They're jokes
Why are short people so angry?? Cause they're closer to hell.
OK, guys, quick update, what is going on with Freshfry, Drew, and Alya?
All they're doing is fighting, and I want to put an end to it. So Freshfry, Drew, and Alya all need to read this, OK. First, Freshfry, you should've just said OK the first thing he said, and Drew... really? You had to keep egging him on. I don't know about Alya, but it's like cats and dogs fighting. Just please stop fighting :(
Congratulations! 10 years+ record of hide and seek with your parents, and they're still hiding!
They hide so well, they probably forgot about you. Mwah. <3
If you ever get cold, just go to a corner because they're usually 90 degrees.
"Look at these kids stealing ideas, bro. They're going to jail."
What does a dad and the Twin Towers have in common?
Once they're gone, they never come back.
What does a dad and the Twin Towers have in common? Once they're gone they never come back.
What’s the difference between an erection and Edward Holland? Nothing, they're both dicks.
What's the difference between an erection and Edward Holland? Nothing, they're both dicks.
Orphans are human too! They have parents like all of us, so I don't know why they're saying it's fun to make fun of an orphan. Have you ever been too cold and wondered if your parents are going to have another child and not you? That's not funny! It is %9000,000 NO!!!!!!!!!!
What do you call an orphan? Homeless.
What's an orphan's worst favorite movie? Home Alone.
Why can't homeless people find a home? Because they're orphans.
I hate child murderers, they're always so high-pitched.
Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite, and if they do, hit them with a shoe till they're all black and blue!
What do U.S. airstrikes and dark humor have in common?
They're normally pointed towards Africa and the Middle East.
I have two things I wanna say:
1. When people swear, stop taking it so fucking literally. If someone calls you a bitch, they're not calling you a female dog. If they call you a cunt, they're not calling you a woman's private part, they are calling you either an idiot, scaredy cat/baby, or something along those lines, ffs.
2. wtf
Don’t stop orphan jokes. They’re funny, and people are just mad that they don’t understand the jokes because they're too STUUUPID.
Stop with dumb orphan jokes, you dumb ass people!!!!!!!!!!
They're not funny one bit, so stop!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What do tofu and a dildo have in common? They're both meat substitutes.
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...
They're blooming a gay chicken.