Trzy pary spotkały się po raz pierwszy na seks grupowy. Niby wszyscy mieli ochotę spróbować, ale każdy się wstydził, więc jak już się trochę najebali alkoholem, to zgasili światło i dawaj, brać się za robotę!
Po dziesięciu minutach z hukiem zapala się światło i jeden z typów wrzeszczy;
-Stop kurwa! Powiedzialem! Stop! Musimy Ustalic jakieś reguły, bo ja już trzeci raz robię pałę...
Two piss-drunk men visited a brothel. The madam takes a look at them and tells her manager: Go and put inflatable dolls in their bedrooms. These guys are too drunk to notice.
After finishing their act, on their way back......... 1st drunk: I think my girl was dead as she never made a noise or made a move. Upon this, the 2nd drunk says: Mine was worse....... I think she was a witch!!!
1st drunk: Why would you say that???
2nd drunk: Well i gave her a little love bite on her bum.....She farted in my face and flew out of the window!
My family poops big. Maybe it's genetic, maybe it's our diet, but everyone births giant logs of crap. If anyone has laid a mega-poop, you know that sometimes it won't flush. It lays across the hole in the bottom of the bowl and the vortex of draining water merely gives it a spin as it mocks you. Growing up, this was a common enough occurrence that our family had a poop knife. It was an old rusty kitchen knife that hung on a nail in the laundry room, only to be used for that purpose. It was normal to walk through the hallway and have someone call out "hey, can you get me the poop knife"? I thought it was standard kit. You have your plunger, your toilet brush, and your poop knife. Fast forward to 22. It's been a day or two between poops and I'm over at my friend's house. My friend was the local dealer and always had 'guests' over, because you can't buy weed without sitting on your ass and sampling it for an hour. I excuse myself and lay a gigantic turd. I look down and see that it's a sideways one, so I crack the door and call out for my friend. He arrives and I ask him for his poop knife. "My what?" Your poop knife, I say. I need to use it. Please. "Wtf is a poop knife?" Obviously he has one, but maybe he calls it by a more delicate name. A fecal cleaver? A Dung divider? A guano glaive? I explain what it is I want and why I want it. He starts giggling. Then laughing. Then lots of people start laughing. It turns out, the music stopped and everyone heard my pleas through the door. It also turns out that none of them had poop knives, it was just my fucked up family with their fucked up bowels. FML. I told this to my wife last night, who was amused and horrified at the same time. It turns out that she did not know what a poop knife was and had been using the old rusty knife hanging in the utility closet as a basic utility knife. Thankfully she didn't cook with it, but used it to open Amazon boxes. She will be getting her own utility knife now.
Edit: Common question - Why was this not in the bathroom instead of the laundry room? Answer. We only had one poop knife, and the laundry room was central to all three bathrooms. I have no idea why we didn't have three poop knives. All I know is that we didn't. We had the one. Possibly because my father was notoriously cheap about the weirdest things. So yes, we shared our poop knife.
What do a 14-year-old pregnant girl and the child inside her have in common?
.
.
.
Both are thinking "Oh no! My mom's gonna kill me!"
A sadist, a masochist, a zoophile, a necrophile, a pyromaniac and a serial killer are having a stroll in the park.
This merry band of weirdoes and deviants are getting a bit bored. Then the zoophile whispers: "Oooh, I know what we should do. Let's catch a cat!"
The sadist nods approvingly: "Yes! Let's catch a cat... and let's torture it!"
The serial killer licks the blade of his knife, and chimes in: "Let's catch a cat, let's torture it, and then let's kill it!"
The necrophile adjusts the front of his pants and grins: "Let's catch a cat, let's torture it, let's kill it, and then let's have some fun with its corpse!"
Toying with his lighter, the pyromaniac replies: "Let's catch a cat, let's torture it, let's kill it, let's have some fun with its corpse, and then let's burn it!"
The masochist is quiet for a moment.
Then he says:
"Meow."
A teacher asked the children in her 3rd-year class, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
Little Johnny answered first. "I want to start out as a S.A.S. officer, go to the Middle East and kill loads of militant Muslims, return as a national hero, then become a billionaire, go to the most expensive clubs, find me the finest nymphomaniac tart, give her a Ferrari, an apartment in Copacabana, a mansion in Paris, a jet to travel throughout Europe, an Infinite Visa Card, loads of cocaine, and all the while banging her like a loose barn door in a hurricane."
The teacher, shocked, and not knowing what to do with this unfortunate response from little Johnny, decided not to acknowledge what he said and simply tried to continue with the lesson.
"And how about you, Sarah?"
"I wanna be Johnny's tart Miss!"
@Marshalist uspokoj sie bo cie zglosze na psy popierdolencu
@solly śmiało-śmiało ty wycieraczko spod komisariatu..
aa i jeszcze jedno śmieciuchu - jak ci sie cokolwiek nie podoba w moich postach, to wrzuć mnie na czarną zamiast zawracać mi gitarę swoim skomleniem, pastuchu.
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