Knock knock.

Who’s there?

To.

To who?

No. To whom.

(This one is my favorite)

Did you here about the woman who had breast surgery? It went horribly wrong and she ended up having sticks and wood stuck in them. Yikes.

Yeah. It would be great if this joke had a punchline, wooden tit.

How did Harry Potter get down the hill?

Walking.

J.K. Rowling.

(I found this one on a website full of motivational quotes which in of itself makes me laugh)

Knowledge is power.

Power corrupts.

Study hard. Be evil.

(Courtesy of Siri - this has two answers)

Why did the teddy bear turn down the cake?

A: he couldn’t bear it. (My brother came up with this answer)

B: he was stuffed.

What do you call a fruity telephone?

The Jelly. (In Britain they call the telephone a Telly)

What do you make in teapot that cares about its looks?

Vani-tea.

You aren’t born with a photographic memory.

You have to develop it.

Why did the burger cross the road?

To get to the other slider.

Hope I brightened someone’s day with these!

https://www.reddit.com/r/formula1/comments/bnaceq/if_you_could_eliminate_a_race_within_the_year/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app

Hopefully this makes you laugh as hard as it did me. Sending love ❤️

A few jokes, for good measure:

What did the pirate say on his birthday? Aye matey!

What did Snow White day when she sat on Pinocchio’s face? LIE TO ME!

Mickeys therapist sits across from him and says,” i understand you’re upset, but i don’t see how Minnie is insane.”

He says, “i didn’t say she was insane, i said she was FUCKING GOOFY!”

What did Cinderella do when she got to the ball? Gagged.

Woody and buzz were extremely confused when they met Andy’s mom’s toys, who also go by Woody and Buzz.

I haven’t lived at home with my mom in over 30 years. I’ve been married 28 years, I am the mother of an adult child…and yet I still call my mother when I get home from being out somewhere. It’s a small thing that will save her a sleepless night imagining all the ways I might be dead.

It’s not unusual for me to receive a frantic call about an accident on a highway I may have driven once – “Honey, I heard there was an accident on Route 9. I know you drive that way sometimes…Are you okay?”

“Um, yes, mom. I’m at work.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, darling. Talk to you later!”

Or perhaps a tornado touched down in a town…in a nearby state.

“Honey, they just said on the news that a tornado touched down in Pennsylvania. You’re not going out, right?”

“No, we’re in for the evening. We’re fine, though. I think it was 500 miles from here….”

And forget if I am taking her out somewhere and she’s waiting for me to pick her up. I can never be late lest I arrive to find her in a heap, weeping at the foot of a police officer painstakingly explaining that her daughter is late and must be lying dead in a car wreck somewhere. Every Single Time I arrive at her home she says, “Thank God! I was worried something happened to you.”

All this to say, it should come as no surprise that I have inherited the morbidly active, fear-inducing breath-constricting imagination of my mother. Indeed, I suspect mine is her imagination to the tenth power. She should be calm and worry-free for her child, me, is a docile, security-seeking, rule following being who will almost always choose the safe avenue and eschew the dangerous side streets. I drive the speed limit and stay in the right lane. I am not inclined to seek adventure. Danger gives me hives.

I, however, gave birth to the wide-eyed, curious child who refused to walk until he could run full speed downhill into traffic. This child became the young man who jumped out of planes repeatedly – once was not enough – in order to obtain his skydiving license; who went to Thailand to swim with whale sharks while getting his scuba license; who, when his dad said, Let’s go trekking, went online to buy plane tickets to Nepal.

They went to Nepal. They called me from Mt. Everest to ask me to Google what was the worst thing that could happen if you got altitude sickness (you DIE), because their guide had it and they were trying to decide if they should continue WITHOUT him to their final destination (Everest Base Camp) despite EVERYONE’S warning that that was not a good idea in any way. Is it at all surprising that when I did not hear from them after that, and my calls went straight to voice mail the next day…and the day after that…and the day after that…that I KNEW they had decided to continue, that they had gotten lost, that they had gotten altitude sickness, that one or both of them had fallen off a cliff and was lying somewhere dead and unreachable while the other suffered alive, cold, full of guilt and wondering how in the world he would tell me the other was dead? (Spoiler alert: They did not die.)

On day four, I dialed their number every half an hour and listened to the operator tell me they could not be reached. (I screamed and cried, knowing they were unreachable because they were freezing to death lying under 20 feet of snow due to an avalanche.) At 5 am, it finally rang. My husband picked up. I burst into tears. The phone, he said, had frozen. But they were fine now. They had climbed up and down, had the best beer of their lives at the bottom and my son was unavailable because he was getting a massage. I accused him of lying and hiding the truth that my son was unconscious or dead. He assured me he was fine and promised to have him call after his massage.

What an adventure we had, he said. He had tried to convince my son that they should give up and try again another time, but he lost that argument. (Not sure how hard he tried to win it.) They left the guide behind and continued their ascent. They walked 12-14 hours a day because they had a plane to catch (they hadn’t scheduled enough days to actually make the journey in a normal time frame). They started leaving baggage behind at different inns in an effort to make the going easier…as they both got a touch of altitude sickness (my son in the head, my husband in the lungs.) Oh, but it was so exciting to see snow leopard prints although they never saw the actual leopard (THANK GOD) and it was so coolwhen they were eyed by some mountain goat-like creature that, judging from the picture they took, wondered exactly why they were on his mountain.

And why was the goat confused? Because they had made their own path away from the Everest Base Camp path to some other mountain. So…they scaled the side of the mountain (ROPES? WHAT ROPES??!!) to get back to the right path they could see…across the abyss. Eventually, they reached Everest Base Camp. And passed it by, thinking it couldn’t possibly be it. Too mundane. Must be that place up there. (Base Camp 1). Note: Most climbers spend 4-8 WEEKS at Everest Base Camp (at 17,598 feet) to acclimatize to the altitude. Base Camp 1 is at 19,000 feet.

You can’t be here! Some employee screeched at them. Clearly, they did not belong: You need a reservation, a license, oxygen, tents, food…once you get that high. More likely than not you also have a GUIDE, a group, a Sherpa. My son and my husband had the clothes on their backs and each other. I’m sure the employee thought they were out of their minds. (Don’t you? I did.) You must go back! He screamed. They rested a few minutes so my husband could try to breathe and then they started the eternal descent. Since my son’s head was exploding, they had to walk down some 10 hours until his head stopped throbbing.

They didn’t die, but they did do so many of the things I had imagined. Is it any wonder I always presume the worst?

All of the above is merely backstory. What you need to know before reading the real story.

My son competes in Ironmen competitions. He has completed one full event at Lake Placid, New York (2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike, and a 26.2-mile run). Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is a marathon after a 112-mile bike. And a 2.4-mile swim. He has completed five half Ironman competitions (1.2 mile-swim, 56-mile bike, and a 13.1-mile run).

I, like you, think he is leaning towards nuts, but I do find it motivating to see so many people, some as old as 75, challenging themselves to do something that is physically and mentally very difficult. It is a great achievement and though I often start the race thinking, oh, maybe I could do this, I always end up with, but why would I deliberately force myself to endure so much pain? My 5K at the gym three times a week is plenty hard.

So, this past weekend, my husband and I went to see my son participate in a half Ironman competition in Connecticut. He had done this particular course before and had done a lot of training and other events in the meantime, so he expected to see significant improvement from his performance a year earlier.

The day started with heavy fog. You couldn’t see more than 50 meters in the water. First, they delayed the start. Then they shortened the swim and delayed the start again to give the officials time to remake the swim course. This was exciting because it meant he could swim full out for 750 meters, get a fast time and start the bike less tired than normal. It was great.

His transition time was one of his best and then he was off on the bike. We used the tracking device on our phone to keep abreast of his progress while we had breakfast. It stopped tracking him at mile 29. When we thought he should be finishing within half an hour or so, we went to the bike finish to await his arrival.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

My husband started getting nervous. “He should be here.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “Perhaps he had more difficulty on the climbs than he anticipated.”

We waited.

My husband went to the event officials and asked if his bike was back in transition, just in case we had missed him returning.

Nope. And his running shoes were there, waiting for him. “Just go watch the race. He’ll show up,” the less than sympathetic man said.

After some 2 hours pass the time we expected him, my husband had questioned the officials again (they radioed others along the route and no one had any news about bib 313), the on-site police officers, firemen and medical representatives. No reports about bib 313.

We figured, if he had fallen or had a flat tire, someone would have noticed. Therefore, he must be in a port-a-potty, sick, unconscious and alone with no one aware of his dilemma. Alternatively, he had lost control near the lake we had seen on our drive across the bike course the previous day, and fallen in, unable to do anything to help himself because his shoes were clipped into the bike. Or, he lost control and skidded into nearby woods, crashed into a tree knocking himself unconscious and was laying, bleeding somewhere where no one could see him.

I stood alone trying desperately to remain calm and not cry, while watching the crowd dwindle as rider after rider rolled in.

My husband ran around the park trying to get someone to look for our son or tell us what might have happened.

Had he been able to ask the returning athletes, however, they would have said, oh yeah, I saw him. That’s the guy RUNNING WITH HIS BIKE.

What?

Well, it turns out near mile 28, he got what he thought was a flat tire. but when he went to change the inner tube, he realized it was a damaged tire, not the inner tube. He rode on the flat to the aid station.

“Do you have a tire? he asked.

“No,” they said.

“Can I leave the bike here and just run?” he asked.

“No,” they said. “You have to keep the bike with you.”

“Can I run with the bike,” he asked.

“I guess so,” they said.

And so he started to run. Barefoot. With his bicycle.

Some riders offered him food and drink as they passed by. He just asked that if they saw bike tech, let them know he needed help.

One guy offered him socks since his, by that time, were all torn up.

He stopped at two more aid stations for hydration – no bike tech to be found – and kept running.

A spectator saw him running and called his wife who was a few miles up the course and asked her to bring out a pair of running shoes for a guy who was running barefoot with his bike.

She did.

That was mile 46.

At mile 50, after running 22 miles, he found bike tech. They had a tire. They replaced his (took the Good Samaritan’s running shoes) and he biked the last six miles. He came in smiling at me. I have never been so happy to see that smile.

Then, he sped through transition, put on his running shoes, and ran the 13.1 mile run course.

With blisters the size of walnuts on his feet.

He finished the competition in 7 hours and 23 minutes. Two and a half hours longer than he anticipated…but really, in the grand scheme of things, he can’t complain. He finished.

When my husband and I were on the shuttle going to get the car from a nearby lot (we left our son laying splayed on the grass at the side of the road, exhausted), all the participants were talking about this inspiring athlete they saw running with his bike on the bike course. He really motivated me, so many of them said. My husband and I held hands and smiled at each other, tears in our eyes.

The slogan of Ironman is “Anything is possible.” I often think my son lives that phrase (frequently to my chagrin, it’s true.)

In a recent blog post, he wrote: “My love [of Ironman] stems from my desire to push myself both physically and mentally, to prove to myself and those around me that limits do not exist, that impossible is just an excuse, and that we can achieve great things, the greatest things, if only we have the courage to find our fire, burn off the cold and light up the dark.”

May you all have the courage to find your personal fire and let it burn bright!

Teacher: Hey what do you call a cow jumping a barbed wire fence?

Also Teacher: Utter destruction.

Teacher: "Kids, what does the chicken give you?"

Student: "Meat!"

Teacher: "Very good! Now what does the pig give you?"

Student: "Bacon!"

Teacher: "Great! And what does the fat cow give you?"

Student: "Homework!"

Mom: Hey, honey how was school today?

Son: Great there was a kidnapping at school.

Mom: What? Is he ok?

Son: Oh he was fine he woke up five minutes later.

ha ha ha I am very funny .

How do we commemorate the death of a lab rat?

By observing a moment of science!

When I was about 8 or 9, during a summer in Elverson, Pennsylvania, my mother and I were living in a three-bedroom house deep in the woods. The curved driveway was shared by two other homes: one small house at one end with stone frog statues that I first assumed were naked ladies and one house in the middle with a fenced in area for their horses.

The second house also housed two white cats and an old golden retriever who dragged his ass every chance he got. The heart of this story started with one of the cats who wondered over to our place from time to time.

One day, playing outside with turquoise shorts on, I noticed that the cat had something in its mouth. Out of of curiosity, I walked closer. Although the cat’s back was to me, I could still see that in its mouth was a chipmunk. My immediate response was ‘Oh that poor chipmunk’, especially when the cat momentarily dropped the chipmunk to the ground.

But! As it turns out, the chipmunk was not dead. In fact, it had enough life in him to run around the cat, towards me, up my left leg, and into the back of my shorts. At the time, the show America’s Funniest Home Videos was very popular. So, having active imagination, I wondered where the camera was—though we didn’t own one.

Yes, I was worried about about the chipmunk biting me, but I was more focused on a course of action to get the small creature out.

Plan #1: Chipmunks love acorns. By shoving acorns in my shorts, the chipmunk would leave to obtain the tasty treat.

FAIL #1: All this did was make the chipmunk move from beneath the fold of my left butt cheek to underneath my crotch.

Plan #2: My mom and one of her friends were hanging out in my mother’s bedroom, which was located on the other side of the house. But, with it being the summer, I knew she would have her windows opened.

FAIL #2: They couldn’t here me.

Plan #3: I needed to somehow make my way to the front of the house and call out to the two women from there.

In a standing-crouching position, I slowing but surely walked to my destination with the chipmunk still hanging out in my shorts. When I reached my mother’s bedroom windows, I said, “Mom, there is a chipmunk in my shorts.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” she said.

“No really, there is a chipmunk in my shorts,” I said, enunciating every word fervently.

The next thing I hear are the quicken heavy footsteps of the two women rushing to and out the front door. Standing by me, the two women were trying to come up with their own plans on how to get the chipmunk out of my pants.

Plan #4: Carefully unbutton and unzip my shorts, so that they could pull down my shorts and get the chipmunk before it bit me.

SUCCESS #1 (although not as they planned): The moment they pulled down my shorts, the chipmunk leaped out the back and under the house.

#humor #comedy #truestory #toriesenseny

"This is a monarchy," said the Queen, who wore a honey comb atop her bloated head. It was of a violet color and so were the berries on her golden tray. "This is a monarchy," and she watched the bees pollinate the plants through her window, wanting to scold a few for buzzing and jumping out of step. "This here..." she paused for a moment, then grabbed a jar of honey and poured it on her bosom, then the rest of her body. "Oh how I love to be Queen of the universe, of Order, I love it so much, I proclaim all the time that this is...." "A monarchy," finished one of her servants. "Yes," she huffed, "what is the forecast?" "As always a honey hue of golden glaze goo." "Yes, I like that very much, but, can it for once be violet? It is the color of royalty, you know." The servant looked at her glumly. "Um...that might take awhile. I'm sure there is no one honey bee that could achieve such a great task. None, but the first ever one, who is, you know, long gone." "Well, go get him, please, there is a great sum of money in it for him. Get him so I can arrange for the sky being violet tomorrow. My friends would love for everything to glow violet during a nice picnic." The servant looked at her, puzzled. He sighed. "I'll go ask the Mystics, and the Oracles, and the Seers, and the Comb-witch, the Herbalists, the Bee-strodamus..." "yes, yes, do what you must, Bee #3," and she feathered and preened herself clean as the servant, unbeknownst to her, flung himself against a wall before making his exit. The next day the Queen sat to breakfast, and she noticed a violet beam stream through her window, and all her glass things were tinted with violet. Bee #3 came in, bloodied and dusted over with dirt, grime and leaves. The Queen did not notice for she thought all worker bees were unkempt. That was just their mode of style, or the fault of their simple minds. "Bee #3, the view, its so wondrous. How can I thank you! Your kind do like Mud Pies, right? Since you are always near the muck. Or would you like a once-in-a-lifetime chance to clean the most precious room in the tower? Seeing those pretty shiny things should fill you with pride to be a servant of the richest, most powerful royal bee family." The Queen gazed through her window again, but after a moment, she buzzed around nervously. "Where are my worker bees?!" "Dead," said Bee #3, very weakly. "To bring back the first ever honey bee, I had to do a blood sacrifice of all the worker bees. That is what the Mystics, Oracles, the Seers, the Comb-witch, the Herbalists, and the Bee-strodamus, told me." The Queen said, in a squeaky voice, "...It, it is beautiful," and fainted right there, and she would go on and on rising up just to faint again.

*I decided to write "hate haiku"'s while toiling away in a cubicle to cheer me up - unfortunately, I got the syllable rules backwards (7-5-7 instead of 5-7-5) and afterwards couldn't manage to straighten them out. But "haiku" spelled backwards is "ukiah" - a Native American term for "deep valley"- so maybe consider these deep valley's of wisdom instead?

The demands of the many

do not yet outweigh

the weight of the mighty sea

In hell there is no torture

only the sharp sound

of dying souls and typing

For life there is deep meaning

in work we find that

this no longer applies though

To err may be human and

to forgive divine

my boss only thinks she's god

Finding work is very hard

so is fulfillment

only one can pay the bills

Idle hands are the devil's

but no matter what

my boss still keeps them busy

Silent screams inside four walls

do not reach the ears

of anyone who might care why

+One proper haiku!

My heart breaks each time

my boss rips it from my chest

with more overtime

Not sure how well this will go, but here goes:

A young, eager farmer, wanting to prove the green thumb ran in his family, swore to his neighbor, an old coot, he would have the better harvest this year. Right after winter thaw he got to sowing his field right away while the old coot doddled about probing the field with a weird gizmo. Day after day, week after week, he kept examining his field until, finally, he too planted his crop. From then on, both attended to their fields diligently for the next few months till harvest when the old coot’s crop had grown tall and ripe while the young man’s were shriveled and colored. The young man pulled at his hair and cried, “I don’t understand, I watered them, fertilized them, and pruned them. Where did I go wrong!?” Replied the old man, in his strange accent, “ya didn’t appr'ize da meater.”

-Q-

The box dropped onto the ground with a thud.

“Let’s play. Are you in, Natalie?” Chris smirked.

“Of course.” I laughed eagerly.

With candles lit, Tomy slowly lifted off the lid. “The Ouija Board” it read. Chris and Lorenzo looked at each other. Me and Tomy looked at each other, more scared than the two other daredevils.

“Quick!” I whisper-shouted.

Just then, Eli walked out of the kitchen, heading towards the bedroom where we were. Eli was very strict about our health. Our group stumbled into the corner. After Eli walked out, Chris placed the pointer on the board.

“Are you here?” He asked. The pointer landed on yes.

We took turns messing with the ghost, but the fun came insane and fun a little bit later. I think we’ve angered the ghost. But we all found out about that when suddenly...

*pointer is thrown at wall*

*television remote is thrown at window*

*cat is tossed onto bed*

Chris and Lorenzo laughed it off. Tomy knew it was funny, but the quiet boy was still scared. We didn’t tell Eli what had happened. But then we realized, it was time for the sleepover! One by one we all put our pajamas on. Suddenly the doorbell rang. It was Morgan.

“Who wants to play the Ouija Board?” She smiled. “This will be my second time playing today!”

Something was off. Eli scratched his chin. Two seconds later, his heart dropped to his legs. His eyes were as big as saucers. Something black was behind Morgan. It smiled and said,

“Please do, play!”

*pointer is thrown at wall*

*dog toy is thrown at window*

*chair is thrown at black thing*