Laugh for Fun - Funny, Blonde, Dirty, Women, Yo Mama Jokes
Laugh for Fun - Funny, Blonde, Dirty, Women, Yo Mama Jokes
There was this little boy named Johnny and Johnny was in Kindergarten. One day, Johnny was in the back of the class room when his teacher noticed him scratching frantically at his privates. “Johnny, what’s wrong?” his teacher asked. “It itches” Johnny said. “Well, go to the office and have the secretary call your Mommy” the teacher said. Johnny called his mom and a few minutes later the teacher noticed that Johnny was back in the class room and scratching…
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At the end of the year, a catechist teacher decides to test her kindergarten class by asking them to draw a picture of a story of the Bible. Soon the kids were hard at work. The teacher came to little Charlie’s desk and paused. Charlie had drawn an airplane with three little stick figures visible from the windows. Bewildered, the teacher asked Charlie to explain his picture. Eagerly, he explained, “Well, you see, this is a picture of the Flight…
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Jeff had been my best friend since kindergarten, so it was no surprise to me when he asked me to be the best man at his wedding. On the appointed day, as we were getting dressed for the ceremony, Jeff got a rather severe case of “cold feet.” “I can’t go through with it,” he said. “I’m nauseous, my stomach is cramping, and my knees are like spaghetti.” I said, “It’s just PMS.” “PMS?” he asked. “Yeah,” I quipped, “Pre-Marital…
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Chicken Anyone? Why did the chicken cross the road? Kindergarten Teacher: To get to the other side. Plato: For the greater good. Aristotle: It is the nature of chickens to cross roads. Buddha: Asking this question denies your own chicken nature. Machiavelli: The point is that the chicken crossed the road. Who cares why? The end of crossing the road justifies whatever motive there was. Karl Marx: It was an historically inevitability. Martin Luther King, Jr.: I envision a world…
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A Sunday School teacher began her lesson with a question. “Boys and girls, what do we know about God?” A hand shot up in the air. “He is an artist!” said the kindergarten boy. “Really?! How do you know that?” the teacher asked. “You know–‘Our Father, who does art in Heaven….’”
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Clifton Fadiman had occasion to visit the kindergarten class of a highly progressive school attended by his son, Jonathan. The children were engaged in “rhythmic play,” where they were following the lead of their teacher, an energetic young woman, who danced about the room clapping her hands in time to the music of a record player. The docile pupils staggled behind her in ragged fashion. Later Fadiman drew his son aside and said, “I guess you have lots of fun…
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