Your momma’s so ugly, the government moved Halloween to her birthday.
Your momma is so fat, I took a picture of her last Christmas and it’s still printing.
Your mamma is so fat she doesn’t need the internet, because she’s already world wide.
A lady comes home from her doctor’s appointment grinning from ear to ear. Her husband asks, “Why are you so happy?”
The wife says, “The doctor told me that for a forty-five year old woman, I have the breasts of a eighteen year old.”
“Oh yeah?” quipped her husband, “What did he say about your forty-five year old ass?”
She said, “Your name never came up.”
It’s that time. Suffer.
Two vultures board an airplane, each carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess looks at them and says, “I’m sorry, gentlemen, only one carrion allowed per passenger.”
Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, but when they lit a fire in the craft, it sank, proving once again that you can’t have your kayak and heat it, too.
Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him a super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.
Some humor after a poet/playwright of some years past. Bonus points if you can identify the person.
A most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality.
His wit’s as thick as a Tewkesbury mustard.
I’ll beat thee, but I would infect my hands.
More of your conversation would infect my brain.
Thine face is not worth sunburning.
Regarding a letter:
By my life, this is my lady’s hand these be her
very C’s, her U’s and her T’s and thus makes she her
Via Heatstreet (the article in front of this bit, on a separate matter, is worth the read, too: if it doesn’t angrify you, it’ll amuse you terribly).
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I don’t ordinarily go to People magazine for material, but I was sent here by Fox News Insider, and this tale is just too amusing to ignore.
[D]esigner Sophie Theallet has flipped the script on those ubiquitous calls to boycott, announcing that instead it is she and her brand who will be boycotting Trump and his wife, Melania, refusing to lend her any of her designs.
A source tells People, “This has already been going on for months. Designers wouldn’t lend to Melania, Ivanka, or Tiffany, so they either bought the items themselves or wore Ivanka’s brand.”
Some post-election humor….
On a recent retirement:
John Pistole, TSA Administrator, at his retirement party: his employees toasted him with less than three ounces of champagne. Then they gave him a gold watch, and he had to take it off and put it in a bin.
If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?
A couple of NSA pick-up lines:
Did you fall from heaven? Because there’s no tracking data on how you arrived at this location.
I know exactly where you have been all my life.
On computer viruses:
…of the Obama recovery and the campaign season to see who should replace him, it’s time for some economist jokes. Live with it.
“Give me a one-handed economist,” demanded a frustrated American president. “All my economists say, ‘on the one hand…on the other'”.
A physicist, a chemist and an economist are stranded on an island, with nothing to eat. A can of soup washes ashore. The physicist says, “Lets smash the can open with a rock.” The chemist says, “Let’s build a fire and heat the can first.” The economist says, “Let’s assume that we have a can-opener….”
…once again, to harass you with my sense of humor. Enjoy. Or suffer.
A librarian is working away at her desk when she notices that a chicken has come into the library and is patiently waiting in front of the desk. When the chicken sees that it has the librarian’s attention, it squawks, “Book, book, book, BOOK!”
The librarian complies, putting a couple of books down in front of the chicken. The chicken quickly grabs them and disappears.
The next day, the librarian is again disturbed by the same chicken, who puts the previous day’s pile of books down on the desk and again squawks, “Book, book, book, BOOK!”