REALLY bad jokes

[Tipiman]

It was a big day in Heaven last week. When Farrah Fawcett appeared before St. Peter for admission, St Peter welcomed her. He said that because she had helped to ease things for those in a similar situation by courageously sharing her pain and struggles with the cancer that eventually took her life, she was to be granted one special wish before being admitted. She could wish for anything she wanted.

She thought for a few minutes and said, "I want all of the children in the world to be safe."

Not ten minutes later, Michael Jackson showed up.

[Eyreplenh]

Yo momma so fat, when they cremated her they had to shut down the entire european airspace!

[Vivacia]

Your momma is so fat, her patronus is a cake!

[Corvus Corax]

hammer time.jpg


An english cartoon by Jeroom.

Bad enough for this thread?

[gelflingjen]

Two muffins were in the oven.
One muffin turns to the other and says, 'whew! Hot in here, eh?'
The other muffin says, 'AHHHHH! TALKING MUFFIN!!!'

~falls to the floor, wiping tear.

ah. crack myself up

[Eyreplenh]

This is from an icelander called Dagsson. The book it's from is fittingly called "Should you be laughing at this!?" and this is my favourite of the lot. It is so wrong, but I cannot stop laughing

[Buck]

Reading my daily horoscope:

Capricorn
You're a Sagittarius


/rimshot

[SonoftheSands]

During a radio interview the host brings up his Swedish guest's past achievements as a fighter pilot.
"So Admiral, I understand you were an Ace fighter pilot during World War II"
The Admiral replies, "Ya Sure, Dis is true, I shot down 9 of those Fokkers"
The Host says, "At this point I think we should inform our listening audience that a "Fokker" is a type of German airplane used during the war."
The Admiral states, "Oh ya sure, I know what type of airplanes those Germans were flying, those Fokkers were flying Messerschmitts!"

[Eyreplenh]

Due to the near pangyric reception of the last one, I bring you yet another Hugleikur Dagsson classic

[Eyreplenh]

From http://www.explosm.net

[Eyreplenh]

This time I bring you, not so much a joke per se, as much as a story. It's bad though, REALLY bad.



Let me ask you, bold reader, what do you know of flatulence?



Haven't turned away yet? Bold indeed.


I eat oatmeal for breakfast; oatmeal, nuts and fruits. This keeps me sated for a long time, it's healthy and I've actually come to enjoy both the taste and the sometimes challenging texture. It's only one problem with it, and that is that it sets some things in motion in my stomach, something that really speeds up when I add some more food, usually the bread I eat for lunch. Before this second meal is added, nothing special can be detected, but once that innocent slice of bread with jam hits my intestines. Wow, it's like a factory! This is why I, after my lunch, every day, leaves the library and go down, ever deeper and down, into the weird and obscure halls and basements of the university, until I reach the lone and withdrawn toilet that few other people use, and where few other people ever go by to witness the unholy sounds. It could have been quite a bother, but it's actually quite good to stretch the legs a bit at this point of the day. Weird, huh? But not really a story, certainly not the story. If this prelude has yet to turn you away, read on.



A few months short of two years ago, I and WG went on a trip. We'd met in spring that year, and in august we were going up in the mountains, where her mother was hosting a yoga/pilates/wellness/whatever gathering. We were going to help out, take care of WGs little brother and enjoy the mountains. The food at this place was mainly vegan, lots of beans, tofu, greens and fruits. Also, the huts we lived in had sturdy outer walls to deal with the wind and the cold, but the walls and doors inside were more or less like paper. Not ideal when you're feeling windy It wasn't really a problem though, as we were a lot outside walking and gathering berries and playing around, so that I was able to alleviate the growing pressures with gentle and controlled ventilations, always careful to calculate wind direction and level of noise. The last day, however, was a bit different. We started the day with a big and delicious vegan omelet, before we went around inside and helped sort equipment and roll yoga mats. Not much chance to vent there, no sir. I couldn't find a toilet with any indication whatsoever that it wouldn't transport every sound I might make out to everyone else present, opted to keep it all in, in the belief that an opportunity would present itself.

A bit later, we was going to drive home to WGs mom, where we were spending a couple of days. The drive was bumpy, very bumpy, and I had to use all my focus not to let it rip. Needless to say, the small car offered no opportunities to alleviate, and I had to use almost all my focus to holding my body under control. My forehead became sweaty and I had to answer short and distracted to the questions WGs mother aimed at me. All better than being Mr Fart, I thought. After about an hour or so, with sounds coming from my stomach that no organic being should make -ever- we reached what I thought would be a haven, a gas station. WGs brother wanted an ice-cream and seemingly, everyone was heading inside. I called out that I didn't really want one and was looking forward to staying out in the sun and the breeze that would carry my sins away, when the mother turned around and stated that I was right, and that she shouldn't pollute this weekend now with some unhealthy ice, and then she came to stand next to me. No relief!

The trip went on, and my condition rapidly grew worse. At this point, almost every muscle in my body was somehow involved in containing myself, legs and arms were clenched, my knuckles where white around the window handle and I thought my sweating had to be visible, and my stomach growling seemed to drown out every other sound. Most questions I answered with a pained "huh", and I both longed for and dreaded the end of the drive. WGs mother, you see, live in quite a small apartment. At this point, a small, controlled ventilation was no longer an option, I dared not ease a muscle, because I knew what and how and how much would escape would be beyond my control.

Just when I was about to give up, to break down and let out, after a couple of particularly challenging curves that forced me to change the lock of my thighs and buttocks, miraculously without a disaster hope blossomed. The little brother was getting hungry and grumpy, and with an hour still to go, the mother decided we should get him, at least some food. It was a meager hope that something would turn up, but it was something. The only thing we were going to pass was a McDonalds, and my hopes where shut down as the mother set sail for the drive in. Damn! We got our kiddie menu, and where almost out of the parking space when the little kid breaks down in crying. He's been given a girl toy with his menu! The mother is a little weighing her options of turning around or dealing with a potentially grumpy kid the next hour. I pull desperately on my strand of hope, and volunteer to run in and swap it. Agreed. I manage to extract myself from the car and walk somewhat normally towards the McDonald's. Never, and I mean never, has a man been so curious as to what manner of facilities a provincial Mickey D would provide for it's customers. What I saw, made me cry.

It made me cry small tears of gratitude. There, down the end of a long hall, secluded, was a singular toilet, with solid stone walling and a sturdy door that even was listed with silicone and otherwise sound-proofed. I rushed in and shook uncontrollably as I was getting my pants down. All toilet urges, it is know, increases rapidly once the toilet is nearby. I had no room for such an increase in pressure.

I wont go into details as to what I exposed that glorious toilet to, suffice to say I had to hold on to the handles not to become the first ever personal gas-powered flying man. After some time I made my way out, was careful not to look at anyone, and was able to swap the toy.

That is why, even though I despise McDonald's on a lot of levels, I will remember that toilet fondly for the rest of my days.

I'm sorry you had to read this.

[Eyreplenh]

[Eyreplenh]

Blatantly inapproproate, of course, but I blurted out a laugh. Maybe someone else will as well.
420176_10150669033612363_650777362_11389073_657741625_n.jpg

[Eyreplenh]

4_abortion.png

www.explosm.net

[Eyreplenh]

So, don't blame me for this one. I got it from the Nerdist podcast, that someone mentioned (Jennifer? Arawis? I couldn't find the post) and that I quite enjoy -thank you very much. Now;

Why did Michael Jackson hold the baby over the balcony?

It wouldn't finish it's plate of cum.

I'm... sorry. But I laughed my ass off.