Wade. You're a joke. The worst joke.
Hoped this would be a safer, more fun place to talk to my BP friends, but I guess not. I've also learned that some people think "worst jokes ever" = "terrible unfunny jokes that make light of people who died horribly or otherwise suffered" instead of things like "why did the chicken cross the road?"-type jokes.
Maybe I'm just too old at this point.
The best thing about an orphan they don’t have to suffer from your mama jokes
Symptoms of Schizophrenia The symptoms of this condition are fairly easy to recognize, because they stand out so distinctly from a person’s usual behavior. In order for a diagnosis to be made, the person must suffer from two more of the following for at least one month:
Delusions Hallucinations
How do you know you are blessed by God?
You don’t laugh at, make light of, or enjoy the evils and suffering people are inflicting on themselves and upon each other
A famous celebrity admitted that she was non-straight, suffered from a rare condition that changed the colour of her skin, did not age well, only wanted to be compensated for her work in the 5th month of each year at her favourite store while laying down: TO GET FAYE'S WAY, PAY GRAY, GRAY, GAY FAYE WRAY IN MAY AND LAY HER DOWN AT "THE BAY".OK!!!
Sy’kyira (😌): I can’t wait for the therapist to come.
Daina (😊): Same, 30 minutes have passed ... I also wonder what that loud sound is.
Sy’kyira (😅): SAME !!! What does it sound like a woman suffering ???
Daina (😌): I know, right?
You wanna know why I love trains?
They end my suffering.
Why are emo jokes so infamous?
They cut deep.
Why isn’t the Moon Emo anymore?
Turns out it was just a phase.
How many emos like anagrams?
Some.
What do you call those who remain My Chemical Romance fans?
Emold.
What is the connection between Emos and Darth Vader?
They both dress in all black and none of them has a father.
What do you call flat-chested emo?
A cutting board.
How many emo kids does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Who cares, let them cry in the dark.
Why did the emo kid leave the food on the table?
It was the Happy Meal.
Anthony went into the bakery and ordered Emo Cake.
“Emo cake?” says the baker. ” What exactly is it?”
Anthony says, “It’s the cake that cuts itself.”
How do you pull an emo from a tree?
Cut the rope.
What’s the similarity between emos and unsalted popcorn?
They’re both white and flavourless.
What do emo birds call their mouths?
Bleaks.
What do you call an obese emo teen?
An edgelard.
Recommended: Fat Jokes
What do you call a gang of emo kids?
Suicide Squad.
How are cats and emos different from one another?
The cat still has 8 other lives.
Why does emo get tattoos of fruits on their arms?
They are playing Fruit Ninja.
What will you call Sonic if he’s an emo?
Sonic the Edgy hog.
Why would the emo swallow a clock?
So he could wake up inside.
Why are Emos still around?
Because the suffering never ends.
What is the best way to get an emo off your balcony?
You encourage them.
What kind of bath bomb does an Emo prefer?
A toaster.
What is the favourite game of an emo?
Hangman.
Why do people wish their lawn grass was emo?
So it could cut itself.
A group of friends started an emo salsa band.
They call themselves HisPanic at the Disco.
What is the difference between pizza and emo pizza?
Emo pizza kind of cuts itself.
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because the chicken had 4 chicks and a cheating hen who all sucked out all his money he got from his extremely boring job, and he finally got some peace for himself and was going to the local bar, which was on the other side of the road. He walked in the door, wings sagging, feathers catching on his claws. The bartender eyes him as he sits on a bar stool. "Chuck, how ya doin'? The missus doin' good?" "Just give me the hardest stuff you got. I'm done." This caught the bartender by surprise. "Chuck, come on, don't be sayin' that. Just look to the future and you'll be fine." "What future?" Chuck replied in a huff. "My wife and chicks are so goddamn pestering sometimes, you know? But if I leave, they'll all suffer, and I don't want that either. Oh, God, Phil, I don't know what to do." "You know, you've got a good heart for a rooster your age," Phil answered. "We need that in these parts. I'm tellin' ya, there will be more than what's happenin' right now, ya know, life's got all its gears turning for ya, and there's just a bit slow right now. The gears haven't been oiled in a while, but who's the only one who can fix that?" Chuck knew the answer. "Me." Phil returned with his drink. "McClucken's Whiskey, on the house." Chuck glanced at his glass. He held it up to the light. His face reflected in an aura around it, neither looking forward to the light and not backward, either. "No thanks, Phil," Chuck sighed, "But thanks anyways." He went to get up out of his chair. Phil called as he walked out the door, "Just remember to oil the gears every now and then, eh?" Chuck's comb flapped in a cool breeze brought in by the season. A bench was nearby, staring across to the other side. And he just sat there, sat there thinking. Cars blurred to a colorfully colorless nothingness as he thought in silence. He could see an open window in his mind, full of chickens: a sassy hen, two identical sportish chick; another, older than the two, and body bristling with blue comb-dye and the latest thing he watched online fresh on his Chickstagram page; finally, the first of the bunch, shy, bookish, with a secretly courageous soul. They all looked... worried, worried for the rooster who guided them, helped them grow, supported them... and all looking out of the window back at him. A single tear welled in Chuck's eye. The chicken walked back across the road to his family, to his friends, and to the life he was content with.
A politician dies So a politician dies and ends up standing in front of the pearly gates. Saint Peter looks at him for a second, flicks through his book, and finds his name.
"So, you're a politician..." "Well, yes, is that a problem?" "Oh no, no problem. But we've recently adopted a new system for people in your line of work, and unfortunately, you will have to spend a day in Hell. After that, however, you're free to choose where you want to spend eternity!"
"Wait, I have to spend a day in Hell??" says the politician. "Them's the rules," Says St Peter, clicks his fingers, and WOOMPH, the guy disappears...
And awakes, curled up with his hands over his eyes, knowing he's in Hell. Cautiously, he listens for the screams, sniffs the air for brimstone, and finds... Nothing. Just the smell of, is that fabric softener? And cut grass, this can't be, right?
"Open your eyes!" says a voice. "C'mon, wakey, we've only got 24 hours!". Nervously, he uncovers his eyes, looks around, and sees he's in a hotel room. A nice one too. Wait, this is a penthouse suite... And there's a smiling man in a suit, holding a martini. "Who are you??" The politician asks. "Well, I'm Satan!" says the man, handing him the drink and helping him to his feet. "Welcome to Hell!" "Wait, this is Hell? But... Where are all the pain and suffering?" he asks. Satan throws him a wink. "Oh, we've been a bit misrepresented over the years, it's a long story. Anyway, this is your room! The minibar is, of course, free, as is the room service, there are extra towels next to the hot tub, and if you need anything, just call reception. But enough of this! It's a beautiful day, and if you'd care to look outside..." Slightly stunned by the opulent surroundings, the man wanders over to the floor-to-ceiling windows through which the sun is glowing, looks far down, and sees a group of people cheering and waving at him from a golf course. "It's one of 5 pro-level courses on-site, and there's another 6 just a few minutes drive out past the beach and harbor!" says Satan, answering his unasked question. So they head down in the lift and walk out through the glittering lobby where everyone waves and welcomes the man, as Satan signs autographs and cheerily talks shop with the laughing staff. And as he walks out, he sees the group on the golf course is made up of every one of his old friends, people he's admired for years but never met or worked with, and people whose work he's admired but died long before his career started. And out of the middle of this group walks his wife, with a massive smile and the body she had when she was 20, who throws her arms around him and plants a delicate kiss on his cheek. Everyone cheers and applauds, and as they slap him on the back and trade jokes, his worst enemy arrives, as a 2-foot-tall goblin-esque caddy. He spends the day in the bright sunshine on the course, having the time of his life laughing at jokes and carrying on important discussions, putting the world to rights with his friends while holding his delighted wife next to him as she gazes lovingly at him. Later, they return to the hotel for dinner and have an enormous meal, perfectly cooked, which descends into a food fight when someone accidentally throws a bread roll at the next table (where Gandhi is having a game of truth-or-dare with Marylin Monroe). As everyone is falling about laughing and flinging breadsticks at each other, his wife whispers in his ear... And they return to their penthouse suite and spend the rest of the night making love as they did on their honeymoon. After 6 hours of intense passion, the man falls deep into the 100% Egyptian cotton pillows and falls into a deep and happy sleep...
And is woken up by St Peter. "So, that was Hell. Wasn't what you were expecting, I bet?" "No sir!" says the man. "So then," says St Peter "you can make your choice. It's Hell, which you saw, or Heaven, which has choral singing, talking to God, white robes, and so on". "Well... I know this sounds strange, but on balance, I think I'd prefer Hell," says the politician. "Not a problem, we totally understand! Enjoy!" Says St Peter, and clicks his fingers again.
The man wakes up in total darkness, the stench of ammonia filling the air and distant screams the only noise. As he adjusts, he can see the only light is from belches of flame far away, illuminating the ragged remains of people being tortured or burning in a sulfurous ocean. A sudden bolt of lightning reveals Satan next to him, wearing the same suit as before and grinning, holding a soldering iron in one hand and a coil of razor wire in the other. "What's this??" He cries. "Where's the hotel?? Where's my wife??? Where's the minibar, the golf courses, the pool, the restaurant, the free drinks, and the sunshine???"
"Ah", says Satan. "You see, yesterday, we were campaigning. But today, you voted..."
