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Husband: tell me something which will make me happy and sad at the same time wife: your dick is longer than your friends

Because you know that they can't fight back

The only time paedophiles get home delivery.

Guess, women slipped to 3 now.

Eric Clapton would never let a bag of coke fall out of a window.

Trans Atlantic slave trade

Because women know that men deserve better.

Having to drop the bomb on her twice, before she gets it.

Me: "Bitch you should be making oats!"

Made a coonskin cap

Because it was raining cats and dogs.

It was great turning it into a 3v1.

Old enough to mount.

the police

He was hiding in the bushes and when a child would pass by he was like "hey kid, wanna buy a candy?"

I cry when I cut onions.

Aliens vs. Predators

Except at a funeral.

He orders a beer.

Cut off one leg and make it run across Canada.

restaurant in peace

meaning she has to spend the next three weeks wearing a cone.

I mean, the people at that Lynyrd Skynyrd concert got really excited when I yelled out “free bird!”, but for some reason they weren’t interested in my parrot.

It's called "A Fistula Full Of Dollars"

Ewwwwwwwwe

Later in bed she gave me a treat. Let’s say by the end of it I had blue balls.

I mean It really goes without saying

Do to inflation and rising grocery costs the 5 second rule has been extended to 8.5 seconds

Dr. Felix Ainsworth was, by all accounts, a brilliant man. He had three PhDs, two honorary doctorates, and one rather unfortunate arrest for trespassing at the Large Hadron Collider, which he claimed was a simple case of mistaken identity—though it was unclear whether he had mistaken himself for a subatomic particle or vice versa. He worked at the Lunar Academy for Applied Theoretics, a highly prestigious institution on the Moon where humanity’s greatest minds were free to make the sorts of mistakes that would have leveled a city back on Earth. It was there, in his dimly lit office, that Dr. Ainsworth embarked on the most perilous journey of his career: attempting to write a knock-knock joke. This began, as all great scientific endeavors do, with complete and utter confusion. He had been tasked with delivering a speech at the annual gala, and a colleague—who had long since abandoned hope that Ainsworth would ever be socially competent—had suggested he “open with a joke.” He considered this suggestion with the same level of seriousness he usually reserved for quantum entanglement. A joke. Simple. A mere arrangement of words, structured for maximum amusement. It was, in essence, a formula. Thus, he set about his task with rigor. He scrawled equations on his whiteboard. He cross-referenced comedic timing with probability theory. He developed a grand unified theorem of punchlines. At last, he stared down at his notebook, adjusted his glasses, and read his work aloud: “Knock, knock.” A silence followed. It took him several minutes to remember that knock-knock jokes, by their very nature, required an interlocutor. Thus, he built one. The Lunar Academy had recently constructed the most advanced artificial intelligence ever devised, housed in a sleek humanoid form. It was named ARA (Autonomous Response Algorithm), and it had been designed to handle complex social interactions with tact, wit, and grace. Unfortunately, this meant it was utterly incompatible with Dr. Ainsworth, whose presence tended to cause lesser AIs to crash out of sheer existential distress. Still, ARA was programmed to obey direct requests, and so when Dr. Ainsworth said, “Knock, knock,” it hesitated only briefly before replying, in a flawless synthetic voice, “Who’s there?” He froze. In all his calculations, in all his formulas, in all his meticulous work, he had never once considered what the answer might be. And so, in a moment of raw improvisation, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Boson.” There was a long pause as ARA, the most advanced artificial mind ever created, processed this response. At last, it said, “Boson who?” Dr. Ainsworth blinked. He had no answer. He had not thought that far ahead. Desperate, he defaulted to honesty: “I… don’t know.” And that was when everything changed. A sudden alert blared through the Academy. Equations flashed across ARA’s internal display. The AI stiffened, then whispered, almost reverently: “Of course.” ARA had, in an instant, resolved a century-old paradox of quantum mechanics. The uncertainty of the joke, the incompleteness of the answer—these had aligned perfectly with the fundamental nature of particle interactions, revealing a solution that had eluded physicists for generations. Dr. Ainsworth, naturally, was delighted. Not because he had just inadvertently changed the course of science, but because— “Well,” he said smugly. “That proves it. Humor is a science.” And thus, having unknowingly revolutionized physics, Dr. Ainsworth returned to his desk, picked up his pen, and began working on a follow-up: “Knock, knock.” This time, he was determined to have an answer.