Worst Jokes Ever
Why does nobody talk to the letter G?
Because it's always in the middle of awkward!
If y'all gotta crush on me, tell me now before my dad spends my Valentine's money on crack and alcohol.
Why can't orphans be home schooled?
Because they have no parent to home school them.
What did the fish say when he ran into a wall? (Dam!)
Bleach!
Does that dick match that forehead? đź‘€
What do the Twin Towers and genders have in common?
They both used to be straight.
Q: Why do I always see gays in the roundabout?
A: They couldn’t go straight.
Your mama is so fat that when she went to the scale, it said, "No elephants allowed!"
Yo mama so fat that when she went on the scale, it showed her phone number.
What's 2ft long, blue, and stiff and keeps a woman up all night?
Cot death.
Roses are red, Violets are blue, In your presence, my love, Every moment feels new.
Roses are red, Violets are blue, Your laughter's melody, Makes my world anew.
Roses are red, Violets are blue, In your eyes' reflection, My dreams come true.
Oh, the monkeys in the trees, they dance and they play, Their fur so soft, their eyes so bright, they chatter all day. Their tails so long, their hands so fine, they swing and they sway, In the trees, they're the kings of the fray.
Their antics bring joy, their laughter so free, They're a delight to watch, as they jump and they spree. Their mischief is contagious, their fun so true, They're a treasure, a gift to me and you.
Their little hands so deft, their feet so light, They swing through the trees, with grace and might. They're a wonder, a marvel to see, A precious gift, a treasure to me.
In a bowl of golden delight, I savored each bite so bright, The potato salad, oh so fine, Left me feeling oh so divine.
The diced potatoes, oh so neat, In a dressing so cool and sweet, With onions and eggs, a treat, My taste buds did dance and greet.
The mayonnaise, a creamy dream, With mustard's zesty scheme, Together they did blend so well, My senses did take a spell.
The herbs, a fragrant delight, Added flavor with their might, Parsley and dill, a perfect pair, In this salad beyond compare.
So here's to the potato salad, A culinary work of art, That left me full and satisfied, And in my heart, a special part.
Danny's Chromebook, Charger in his eager hands, Power for his world.
Fingers click and type, Words flow with electric grace, Thoughts come to life.
Screen illuminates, Imagination takes flight, Limitless pages.
Infinite knowledge, Unleashed through digital realms, Chromebook charger's might.
Danny's trusted friend, Always ready to connect, Bound by cord and fate.
Together they thrive, Exploring vast horizons, Endless possibilities.
Danny with his Chromebook charger, A duo, unstoppable, Unleashing their dreams.
Fork pierces the flesh. Guided by hunger's demand, Savoury feast waits.
Tines dig deep within, Seeking the sustenance craved, A mealtime delight.
Belly grumbles loud, Yearning for nourishment's touch, Fork answers the call.
Food on the platter, Fork dances with anticipation, To satiate hunger's plea.
Digestion begins, Fork's journey now complete, Nourishing the soul.
Why does the fork go? To bring joy to empty hearts, Satiating needs.
In the stomach's depths, Fork finds purpose and solace, A culinary bond.
With each mealtime tale, The fork carves memories deep, In stomachs it rests.
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.
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.