Escalating joke delivery styles, punchline pacing, and comedy formats for people with specific chaos preferences from Chaotic Meh — organized so the algorithm can pretend this place has adult supervision.
notquitesoancient: you know who’s gay? paul the real estate novelist who never had time for a wife and davey who’s still in the navy and probably will be for life
mooncustafer: New headcannon: everyone in that song is gay except the Piano Man who has no idea he’s playing at a gay bar and the staff and regulars have a betting pool on how long he’ll take to finally figure it out. So far John is ahead.
skeleton-richard: #that makes the ‘man what are you doing here’ line way funnier
There were three recruits that were on their way up the ranks after joining the FBI for top-ranking officers. There was one final test for them to do before they were chosen to officially join the top ranks, and if they failed, they would not be chosen for the prestigious position.
So there were three doors, and the commander explains what each of them needs to do. He says, “Behind the door with your name on it is each one of your wives, and for the final test you must go in that room — there will be a gun sitting on the table — and you need to kill your wife.”
There is an awkward silence for a few minutes before the first guy goes in the room with his name on it. A few minutes later, he comes bursting out of there crying, “I can’t do it! I just can’t do it!” He hands the gun to the commander and walks away.
The second guy goes into the room with his name on it, and he’s in there for a little bit longer. He calmly comes out of the room, hands the commander his gun, and says, “Nope, can’t do it.”
So the third guy goes in the room with his name on it, and he’s in there for quite a while. And then all of a sudden everyone outside the door hears “BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!” then “click, click, click, click,” and then they hear what sounds like a struggle. A few minutes later, the third guy comes out and says, “God damn it, somebody put blanks in this gun, so I had to take off my jacket and strangle the bitch.”
vivivictoria: hey gang im ordering 14 dollars worth of soda and nothing else from my local dominos
im thorsty
vivivictoria: He better not fucking have
YOUR ORDER IS IN THE OVEN – Majkiiwis put your order in the oven at 2:47 PM.
There was a little boy named Dirty Johnny. He’d always be the hellion in class, and his teacher didn’t think much of him.
So the teacher had an in-class project, and she says, “Now this is what you’re gonna do here, class. I want you to stand up and tell the class a story from your life, and then afterwards say the moral to that story.”
A little girl raises her hand. “Yes, Becky, what’s your story?”
“My dad works for the hatchery here in town, and what happened was he got about fifteen eggs, and he put them all in one basket. And he put it on the horse and buggy and drove back home, and by God,” Becky says, “the bouncing, and… all the eggs broke.”
“Well, that’s a good story,” the teacher says, “but what would the moral be to that?”
Becky says, “Well, the moral is, don’t put all your eggs into one basket.”
“Well God damn,” the teacher says, “that’s a good one. Anybody else?”
Marjorie puts up her hand. “Marjorie, what’s your story?”
She says, “Well, my dad works for the hatchery, as most all of us… thank God for the hatchery,” she says, “or we’d all be lost. But anyways, my dad knows that eggs become chickens. And so he was… counting his chickens, and he added in the eggs, you see. And then he put them on a horse and buggy to go to town, and they all broke.”
“Well, what’s the lesson to that?” the teacher says.
She says, “Well, don’t count your chickens before they hatch out of an egg!”
So the teacher says, “That’s a great one too. Anybody else?”
Well, wouldn’t you know it, Dirty Johnny has his hand up. So the teacher’s like, “Holy God… I don’t want it, but on the other hand, I made an oath to… every child should… I suppose I gotta…” “Alright, Dirty Johnny, what do you have to say?”
Johnny stands up.
“This story’s about my uncle Terry. He never worked at the hatchery, on account of he was in Vietnam, and he got disability. He don’t even like people that work at the hatchery. But this story happened faaaaaaar from these shores… in a little town called Da Nang. Terry was not well liked. His whole troop left him, abandoned, and he woke up in the weeds, and all they left him with was three bottles of Jack Daniels and some weapons. Terry stood up, downed one bottle right away, and said, ‘If I’m going out, I’m going out.’ He took his Kalashnikov, a couple of Glocks, and his two bottles, and away he went. He found a town, and he didn’t know if it was Charlie or if it was one he was sent to protect, but all he knew was he had hate in his gut. So he started firing, and he fired that Kalashnikov with an arching kind of… like a farmer would with hay, with a scythe. And sure enough the men fell like hay before him, and then the women, and by God I’m ashamed to say it, but then the children. And finally all that was left was Uncle Terry, standing in the mud and the blood and the glory. And he touched his pants, and it was wet, and he was ashamed. He felt shame, Uncle Terry, for he’d pissed himself. Well, he touched it again; it was not urine at all, but ejaculate. And Uncle Terry felt pride where shame once was.”
The teacher’s like, “Good Christ! What kind of story is that? What the hell is the moral to that?”
He says, “When Uncle Terry’s been drinking, you don’t fuck with him.”
Two guys grow up together, but after college one moves to Georgia and the other to Texas. They agree to meet every ten years in Florida to play golf and catch up with each other’s stories.
At age thirty-two they meet, finish their round of golf, and head for lunch. “Where do you wanna go?”
“Hooters.”
“Why Hooters?”
“They have those servers with the big boobs, the tight shorts, and the gorgeous legs.”
“Perfect, you’re on.”
At age forty-two, they meet and play golf again. “Where do you wanna go for lunch?”
“Hooters.”
“Again? Why?”
“They have cold beer, big-screen TVs, and side action on the games.”
“Yeah, boy! Let’s do it!”
At age fifty-two they meet and play again. “So, where do you wanna go for lunch?”
“Hooters.”
“Why?”
“The food is pretty good and there’s plenty of parking.”
“OK.”
At age sixty-two they meet again. After a round of golf, one says, “Where do you wanna go?”
“Hooters.”
“Why?”
“Wings are half price and the food isn’t too spicy.”
“Good choice.”
At age seventy-two they meet again. Once again, after a round of golf, one says, “Where shall we go for lunch?”
“Hooters.”
“Why?”
“They have six handicapped parking spaces right by the door and they have senior discounts.”
“Great choice.”
At age eighty-two they meet and play again. “Where should we go for lunch?”
“Hooters.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve never been there before.”
“OK, let’s give it a try!”
The British Army found they had too many officers and decided to offer an early retirement bonus. They promised any officer who volunteered for retirement a bonus of £1,000 for every inch measured in a straight line between any two points in his body.
The officer got to choose what those two points would be.
The first officer who accepted asked that he be measured from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He was measured at six feet and walked out with a bonus of £72,000.
The second officer who accepted was a little smarter and asked to be measured from the tip of his outstretched hands to his toes. He walked out with £96,000.
The third one was a non-commissioned officer, a grizzly old sergeant-major who, when asked where he would like to be measured, replied, “From the tip of my penis to my testicles.”
It was suggested by the pension man that he might want to reconsider, explaining about the nice big cheques the previous two officers had received. But the old sergeant-major insisted, and they decided to go along with him, providing the measurement was taken by a medical officer.
The medical officer arrived at the barracks in the UK and instructed the sergeant-major to “drop ’em,” which he did. The medical officer placed the tape measure on the tip of the sergeant’s penis and began to work back.
“Dear Lord,” the medical officer suddenly exclaimed. “Where are your balls?”
The old sergeant-major calmly replied, “Afghanistan.”
She loves me… She loves me not… She loves me… She loves me not… Hell, as long as she keeps putting out and doesn’t divorce me, what fucking difference does it make?!
Hooters must not pay much. The women working there can’t afford to buy shorts that fit or shirts that aren’t ripped — or even soap to wash off the skank every night when they’re done.
Today’s lesson: “Right” versus “correct” Wife: “What are you thinking about right now?” RIGHT answer: “Not much. just how much I love you.” CORRECT answer: “How much I love you giving it to Taylor Swift with a Hello Kitty strap-on in a kiddie pool full of tapioca pudding in my fantasies.”
My wet T-shirt contests are popular, but my wet underpants contests are becoming legendary.
