It’s been a while since you’ve laughed, I can FEEL it!
I thought about an age old question: Is giving birth more painful than getting kicked in the nuts? Women always maintain that giving birth is way more painful than a guy getting kicked in the nuts.
Well, after a beer and some heavy deductive thinking, I have come up with the answer to that question. Getting kicked in the nuts is more painful than having a baby; and here is the reason for my conclusion.
A year or so after giving birth, a woman will often say, “It might be nice to have another child.” On the other hand, you never hear a guy say, “You know, I think I would like another kick in the nuts.”
I rest my case.
“I’d like to buy some gloves for my wife,” the young man said, eyeing the attractive salesgirl, “but I don’t know her size.”
“Will this help?” she asked sweetly, placing her hand in his.
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “Her hands are just slightly smaller than yours.”
“Will there be anything else?” the salesgirl queried as she wrapped the gloves.
“Now that you mention it,” he replied, “she also needs some tampons.”
John was on his deathbed and gasped pitifully, “Give me one last request, dear,” he said.
“Of course, John,” his wife said softly.
“Six months after I die,” John said, “I want you to marry Bob.”
“But I thought you hated Bob,” she said.
With this last breath John said, “I do!”
I was arguing with the missus the other day, all I said was “fuck off and die”.
She stormed out and a couple hours later I got a phone call from the police, “We’re sorry to inform you sir but your partner has been found dead, we think she jumped from the bridge”.
Don’t get me wrong it’s sad, but I won that argument and a win’s a win.
A lady is throwing a party for her granddaughter, and had gone all out….. a caterer, band, and a hired clown. Just before the party started, two bums showed up looking for a handout. Feeling sorry for the bums, the woman told them that she would give them a meal if they will help chop some wood for her out back. Gratefully, they headed to the rear of the house.
The guests arrived, and all was going well with the children having a wonderful time. But the clown hadn’t shown up. After a half and hour, the clown finally called to report that he was stuck in traffic, and would probably not make the party at all.
The woman was very disappointed and unsuccessfully tried to entertain the children herself. She happened to look out the window and saw one of the bums doing cartwheels across the lawn. She watched in awe as he swung from tree branches, did mid-air flips, and leaped high in the air.
She spoke to the other bum and said, “What your friend is doing is absolutely marvelous. I have never seen such a thing. Do you think your friend would consider repeating this performance for the children at the party? I would pay him $50!”
The other bum says, “Well, I dunno. Let me ask him. HEY WILLIE! FOR $50, WOULD YOU CHOP OFF ANOTHER TOE?”
I’ve just read that actor Orlando Bloom punched Justin Bieber recently during an argument at a nightclub in Spain. Orlando complained that his hand was pretty sore afterwards.
Apparently, the entire nightclub had lined up to high-five him.
Jerry’s at the urinal in an airport restroom when a guy with no arms sidles up next to him and pleads, “Hey, buddy–can you help me out here?”
Though he feels uneasy, Jerry bravely unzips the man, takes a deep breath, and reaches in to pull out the guy’s penis. Much to his horror, it’s hideous. It’s moldy and bluish green, covered with pus-filled scabs, and it reeks something awful.
Imagining the kudos he’ll get on Judgment Day, Jerry holds the man’s unit while he finishes urinating, shakes it, then puts it back in the man’s pants and zips him up.
The guy tells Jerry, “Thanks, man, I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” says Jerry. “But I gotta ask—What the hell’s wrong with your johnson?”
The guy pokes his arms back out of his sleeves and says, “I don’t know, but I sure as hell ain’t touching it.”
My dog had been ill and after a trip to the vets, I went to the pharmacy for his medicine.
“Fucking hell.” Said the chemist, studying the paper. “Was the vet Chinese or something?”
“Actually, yeah.” I chuckled. “Is it illegible?”
“No, it’s a recipe.”