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Now This Just Isn't Funny

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I've heard of photobomb, this looks like photobum

HiB2RSj.jpg
 
Why does the Easter bunny hide her Easter eggs?

She does not want to admit that she just got fucked by a rooster.
 
Good Manners

During one of her daily classes a teacher trying to teach good manners, asked her students the following question:

'Michael, if you were on a date having dinner with a nice young lady, how would you tell her that you have to go to the toilet?'

Michael said, 'Just a minute I need a piss.'

The teacher responded by saying, 'That would be rude and impolite. What about you Peter, how would you say it?'

Peter said, 'I am sorry, but I really need to go to the toilet. I'll be right back.'

'That's better, but it's still not very nice to say the word toilet at the dinner table.

And you, little Johnny, can you use your brain for once and show us your good manners?'

I would say: 'Darling, may I please be excused for a moment? I have to shake hands with a very dear friend of mine, whom I hope you'll get to meet after dinner.'
 
old slave said:
Good Manners

During one of her daily classes a teacher trying to teach good manners, asked her students the following question:

'Michael, if you were on a date having dinner with a nice young lady, how would you tell her that you have to go to the toilet?'

Michael said, 'Just a minute I need a piss.'

The teacher responded by saying, 'That would be rude and impolite. What about you Peter, how would you say it?'

Peter said, 'I am sorry, but I really need to go to the toilet. I'll be right back.'

'That's better, but it's still not very nice to say the word toilet at the dinner table.

And you, little Johnny, can you use your brain for once and show us your good manners?'

I would say: 'Darling, may I please be excused for a moment? I have to shake hands with a very dear friend of mine, whom I hope you'll get to meet after dinner.'
Click to expand...
:duke:
 
Got this one from a comedian on HBO:

Mickey Mouse went to court to get a divorce from Minnie Mouse.

The judge said: "I'm sorry Mickey, but I can't grant you a divorce just because you think your wife is crazy."

Mickey replied, "Your Honor, I didn't say I think she's crazy, I said she was fucking Goofy."
 
Barbaria1 said:
View attachment 571729Baseball is such a deadly dull game ... so slow ... sooooo
Click to expand...
Given the mildly treasonous attitude you seem to have toward America’s national game, you might enjoy the poem by Philip Lerman published on June 3, 1988 in USA Today on the 100th anniversary of the iconic “Casey at the Bat”. The poem is updated for the modern fan experience. It is certainly under copyright, so I will give only the first four and last three stanzas. That should give the gist, and with the attribution qualify as “fair use”.

One hundred years ago today, the mighty Casey’s whiff
Turned baseball’s biggest hero into baseball’s biggest stiff
Now his great great grandson plays for Mudville’s team of shame
And suffers through the seasons with the changes in the game

The sun set on the hillside and reflected off the flat
But Mudville plays inside a dome and cannot see all that
They saw the scoreboard thought and ‘neath the giant screen TV
Made out the score: ninth inning, Mudville trailing five to three

A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest
With fear that springs eternal within the human breast
They thought, “We might as well remain here, glued upon this spot;
It’s gonna take us hours to escape the parking lot.”

Then from the saddened multitude there rose a ringing yell:
“Let’s go and find a section where they’ve got some beer to sell!”
They found a stand for sushi, and some whole wheat pretzel sticks
But sadly no beer’s sold here after inning number six
.
.
.
.
Two runs were in, the score was tied. The runner stood at third.
Young Casey muttered something that he’s lucky no one heard.
The umpire saw the pitcher shift his feet a slight degree.
He called for time. He charged the mound. He shouted out, “Balk three!”

The smile is gone from Casey’s lips. His teeth are clenched in hate.
He pounds with cruel violence his corked bat upon the plate.
He wanted his revenge from what his great great gramps had done.
But the runner just stepped past him; they’d balked in the winning run.

Oh somewhere in this favored land, no games are played at night.
There is no rabbit in the ball, no batting gloves in sight.
No designated hitter, no foolish stuff like that.
But there is no joy in Mudville—Casey never got to bat.
 
Frank Petrexa said:
Given the mildly treasonous attitude you seem to have toward America’s national game, you might enjoy the poem by Philip Lerman published on June 3, 1988 in USA Today on the 100th anniversary of the iconic “Casey at the Bat”. The poem is updated for the modern fan experience. It is certainly under copyright, so I will give only the first four and last three stanzas. That should give the gist, and with the attribution qualify as “fair use”.

One hundred years ago today, the mighty Casey’s whiff
Turned baseball’s biggest hero into baseball’s biggest stiff
Now his great great grandson plays for Mudville’s team of shame
And suffers through the seasons with the changes in the game

The sun set on the hillside and reflected off the flat
But Mudville plays inside a dome and cannot see all that
They saw the scoreboard thought and ‘neath the giant screen TV
Made out the score: ninth inning, Mudville trailing five to three

A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest
With fear that springs eternal within the human breast
They thought, “We might as well remain here, glued upon this spot;
It’s gonna take us hours to escape the parking lot.”

Then from the saddened multitude there rose a ringing yell:
“Let’s go and find a section where they’ve got some beer to sell!”
They found a stand for sushi, and some whole wheat pretzel sticks
But sadly no beer’s sold here after inning number six
.
.
.
.
Two runs were in, the score was tied. The runner stood at third.
Young Casey muttered something that he’s lucky no one heard.
The umpire saw the pitcher shift his feet a slight degree.
He called for time. He charged the mound. He shouted out, “Balk three!”

The smile is gone from Casey’s lips. His teeth are clenched in hate.
He pounds with cruel violence his corked bat upon the plate.
He wanted his revenge from what his great great gramps had done.
But the runner just stepped past him; they’d balked in the winning run.

Oh somewhere in this favored land, no games are played at night.
There is no rabbit in the ball, no batting gloves in sight.
No designated hitter, no foolish stuff like that.
But there is no joy in Mudville—Casey never got to bat.
Click to expand...

:confused: I suppose it means something to someone :confused:

Balls containing rabbits? "Balked" runs?

Now in the olden days it was simple, knight kills dragon, rescues girl.
Or was it . . . . . . ?
wiz-idx.jpg
 
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