Swallow Jokes

Why did the emo swallow the alarm clock? So he could wake up inside

Why are orphans so sad?

Because everytime they swallow, they think... you should have mom

A father and his young son go to a restaurant and to keep him occupied, he gives the boy three pennies to play with. Suddenly, the boy starts choking and his face starts turning blue! The father realizes the boy has swallowed the pennies and starts slapping him on the back... The boy coughs up two of the pennies, but keeps choking.

Looking at his son, panicking, the father starts shouting for help.

A well dressed, serious looking woman, in a blue business suit is sitting at a nearby table reading from her laptop and sipping a cup of coffee.

At the sound of the commotion, she looks up, puts her coffee cup down, gets up from her seat and makes her way, unhurried, across the restaurant.

Reaching the boy, the woman carefully drops his pants, takes hold of the boy’s testicles and starts to squeeze and twist, gently at first and then ever so firmly.

After a few seconds the boy convulses violently and coughs up the last penny, which the woman deftly catches in her free hand.

Releasing the boy’s testicles, the woman walks back to her seat at the coffee bar without saying a word, but keeps the penny.

As soon as he is sure that his son has suffered no ill effects, the father rushes over to the woman and starts thanking her saying, “I’ve never seen anybody do anything like that before, it was fantastic. Are you a doctor?”

“No,” the woman replied. “I’m with the Internal Revenue Service.”

I swallowed shampoo it goes blblblblb 🧼

One tonsil said to the other tonsil, “We must be in San Juan Capistrano, here comes another swallow.”

what type of tea is hard to swallow?

reality.

What kind of tea is hard to swallow??

Reality.

If you swallow gum, it will make your poop bouncy

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.

Today was like every other day It was so terribly long and so terribly dreary I fear these feelings will never end I’ll always feel so dark feel so hopeless Sometimes all I want is for it to end For all of it to end for all of my thoughts to end I despise the way that always comes to mind But I feel so lost feel so hopeless If something would just work But nothing has worked Nothing can fix this These feelings will pass. These days won't feel so endless... or so absolutely heavy. Just give it some time. Just give it some hope.... and some belief. The ‘happy pills’ will work. The doctor says they'll help... they'll help it go away. Just dump the pill in your hand. Let yourself place the little white thing on your tongue... Let yourself throw your head back and swallow. It'll make this better. It should make me feel better. Everything has changed! The world is so bright— The world is so loud! I don’t know how I never noticed! The sun is so warm— The grass is so green I feel so awake! I feel so content— I feel so happy! It’s so strange! I’m not anxious— I’m not overthinking! I guess those pills really worked! I think I’m really getting better— I think I’m really going to be happy!

A lady walked into a bar and ordered their special drink, the bartender then gave her a brown glass full of milk, the lady complained about this but then the bartender said, "just shut up and swallow"

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

There's a man crawling through the desert. He'd decided to try his SUV in a little bit of cross-country travel, had great fun zooming over the badlands and through the sand, got lost, hit a big rock, and then he couldn't get it started again. There were no cell phone towers anywhere near, so his cell phone was useless. He had no family, his parents had died a few years before in an auto accident, and his few friends had no idea he was out here. He stayed with the car for a day or so, but his one bottle of water ran out and he was getting thirsty. He thought maybe he knew the direction back, now that he'd paid attention to the sun and thought he'd figured out which way was north, so he decided to start walking. He figured he only had to go about 30 miles or so and he'd be back to the small town he'd gotten gas in last. He thinks about walking at night to avoid the heat and sun, but based upon how dark it actually was the night before, and given that he has no flashlight, he's afraid that he'll break a leg or step on a rattlesnake. So, he puts on some sun block, puts the rest in his pocket for reapplication later, brings an umbrella he'd had in the back of the SUV with him to give him a little shade, pours the windshield wiper fluid into his water bottle in case he gets that desperate, brings his pocket knife in case he finds a cactus that looks like it might have water in it, and heads out in the direction he thinks is right. He walks for the entire day. By the end of the day he's really thirsty. He's been sweating all day, and his lips are starting to crack. He's reapplied the sunblock twice, and tried to stay under the umbrella, but he still feels sunburned. The windshield wiper fluid sloshing in the bottle in his pocket is really getting tempting now. He knows that it's mainly water and some ethanol and coloring, but he also knows that they add some kind of poison to it to keep people from drinking it. He wonders what the poison is, and whether the poison would be worse than dying of thirst. He pushes on, trying to get to that small town before dark. By the end of the day he starts getting worried. He figures he's been walking at least 3 miles an hour, according to his watch for over 10 hours. That means that if his estimate was right that he should be close to the town. But he doesn't recognize any of this. He had to cross a dry creek bed a mile or two back, and he doesn't remember coming through it in the SUV. He figures that maybe he got his direction off just a little and that the dry creek bed was just off to one side of his path. He tells himself that he's close, and that after dark he'll start seeing the town lights over one of these hills, and that'll be all he needs. As it gets dim enough that he starts stumbling over small rocks and things, he finds a spot and sits down to wait for full dark and the town lights. Full dark comes before he knows it. He must have dozed off. He stands back up and turns all the way around. He sees nothing but stars. He wakes up the next morning feeling absolutely lousy. His eyes are gummy and his mouth and nose feel like they're full of sand. He so thirsty that he can't even swallow. He barely got any sleep because it was so cold. He'd forgotten how cold it got at night in the desert and hadn't noticed it the night before because he'd been in his car. He knows the Rule of Threes - three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food - then you die. Some people can make it a little longer, in the best situations. But the desert heat and having to walk and sweat isn't the best situation to be without water. He figures, unless he finds water, this is his last day. He rinses his mouth out with a little of the windshield wiper fluid. He waits a while after spitting that little bit out, to see if his mouth goes numb, or he feels dizzy or something. Has his mouth gone numb? Is it just in his mind? He's not sure. He'll go a little farther, and if he still doesn't find water, he'll try drinking some of the fluid. Then he has to face his next, harder question - which way does he go from here? Does he keep walking the same way he was yesterday (assuming that he still knows which way that is), or does he try a new direction? He has no idea what to do. Looking at the hills and dunes around him, he thinks he knows the direction he was heading before. Just going by a feeling, he points himself somewhat to the left of that, and starts walking. As he walks, the day starts heating up. The desert, too cold just a couple of hours before, soon becomes an oven again. He sweats a little at first, and then stops. He starts getting worried at that - when you stop sweating he knows that means you're in trouble - usually right before heat stroke. He decides that it's time to try the windshield wiper fluid. He can't wait any longer - if he passes out, he's dead. He stops in the shade of a large rock, and takes the bottle.

“BETTER NATE THAN LEVER!!!”