Seem jokes
Why shouldn't you trust trees? Because they seem shady.
Two hunters are in the woods and one falls to the ground.
Terrified, he dials 911 and says, “Help! I think my friend is dying. What do I do?” The nurse says, “I need you to make sure he’s dead.” The hunter replies, “Ok, I’ll be right back.” The nurse is startled after hearing a gunshot. The hunter comes back and says, “I checked. Now what do I do?” The nurse replies, “I need you to make sure his heart has completely stopped.” She is startled when she hears the sound of a taser. The hunter comes back and says, “What’s next?” The nurse replies, “I need you to make sure his brain has completely shut down.” The nurse is once again startled when she hears the sound of a bone being crushed by what seemed to be a hammer. The hunter comes back and asks, “Anything else?” The nurse says, “Nope. That’s it.”
Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of working girls. Call girls. Hookers. Prostitutes. And the association is a long one, going back to the very earliest legends which place St. Nick as a Greek bishop in Myra, Lycia in what is now the Turkish Mediterranean - three centuries after Christ.
Saint Nicholas is notable primarily for giving secretly to the poor, and supposedly the first to benefit were three young ladies whose poor father couldn't afford wedding or dowry to marry them off - destining them instead to a life of prostitution. St. Nick supposedly threw a bag of gold through the window to pay for the wedding but, by the third attempt, the poor father was watching to determine the identity of the anonymous benefactor. Santa outsmarted him by dropping the last bag of coins down the chimney.
So, whenever you see Santa, he always travels with his three favourite sex workers - who seemingly never grow old. On a quiet, still Christmas night you can even hear him call them.
Ho! Ho! Ho! And to all a good night.
when someone says to cheer up: you, I never thought of that. :)
-> in reality, :( (sob)
depression is no game, and here in this world, we are here for each other, although at times it might not seem like it.
Keep strong, and you'll find the end of the tunnel, but ending the pain and being gone just spreads depression.
Guy 1: Why is my cat so angry?
Guy 2: Because she wants to eat your big sausage.
Guy 1: Don't you?
Guy 2: Yeah, it seems delicious.
Guy 1: Mmm, so... w-wait what are you doing? I didn't think you meant the one in my lunch :< Where are you leaving #_#
**Meow...**
Guy 1: Shut up, I will never feed you this sausage. It's not for you :< -_- </3
Some people think jokes about child abuse are funny.
I'm not sure if I think that, but they do seem to hit different.
I just read in the news that tons of Americans are sending their old clothes to poor people in Africa.
Seems like a waste of time in my opinion. I've never seen an African with a 52 inch waist.
I told my girlfriend she drew her eyebrows too high. She seemed surprised.
Pilot: So Kobe, it seems like you’re not going to make it to your destination in time, so I’m going to put it on autopilot so I can find a place to fill with gas.
Kobe: Take us to the side of that mountain at full speed. I don’t really want to go to the event anymore.
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...
Hey you, the person who's scrolling, I know you might have depression and some feel they can't talk to anyone about it, so in the comments please, if you need to talk to others, if you comment about it and say you need to talk to someone, I promise you that I will talk to you. You are not alone, and even though it seems it won't change and get better, it will, I promise.
Please no harsh comments toward each other.
What's the difference between depression and a girl?
XXXTentacion can't seem to beat depression.
There's a girl I like in my school, but she's always on her phone. It seems that I can't get a SIGNAL from her.
- All over it like a fat kid on a cupcake.
- Giggling like a room full of fat kids.
- Drinking 8 cups of water a day seems impossible, but 8 beers and 3 shots in 3 hours goes down like a fat kid on a seesaw.
So, a mom and a dad take their son to a therapist.
“What seems to be the problem?” the therapist asked.
“Our son thinks he’s a refrigerator!” they said.
So the therapist replies, “Oh dear, that must be a problem.”
“Yeah, he sleeps with his mouth open, and the light is really bright.”
Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn't seem to be breathing, and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps, "My friend is dead! What can I do?" The operator says, "Calm down. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead." There is a silence; then a gunshot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says, "OK, now what?"
[God creating sharks]
God: Ok give them 3 rows of teeth.
Angel: Seems excessive but ok.
God: And make them mean as hell.
Angel: WTF y.
God: BECAUSSE I SAID SO.
Angel:...
God: And make one of the types have a hammer for a head.
Angel: Why do I still work for you?
God: Because I’m the only employer as of right now.
Man, choking on sugar seems like the sweetest way to die.
I was going to tell a joke about a mirror, but it seems that I'm looking at one.
I'd insult BlessedBrian, but it seems NATURE beat me to it.