

7. Favorite pets: dog, bumble bee named Maxo, a butterfly named Redwing and the lizard named Notail.

8. Favorite activities: washing the dishes, cutting the woods, vacuuming and playing hard rock.

9. Working motivation: none.

I hope that you will accept my curriculum vitae and that we will see each other soon already as new colleagues, I wish more or less. Kind regards, John.

In the realm of whispers and shadows, Where dreams dance on the edge of reality, There resides a peculiar soul, Known as Alexander Fisher.

With eyes that hold secrets untold, And a heart that beats to its own rhythm, He tiptoes through the night, On a quest to embrace the extraordinary.

His hands, delicate as a feather's touch, Reach out to the heavens above, Grasping at ethereal strands of wonder, In the form of vibrant, floating balloons.

With each step, the balloons whisper, Carrying tales of forgotten dreams, And the untamed yearnings of the heart, Alexander Fisher's silent companions.

He creeps through moonlit streets, An enigma in a world seeking answers, As the balloons trail behind him, Painting the night with magic's hues.

Together, they wander through the darkness, Where imagination blooms and thrives, In a delicate ballet of dreams, Alexander Fisher's fantastical symphony.

The world watches, captivated, By this balladeer of whimsical desires, As he weaves his spell, one balloon at a time, Enchanting souls with his ethereal art.

For in his delicate grasp, balloons become more, They transcend their earthly existence, Becoming vessels of hope and joy, Guiding hearts towards the realm of possibility.

Alexander Fisher, the dreamer, the poet, Creeps through life, a gentle force, With his balloons as his faithful companions, He reminds us to embrace the extraordinary.

Jayden March, a name so bold, Never knew the joy of cookies untold. In a world of sugar and sweet delight, He stood apart, an unusual sight.

While others indulged in sugary bliss, Jayden abstained, dismissing the kiss Of chocolate chips and dough so divine, His willpower strong, his resolve intertwined.

No oatmeal raisin or double fudge, Could tempt his taste buds, not even a nudge. For Jayden March, a different path he took, In a world of cookies, he never partook.

His reasons unknown, a mystery untold, Perhaps he sought something purer than gold. Or maybe he craved a different kind of treat, One that couldn't be found in a cookie sheet.

But as the years passed by, curiosity grew, Whispers of wonder, questions anew. Why did Jayden March deny such delight? Was there a secret hidden in his resolute fight?

Some say he found solace in nature's embrace, In the rustle of leaves and the wind's gentle pace. Others believed his heart sought a different reward, In acts of kindness, love freely poured.

Jayden March, a man of mystery and grace, Marched to a beat only he could embrace. In a world of cookies, he found his own way, Leaving us wondering, pondering day by day.

For though he never tasted the sweetness of a treat, Jayden March's story remains incomplete. A reminder to us all, to explore and define, Our own desires, our own paths to find.

So let us celebrate Jayden's unique choice, And listen to the whisper of our own inner voice. For in a world of cookies, may we remember, That sometimes it's the journey, not the taste, we treasure.

Shit, if somebody invades America, the Crips and the Bloods are gonna call a truce so that they can get the big toys out and call Geneva achievement. White women would ride into battle riding lions, tigers, and bears while claymore-strapped rhumbas swept the streets. There's a reason Putin keeps threatening to boom boom us with the boom booms and make you see x-rays before you go go.

We have freaking cannibals still. Hell, we have more guns than people. Dodging bullets has become a rite of passage. Just look at how we raise our kids on caffeine and M16s playing Call of Duty. Then we send them into the warzone known as the American public education system with no weapons. No means to protect themselves other than with their fists. Here Timmy, fight off the bullets with your bare fist and hope you can zig-zag. Hell, the quiet kids in this country start dropping bodies just cause you teased them. The fuck you think's gonna happen when Timmy can't get his damn chicken nuggets and you took his internet out?

Hell, the gangs in America would no longer make their money off the drugs illegally. They'd be our medics and taking bets on kill shots. Don't even get me started on the unhinged millennials the moment they can't get their mood stabilizers. War crimes would become an art form and we'd run around like we playing Pokemon. GOTTA CATCH 'EM ALL! Americans would turn war crimes into an extreme sport while the military stands back and records it just so they can show the rest of the world the example of why not to fuck with us. Shit, Geneva Convention would turn into a to-do list on every American household fridge. We take that shit so seriously we'd have Comedy Central sending Kevin Hart to tell us rules for engagement. Racism in America would be single-handedly by ended as Billy Bob and Tyrone high five because they think they just unlocked the super secret duck hunt level with foreign paratroopers. Shit somebody please threaten us with a good time. Invade the United States. Let us show you why the first color in our flag is red.

Let's tell a secret about each other... I'll go first.

I

hate

you!

You know what I hate about rape?

Keeping it a secret.