Yo mama's so fat, her car has stretch marks.
The real dead hooked joke is on all of us from the Fraser Valley in BC, you know damn well each and everyone of us ate that Pickton hooker Pork. Concidering it stretching from the 80's-2000's pretty sure he got 4 generations of Valley folk with that Pickton Pork.
a man goes to a restaurant and asks for some chili the waiter said "sorry sir this is a Asian restaurant". So he stretches his eyes and says "oh herro can i get some chiri".
A guy goes into his attic to clean it out and finds an old oil lamp. He thinks he could sell it instead of throwing it away, so he starts to rub it and out pops this genie. The genie says to him " Thank you for awakening me, I can grant you three wishes as a token of my gratitude." The guy wishes for a billion dollars, the genie grants it. The guy then asks for a huge mansion with 2 Lamborghinis and 2 Ferraris, the genie grants it. The genie says "This is your last wish so really make this one count." The guys says "Well I've always wanted to drive out to hawaiian islands, because airplanes scare me to death, so I would want a highway that could stretch from here all the way to the islands." The Genie says "That is asking for quite a lot and I'm not sure if I can pull that off, Is there anything else you'd want?" The guy says "Well I've been married and divorced three times, and I just can't understand what I've been doing wrong. I've given my ex-wives all the love and care that I could but in the end it was never enough. I would want to have the ability to understand women. The genie thinks for a few moments and says "Do you want a three or four lane highway?"
Your hairline so ugly it stretching Down to bikini bottom
your hairline goes so far back that it stretches the length of Ohio
Your arms are open They stretch towards me Reaching, grabbing, pulling me Surrounding me Drowning me in my helplessness Time standing still, inside here Looking through windows, time passing by Let me go, will ya
I talk to your doctor he said you wasn’t going make it because your stretch marks look like pieces of bacon
You don't usually see strap-hangers carrying newspapers these days. But one guy with the New York Times is seen getting on a crowded F Train. He notices a single seat not taken. Suspicious, he gets closer and sniffs it out. The seat is discolored but dry. Throwing caution to the winds, he removes a section from the paper and sets it down to buffer the spot from his behind. He sits down, stretches his feet and yells out: "Try sitting on your smartphones, suckers!"
In the realm of words, I shall embark, To craft a verse, both bold and stark, Thomas Bulgin, a name that ignites, A tale of length and moist delights.
Free from the chains of structured rhyme, I wander through this realm, sublime, Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so strange, Evoking thoughts that rearrange.
Long, it stretches, like a winding road, Leading us to depths, yet to be bestowed, In syllables, it dances and it plays, A journey we embark, in myriad ways.
Moist, a word that teems with life, A touch of nature, amidst the strife, It whispers of raindrops on tender leaves, Of dew-kissed petals and gentle heaves.
Thomas Bulgin, a phrase so surreal, Unleashing emotions, that time cannot seal, In this short verse, I strive to convey, A glimpse of what these words might say.
So let us ponder, the mystery untold, Of Thomas Bulgin, both long and bold, For in the realm of poetry's sweet embrace, Even the unusual finds its rightful place.
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
