A blonde is sitting in a rowboat in the middle of a cornfield, rowing like crazy. People drive past wondering what the hell she’s doing, but dismiss it as, “She’s a blonde.” Another blonde drives by and notices the woman in the cornfield. She pulls over and jumps out of her car. “Hey stupid! You know, it’s blondes like you that give blondes like me a bad name. And if I could swim, I’d come out there and kick your ass!”
A piece of rope walks into a bar. (suspend your disbelief here, people.) He sits down and orders a beer. Bartender says, “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t serve rope here.” So the rope leaves, dejected, but decides to try the bar down the street. He walks in and orders a beer. “No, sir. No rope allowed in here,” the next bartender says. So the rope, this time even more disappointed, walks to the third and final bar on that street. Before he goes in, he twists himself up and rubs violently on the ground. Then he strolls in and orders a beer. “Hey, aren’t you a rope?” the bartender asks.
“No, sir. I’m a frayed knot.”
-Syko
“My cat’s breath smells like cat food.” - Ralph Wiggum
A leper gets tickets to a baseball game. Really good seats, right down on the third base line. But as he’s walking down to his seats-- fingers falling off, ears sliding down the side of his head-- he notices the people around him becoming disturbed and shaken. So, out of the goodness of his heart, he goes to find a more secluded seat in the nosebleed section. He spots a seat, but there’s a guy sitting a few chairs down. The leper asks the spectator “Do you mind if I sit here?” The spectator says “Yeah, sure. Enjoy the game.” So the leper sits down to watch the game.
Two innings later, the man in the seat next to the leper starts vomiting uncontrollably. The leper, figuring he’s responsible for this scene, apologizes to the man. “No it’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it,” the man replies, and they go back to the game.
Another few innings go by and the man throws up again. The leper apologizes and gets up to leave. “No, it’s not your fault. Just sit down and watch the fucking game,” the man replies. The leper sits back down, quickly.
The game has almost ended when the man next to the leper starts going into convulsions. The leper stands up and says, “Ok, I’m sorry, I know this is my fault I’m just gonna get out of here.” The man gets ahold of himself and, in a shaky voice, says…
“No, seriously. It’s not your fault! The guy behind you keeps dipping his nachos into your neck!”
Once upon a time there was a man and a woman who had been blissfully married for twenty years. They were the perfect couple, never fighting, always loving, etc.
Except for one thing.
The man, every morning, let out the loudest, nastiest fart ever. We’re talking jets passing overhead and the stench of foulness not generally found outside a Port-o-San.
The woman, every morning, waved her hands in front of her nose and cried out in despair, “Oh God, Honey, that’s awful! One of these days you’re going to fart your guts out!”
So every morning this happened, he farted; she cried that he should see a doctor lest he fart his guts out, he just laughed and they lived happily for twenty years.
Until one morning, when she got up early to prepare the Thanksgiving meal; she was sliding the giblets from the turkey to the bowl when
<ding!> a lightbulb went on.
She snuck upstairs with the giblets in a little bowl, and he was sleeping so soundly that he didn’t even move when she pulled back the waistband of his BVDs and tucked the cold giblets between his warm, sleepy cheeks.
Two hours later, she heard the sounds of him waking up, i.e., the windows rattled from the fart. But then came a scream, and the frantic pitter patter of his feet as he scrambled to the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later he came down to give her her good morning kiss, an expression of contrition on his face.
“What’s wrong, darling? I thought I heard you scream.” She said, smiling with sweet concern.
"Oh baby, my love, my wonderful! All these years of telling me that I’d fart my guts out and you were right! But with God’s help and…
these two fingers …
(gesticulate madly in the air with index and middle finger)
I think I got 'em all back in!"
really, much better when told at a party with pantomime.