What do you call a strong, independent girl in Haryana??............................................................................................................................. Dead
A 60 year old man said his wife called him a paedophile the other day, strong words for a 6 year old
This joke includes potentially sensitive content.
Man we all have the one cool sibling then the strong sibling and then you the one who plays on there iPad on computer all day then when you are on vacation you are doing nothing at all
Terrorist, that’s a little strong. We call them private militaries
Water bottles, strong, Standing tall, like sturdy men, Quenching every thirst.
Clear and transparent, Reflecting strength and resolve, Resilient and pure.
In hand, they offer Refreshing relief, like hugs, Soothing every soul.
Water bottles, like men, Nourish and hydrate our lives, Simple yet vital.
What is 6 inches tall when bricked up and is loved by women? A strong man’s biceps
Steven hawking died because he got hacked by me and the update was to strong.
god: why is the teenager so short angle: I don't know God: I said strong as a bear angle: no you said ass hair god: no I didn't
Russia be like we're strong, gets ass beat up by a comedian with a hook nose...
#i stand with Ukraine 🇺🇦
Coffee has bean the grounds of many a heated and strong discussion
Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A man with a spirit untamed, untold. With eyes that pierce through the darkest night, He walks a path that's far from light.
His steps are loud, his presence strong, A force of nature, where he belongs. Through the chaos, he finds his way, Leaving footprints that never fade.
A rebel soul, unafraid to speak, His words drip with passion, so unique. He dances with danger, embraces the unknown, Challenging limits, into the wild he's thrown.
No rules can bind him, no walls can contain, Frank Bulgin sets fire to the mundane. He paints the sky with vibrant hues, A kaleidoscope of dreams he pursues.
In his mind, a symphony of thoughts, An artist's palette, where inspiration is sought. He weaves words like a masterful bard, Creating tapestries that leave us marred.
With each verse, he unravels his soul, Unveiling the depths that make him whole. His poetry, a window to his essence, A glimpse into a world of fearless presence.
Frank Bulgin is freaky bold, A maverick, a legend yet to be told. His spirit roams, forever untamed, A beacon of courage, never to be tamed.
my pen is so strong ladies come and get it??????????????????
(found on web) There was an American wrestler from Texas named John, who throughout his high school career had never lost a match. As he went on into college he continued undefeated. He became a national icon and symbol of American strength.
News began to circulate of a Russian wrestler who was fierce and unstoppable. As each wrestlers legends grew, a match was set up between the two, America versus Russia. The match would be held in Texas.
John began training immediately. Every day his coach would tell him, “This Russian has a move called the Mongolian Death Grip. No one has ever escaped the Mongolian Death Grip. DO NOT let him get you in the Mongolian Death Grip”
The day of the match finally came. Just before each wrestler stepped onto the mat in front of the capacity crowd, the coach once again said, “Whatever you do, do not let him get you in the Mongolian death grip. No one has ever escaped the Mongolian death grip”.
Four seconds into the match, the Russian had the American in the Mongolian death grip. The coach buried his face into his hands and cursed John for not listening to his advice. All of the sudden he heard the crowd irrupt in a chant of USA USA USA. He looked up and saw the Russian pinned by John. The coach ran out to meet John and embarrassingly told him, “I didn’t see... Once he had you in the Mongolian Death Grip I looked away. How in the world did you get out of the Mongolian death grip?”
With heavy breath, John told him “Well coach, that Russian grabbed me and twisted my body in ways I never imagined possible. I was wincing in pain when I open my eyes and right in front of me were two testicles. So I bit them.”
“What???” Said the coach... “John I don’t think that is legal. You could be disqualified”
“I don’t know about that coach. But I can tell you one thing. You ain’t got no idea how strong you are until you bite your own balls”
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.
