Editing Funny Quotes

Making love to me is amazing. Wait, I meant: making love, to me, is amazing. The absence of two little commas nearly transformed me into a sex god.


Nothing says work efficiency like panic mode.

SAINT, n. A dead sinner revised and edited.

It's funny,' I noted in the diary, 'how often I seem to build a story around one sentence, nearly always the last one, too. The themes are a bit depressing but I just can't get rid of that.

He wasn't aware of it but when he smiled he looked like an amiable bear. When he didn't smile he didn't look amiable

God is Santa Claus for Grown-Ups.

Most often when I stammer That's my brain Correcting my grammer.

Valkyrie? Well, well, aren’t you full of surprises? Not just another blonde bimbo. You’re like a collector’s edition Barbie, with your gold accessories and rather snazzy boots.

That was the time he tried to tell her that she had to leave the valley and go to college. I believe the edited for TV version of her response was something like "Fudge you, you're not my gosh-darn alpha anymore. You don't tell me to leave the fudging pack. Now, get the fudge away from me before I ripe your--' What? It was funny at the time.

I find it so funny that you’re nervous about a woman editing a magazine for women.

You can edit crap, but you can't edit nothing.

Yo Mama's so fat her butt cheeks have different area codes.

I had a dream about you last night. I was writing a ‘Sex for dummies-Christians That Secretly What to be Porn Stars- 1st edition.’ And you helped me with the illustrations.

22. Why can’t you say a joke while standing on ice? Because it might crack up!

It was funny the way memory obliged the heart. His happy recollections were always afloat in his soupy subconscious where so many of his darker memories had sunk to the underbelly of his past and been as good as lost forever. But without conscious instruction, memory had edited and enlarged the finest moments of his life and stored them like masterpieces in the private gallery of his personal history.

And you expect us to take the word of your … very pregnant wife, over a DNA test? No offense, but pregnancy tends to lower a female’s IQ.” Burnett turned to the warlock, but before he could add his two cents— which didn’t look as if it would be pleasant— Holiday added her own. “That’s funny,” she said, but without humor. “I’ve heard it also makes us vicious if provoked. And for your information, I’d be happy to put my IQ up against yours, pregnant or not.” Hunter, C. C. (2014-05-20). Reborn (Shadow Falls: After Dark) (p. 336). St. Martin's Press. Kindle Edition.

The funny thing about a smile is that once you wear a smile, the darkness lightens and one does not feel frightened or sad any more.

I strip the bed as fast as I can so I won’t be tempted to get back in. Do you know what Mother calls this sort of thing? The art of living. Isn’t that a funny expression?

Yo Mama sucks so much d***, her lips went double platinum.

Yo Mama's like a library, open to the public.

Yo Mama's so fat, her ass has its own congressman!

Have Dolores Umbridge as your mother? or Have Bellatrix Lestrange as your mother?

The divergence of my booty at any point is equal to the booty density divided by booty naught

The funny thing about mosquitos is that they're shy in small groups and rude in big ones.

It is funny how the two principles they always taught us about business are being rendered useless by the pandemic~ Bringing out the humane side of the business

Memories are funny things, aren’t they? They’re like your own private little picture show. You can edit and splice and put ’em together any way you want.

It’s funny how we think life works a certain way because of TV and movies. Most people don’t really think about how scripts are edited and how people get to practice their lines and rehearse. If one doesn’t get it right they get to redo the scene until they do. In real life what’s missing or not working only comes up when we’re going along full blast. We end up being the editors of our lives only while we’re running in real time.

During the same period Szilard wrote Michael Polanyi he would “stay in England until one year before the war, at which time I would shift my residence to New York City.”896 The letter provoked comment, Szilard enjoyed recalling; it was “very funny, because how can anyone say what he will do one year before the war?” As it turned out, his prognostication was off by only four months: he arrived in the United States on January 2, 1938.

Before trying to be funny, remember The Offended, and then don’t say anything at all. You can’t even make fun of yourself these days, because at just one person, you are the tiniest minority—and therefore a protected species.

It’s very funny how false the picture is that western people have about Arabs: savage, violent, insensitive, and cold-hearted. I can tell you with confidence that Arabs are peaceful, sensitive, civilized, and big lover’s, among other qualities.

Mrs. Russell made us both sit down with a glass of milk. "And I have a special treat for you," she said. I'm not lying. She really said that. I held my breath because of the last special treat at the Daughertys', but it didn't help, because when Mrs. Russell came back, she came back with a loaf of banana bread. Banana bread! And James said, "How about we have some jam with that?" and Mrs. Russell said, "Jam? Then you wouldn't be able to taste the bananas," and James said, "Ma, I hate bananas," and she said, "But I'm sure that Doug enjoys them," and I said, "I think I'm still full from lunch, so the milk's fine," and then Mrs. Russell picked up the plate with the banana bread on it, and you might not believe this, but she started to laugh and laugh a d laugh, until Mr. Russell came out to the kitchen to see what was so funny and she showed him the banana bread and he said, "I hate bananas," and we all started to laugh until Mrs. Russell said, "I hate bananas too," and you can imagine us all laughing until we were crying and finally Mrs. Russell took the banana bread outside to break it up for the birds-"Let's hope they like bananas"-and then I showed Mr. Russell Aaron Copland's Autobiography: Manuscript Edition, and he stopped laughing.

It's funny how all the wisest people on Earth always comes back to this thought, know thyself, thy body, thy mind, they soul, thy emotions, thy history, thy spirit... the only knowledge that will ever serve you is the knowledge you yourself know of, and hopefully put into practice.

It's funny how all the wisest people on Earth always comes back to this thought, know thyself, thy body, they mind, they soul, thy emotions, thy history, thy spirit... the only knowledge that will ever serve you is the knowledge you yourself know of, and hopefully put into practice.

It was not really Saturday night, at least it may have been, for they had long lost count of the days; but always if they wanted to do anything special they said this was Saturday night, and then they did it. "Of course it is Saturday night, Peter," Wendy said, relenting. "People of our figure, Wendy." "But it is only among our own progeny." "True, true.

would be funny if Mr. Piccolo resembled a piccolo, but he doesn’t. Actually, he’s quite round. More like a bass fiddle. He has a big pouch of a belly that stretches the oversized turtleneck sweaters he always wears. He has a round face, too. He’s mostly bald and his scalp shines like a bowling ball. He wears square eyeglasses, which are always sliding down

quivering, as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or frown. I love my mom, and I have no idea how she can find Rafe funny. It must be a gene I missed. “So, are you two excited for your first day?” Mom asked. Changing the subject. Nicely done, Mom. “I can’t wait,” Rafe and I said together. Only his voice clearly meant “I can wait,” while my voice meant “I’m so excited that I’m about to explode!

Seinfeld asked if McKinsey is funny. No, the magazine said. “Then I don’t need them,” he said. “If you’re efficient, you’re doing it the wrong way. The right way is the hard way. The show was successful because I micromanaged it—every word, every line, every take, every edit, every casting.” If you’re efficient, you’re doing it the wrong way. That is so counterintuitive. But I think it perfectly highlights the danger of shortcuts.

Anything Bunny wrote was bound to be alarmingly original, since he began with such odd working materials and managed to alter them further by his befuddled scrutiny, but the John Donne paper must have been the worst of all the bad papers he ever wrote (ironic, given that it was the only thing he ever wrote that saw print. After he disappeared, a journalist asked for an excerpt from the missing young scholar's work and Marion gave him a copy of it, a laboriously edited paragraph of which eventually found its way into People magazine). Somewhere, Bunny had heard that John Donne had been acquainted with Izaak Walton, and in some dim corridor of his mind this friendship grew larger and larger, until in his mind the two men were practically interchangeable. We never understood how this fatal connection had established itself: Henry blamed it on Men of Thought and Deed, but no one knew for sure. A week or two before the paper was due, he had started showing up in my room about two or three in the morning, looking as if he had just narrowly escaped some natural disaster, his tie askew and his eyes wild and rolling. 'Hello, hello,' he would say, stepping in, running both hands through his disordered hair. 'Hope I didn't wake you, don't mind if I cut on the lights, do you, ah, here we go, yes, yes…' He would turn on the lights and then pace back and forth for a while without taking off his coat, hands clasped behind his back, shaking his head. Finally he would stop dead in his tracks and say, with a desperate look in his eye: 'Metahemeralism. Tell me about it. Everything you know. I gotta know something about metahemeralism.' 'I'm sorry. I don't know what that is.' 'I don't either,' Bunny would say brokenly. 'Got to do with art or pastoralism or something. That's how I gotta tie together John Donne and Izaak Walton, see.' He would resume pacing. 'Donne. Walton. Metahemeralism. That's the problem as I see it.' 'Bunny, I don't think "metahemeralism" is even a word.' 'Sure it is. Comes from the Latin. Has to do with irony and the pastoral. Yeah. That's it. Painting or sculpture or something, maybe.' 'Is it in the dictionary?' 'Dunno. Don't know how to spell it. I mean' – he made a picture frame with his hands – 'the poet and the fisherman. Parfait. Boon companions. Out in the open spaces. Living the good life. Metahemeralism's gotta be the glue here, see?' And so it would go, for sometimes half an hour or more, with Bunny raving about fishing, and sonnets, and heaven knew what, until in the middle of his monologue he would be struck by a brilliant thought and bluster off as suddenly as he had descended. He finished the paper four days before the deadline and ran around showing it to everyone before he turned it in. 'This is a nice paper, Bun -,' Charles said cautiously. 'Thanks, thanks.' 'But don't you think you ought to mention John Donne more often? Wasn't that your assignment?' 'Oh, Donne,' Bunny had said scoffingly. 'I don't want to drag him into this.' Henry refused to read it. 'I'm sure it's over my head, Bunny, really,' he said, glancing over the first page. 'Say, what's wrong with this type?' 'Triple-spaced it,' said Bunny proudly. 'These lines are about an inch apart.' 'Looks kind of like free verse, doesn't it?' Henry made a funny little snorting noise through his nose. 'Looks kind of like a menu,' he said. All I remember about the paper was that it ended with the sentence 'And as we leave Donne and Walton on the shores of Metahemeralism, we wave a fond farewell to those famous chums of yore.' We wondered if he would fail.

The nineteenth century is the last time when it was possible for an educated person to admit to believing in miracles like the virgin birth without embarrassment. When pressed, many educated Christians today are too loyal to deny the virgin birth and the resurrection. But it embarrasses them because their rational minds know it is absurd, so they would much rather not be asked. Hence, if somebody like me insists on asking the question, it is I who am accused of being ‘nineteenth-century’. It is really quite funny, when you think about it.

The General went out to find that none of his G.I.s were there. One finally ran up, panting heavily. "Sorry, sir! I can explain, you see I had a date and it ran a little late. I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but it broke down, found a farm, bought a horse but it dropped dead, ran 10 miles, and now I’m here." The General was very skeptical about this explanation but at least he was here so he let the G.I. go. Moments later, eight more G.I.s came up to the general panting, he asked them why they were late. "Sorry, sir! I had a date and it ran a little late, I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but it broke down, found a farm, bought a horse but it dropped dead, ran 10 miles, and now I’m here." The General eyed them, feeling very skeptical but since he let the first guy go, he let them go, too. A ninth G.I. jogged up to the General, panting heavily. "Sorry, sir! I had a date and it ran a little late, I ran to the bus but missed it, I hailed a cab but..." "Let me guess," the General interrupted, "it broke down." "No," said the G.I., "there were so many dead horses in the road, it took forever to get around them.

I like to skip prewriting. I love just jumping into the actual writing process. Then I revise/edit and fix what I need to. Then the following steps; proofread and publish. Of course before you just go into writing, it would be a good idea to do some charts of each chapter...what you would want each one to be about and have a character list with their personalities and how they will come into play in your book. I mean, you wouldn't just want to go all crazy and jot down all kinds of random stuff at once...trust me, you'll go crazy. With writing, you take it as it comes, go with your own flow.-Nina Jean Slack

Because a novel--these words--is a shared experience, a clumsy but sometimes funny conversation between two people in which one of them is doing all the talking, it will always be tighter and more luminous than that object called living. There is something so insipid about living that to do it at all requires heroism or stupidity, probably both. Living is all those days and years, the rushes; memory edits them; this page is the final print, music added. But for an instant imagine the process reversed, go with me back through the years, then be me, all alone as I submit to the weight, the atmospheric pressure of youth, for when I was young I was exhausted by always bumping up against this big lummox I didn't really know, myself. It was though I'd been forced into solitary confinement with a stranger who had unaccountable tastes, aversions, rhythms.

Fred gets married and on his wedding night he calls his Father for some tips on what to do, since he has never been with a woman before. "So what do I do first?"? His father replied, "Take her clothes off and lay her on the bed." 5 minutes later Fred’s on the phone again. "She’s naked and in bed, what do I do now??? His father can’t believe what he is hearing, "Take your damn clothes off and get into bed with her." After another 5 minutes poor Fred is on the phone again. "Dad, I’m naked and in bed with her, what do I do now?" His dad’s patience is now running thin so he says, "Shit son! Do I have to spell everything out for you? Just put the hardest thing on your body where she pees. Goodnight!!!" Just when the old man starts snoring, his son is on the phone once again. "Ok Dad, I have my head in the toilet bowl what do I do next" "DROWN YOURSELF, YOU F**KING IDIOT!!

HYSTERICAL HISTORY Bumping into Vincent O’Neil makes me think about what Uncle Frankie said. I need new material for Boston, not Vincent’s stale and stinky fart jokes from The Big Book of Butt Bugles and Blampfs. So I keep my eyes open for new concepts to work out as I go to history class that afternoon. We’re supposed to give a presentation on our favorite president. I chose Millard Fillmore. Why? Because nobody else will. Plus, his name is funny. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get a whole bit out of him for Boston. I roll to the front of the class and prop a portrait of President Fillmore on the flip-chart easel. “Millard Fillmore was the thirteenth president of the United States. Born in January 1800, he was named after a duck. No, I’m sorry. That was his brother Mallard Fillmore. Millard Fillmore was the last member of the Whig Party to ever hold the office of president. Probably because they all wore wigs.

I’ve been allowed to read more grown-up books lately. Eva’s Youth by Nico van Suchtelen is currently keeping me busy. I don’t think there’s much of a difference between this and books for teenage girls. Eva thought that children grew on trees, like apples, and that the stork plucked them off the tree when they were ripe and brought them to the mothers. But her girlfriend’s cat had kittens and Eva saw them coming out of the cat, so she thought cats laid eggs and hatched them like chickens, and that mothers who wanted a child also went upstairs a few days before their time to lay an egg and brood on it. After the babies arrived, the mothers were pretty weak from all that squatting. At some point, Eva wanted a baby too. She took a wool scarf and spread it on the ground so the egg could fall into it, and then she squatted down and began to push. She clucked as she waited, but no egg came out. Finally, after she’d been sitting for a long time, something did come, but it was a sausage instead of an egg. Eva was embarrassed. She thought she was sick. Funny, isn’t it?

It was George the Mailman’s last day on the job after 35 years of carrying the mail through all kinds of weather to the same neighborhood. When he arrived at the first house on his route, he was greeted by the whole family who congratulated him and sent him on his way with a tidy gift envelope. At the second house, they presented him with a box of fine cigars. The folks at the third house handed him a selection of terrific fishing lures. At the fourth house, he was met at the door by a strikingly beautiful blonde woman in a revealing negligee. She took him by the hand, gently led him through the door, which she closed behind him, and took him up the stairs to the bedroom where she blew his mind with the most passionate love he had ever experienced. When he had enough, they went downstairs and she fixed him a giant breakfast: eggs, potatoes, ham, sausage, blueberry waffles, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. When he was truly satisfied, she poured him a cup of steaming coffee. As she was pouring, he noticed a dollar bill sticking out from under the cup’s bottom edge. "All this was just too wonderful for words," he said, "But what’s the dollar for?" "Well," she said, "Last night, I told my husband that today would be your last day, and that we should do something special for you. I asked him what to give you. He said, “Screw him. Give him a dollar.” The breakfast was my idea.

I have an antipathy to dogs, not because they are faithful, but because they are shameless. Because they carry on their love affairs on the street.” Again that crimson flush overspread her features. “Cats are more cultured about such things—if I may use that much misused word. There are insects that mate only in the darkest nights, in the most forsaken corners, so that no forester has ever succeeded in observing them. I've always held that there will come a time when we will speak of the barbarous practices of this century, or the last ten centuries, as if they were a fairy-tale. Just think how tremendously funny it must strike any sensitive person when two people, having conceived a certain desire to go to bed with one another, set a special date for the event. They inform certain public institutions, the State, the Church. They tell their friends and relations, their own parents, their own brothers and sisters. On the day which is to end in that night, they gather everybody they know about them, let themselves be observed by persons who stuff themselves and drink until they are sick, listen to suggestive songs and suggestive speeches—and yet do not get sick themselves. I've always had a feeling that marriage as it is practiced today would be fit punishment for a hardened criminal. It is such a cruel, such an exquisite torture. Metta, my child, oblige me and if you ever decide to marry, do it when you desire and not on some appointed day. Do it in utter secrecy so that no living soul can suspect the possibility of such a thing....

A woman decides to have a facelift for her 50th birthday. She spends $15,000 and feels pretty good about the results. On her way home, she stops at a news stand to buy a newspaper. Before leaving, she says to the clerk, "I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how old do you think I am?" "About 32," is the reply. "Nope! I’m exactly 50," the woman says happily. A little while later she goes into McDonald’s and asks the counter girl the very same question. The girl replies, "I’d guess about 29." The woman replies with a big smile, "Nope, I’m 50." Now she’s feeling really good about herself. She stops in a drug store on her way down the street. She goes up to the counter to get some mints and asks the clerk this burning question. The clerk responds, "Oh, I’d say 30." Again she proudly responds, "I’m 50, but thank you!" While waiting for the bus to go home, she asks an old man waiting next to her the same question. He replies, "I’m 78 and my eyesight is going. Although, when I was young, there was a sure-fire way to tell how old a woman was. If you permit me to put my hands under your bra, then, and only then can I tell you EXACTLY how old you are." They wait in silence on the empty street until her curiosity gets the best of her. She finally blurts out, "What the hell, go ahead." He slips both of his hands under her blouse and begins to feel around very slowly and carefully. He bounces and weighs each breast and he gently pinches each nipple. He pushes her breasts together and rubs them against each other. After a couple of minutes of this, she says, "Okay, okay...How old am I?" He completes one last squeeze of her breasts, removes his hands, and says, " Ma dam, you are 50." Stunned and amazed, the woman says, "That was incredible, how could you tell?" The old man says, "Promise you won’t get mad?" "I promise I won’t," she says. "I was behind you in McDonald’s.

I found out Si was taking naps every day on Kay’s couch! I went to Phil and told him it was a problem. “Look, I know he’s your brother and he’s my uncle, but he’s not the kind of worker we need to have,” I told Phil, while trying to make a good first impression. I was trying to instill a new work ethic and culture in Duck Commander, and I couldn’t have Si sleeping on the job! “Don’t touch Si,” Phil told me. “You leave him alone. He’s making reeds and that’s the hardest thing we do. Si is the only guy who wants to do it, and he’s good at it. Si is fine.” Amazingly enough, in the ten years I’ve been running Duck Commander, we’ve never once run out of reeds. Six years ago, Si suffered a heart attack. He smoked cigarettes for almost forty years and then quit after his heart attack, so we were all so proud of him. Even before his heart attack, I wasn’t sure about putting Si on our DVDs because I thought he would just come across too crazy. He cracked us up in the duck blind and we all loved him, but I told Jep and the other camera guys to film around him. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone would understand what he was saying. When we finally tried to put him on the DVDs, he clammed up in front of the camera and looked like a frog in a cartoon just sitting there. He wouldn’t perform. Finally, we put a hidden camera under a shirt on Si’s desk. We were near the end of editing a DVD and showed a shooting scene to Si. He always takes credit for shooting more ducks than he really did. He’s said before that he killed three ducks with one shot! We were watching patterns hitting the water, and Si started claiming the ducks like he always does and going off on one of his long tangents. After we recorded him, we ran the DVD back and showed it to him. I think Si saw that he was actually pretty funny and entertaining if he acted like himself. We started putting Si on the DVDs and he got more and more popular. Now he’s the star of Duck Dynasty!

Yet in 2012, he returned. Plenty of the speechwriters were livid. The club was the embodiment of everything we had promised to change. Was it really necessary to flatter these people, just because they were powerful and rich? In a word, yes. In fact, thanks to the Supreme Court, the rich were more powerful than ever. In 2010, the court’s five conservative justices gutted America’s campaign finance laws in the decision known as Citizens United. With no more limits to the number of attack ads they could purchase, campaigns had become another hobby for the ultrawealthy. Tired of breeding racehorses or bidding on rare wines at auction? Buy a candidate instead! I should make it clear that no one explicitly laid out a strategy regarding the dinner. I never asked point-blank if we hoped to charm billionaires into spending their billions on something other than Mitt Romney’s campaign. That said, I knew it couldn’t hurt. Hoping to mollify the one-percenters in the audience, I kept the script embarrassingly tame. I’ve got about forty-five more minutes on the State of the Union that I’d like to deliver tonight. I am eager to work with members of Congress to be entertaining tonight. But if Congress is unwilling to cooperate, I will be funny without them. Even for a politician, this was weak. But it apparently struck the right tone. POTUS barely edited the speech. A few days later, as a reward for a job well done, Favs invited me to tag along to a speechwriting-team meeting with the president. I had not set foot in the Oval Office since my performance of the Golden Girls theme song. On that occasion, President Obama remained behind his desk. For larger gatherings like this one, however, he crossed the room to a brown leather armchair, and the rest of us filled the two beige sofas on either side. Between the sofas was a coffee table. On the coffee table sat a bowl, which under George W. Bush had contained candy but under Obama was full of apples instead. Hence the ultimate Oval Office power move: grab an apple at the end of a meeting, polish it on your suit, and take a casual chomp on your way out the door. I would have sooner stuck my finger in an electrical socket. Desperate not to call attention to myself, I took the seat farthest away and kept my eyes glued to my laptop. I allowed myself just one indulgence: a quick peek at the Emancipation Proclamation. That’s right, buddy. Look who’s still here. It was only at the very end of the meeting, as we rose from the surprisingly comfy couches, that Favs brought up the Alfalfa dinner. The right-wing radio host Laura Ingraham had been in the audience, and she was struck by the president’s poise. “She was talking about it this morning,” Favs told POTUS. “She said, ‘I don’t know if Mitt Romney can beat him.

Hopkit held up his paw. Although the infection had gone, his foot was limp and flat, and he had no feeling in it. “But how can I be a warrior with this?” “You can walk on it, can’t you?” Hawkheart wasn’t giving a drop of sympathy. “I can limp.” Hawkheart snorted. “If you can limp, you can walk. If you can walk, you can hunt.” “What about fighting?” Hopkit persisted. “What if I can’t fight?” “Then you’ll just have to argue your enemies to death.” Hawkheart settled onto his side and half closed his eyes. “You’re great at arguing.

The relationship of employment and inflation is a funny thing... "Government’s stated goal in this respect is to maintain the economy at full employment. That has the benefit of keeping most citizens happy, while contributing tax to the general good. However, if everyone is in a job the only way a new or growing business can recruit additional staff is to poach from other organizations, usually by offering higher wages. That in turn feeds into inflation..." Barrow, Colin. The 30 Day MBA: Your Fast Track Guide to Business Success (p. 235). Kogan Page. Kindle Edition.

What I'm saying is that this kind of film has two very important things for me: it really deals with the kind of relationship I wish to have with filming: editing, meeting people, giving the film shape, a specific shape, in which both the objective and subjective are present. The objective is the facts, society's facts, and the subjective is how I feel about that, or how I can make it funny or sad or poignant. Making a film like this is a way of living. It's not just a product.

Why waste the space on a stack of half-read books and periodicals, when you could turn your nightstand into a tactical toolbox?

He considers making a TikTok of the reunion: turn the camera on himself, hold out his arm to capture the moment they embrace, edit it later with captions. This seems crazy but also a way to diffuse the situation, to make it content rather than pain. Rather than terror. Life hurts less when made into funny videos.

Science

Nature

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Figs. Figs who? Figs the doorbell, it’s broken!

[It's] a funny business because on a net basis, the whole investment management business together gives no value added to all buyers combined. That's the way it has to work.

Get a friend. Practice weightlifting tables. If people complain, weightlift them.

Why did the cat run away from the tree? It was scared of its bark!

Why is the ocean so salty? No one ever waves back!

How do you tie things in space? With astro-knots!

What word starts with the letter t, ends with the letter t, and has t in it? A teapot!

What did the man say to his dead robot?

What’s the difference between Ben Franklin and a duck? One has his face on a bill; the other has a bill on his face!

That sounds funny, making friends among 'the eminent dead,' but if you go through life making friends with the eminent dead who had the right ideas, I think it will work better for you in life and work better in education. It's way better than just giving the basic concepts.

Two fish in a tank.

Reason 2: Laziness Farmer Flaky is imprisoned by laziness. The next verse describe this paralysis: "He sticks to his bed like a door to its hinges! He is too tired even to lift his food from his dish to his mouth!" (Proverbs 26:14-15, TLB). Who says the Bible is boring? This verse is so funny. It gives you the height of laziness: There's already food on his plate, yet he's too tired to lift his spoon to his mouth. Absurd? Not really. Look around you. So many are surrounded by wonderful opportunities to grow themselves. Yet they don't life their spoon. Instead, they want to be spoon-fed like babies. But we live in different times. When my son was fourteen years old, he learned how to play the drums, how to edit videos, how to arrange songs, how to make websites. How? By watching YouTube videos. He also learned enough fashion sense to be my fashion stylist, so he can tell me what to wear on stage so I don't look like Mr. Bean. That's the kind of universe we live in. Because of the Internet, all the libraries of the world are now in your bedroom and you can access them by just one press of a button. Yet people remain immobilized. Stuck. Frozen.

What has four wheels, gives milk, and eats grass? A cow on a skateboard!

Upon Evangeline and Jacks's initial return to the inn, the Hollow had actually been quite frosty. Doors often slammed shut. Windows stuck. Wardrobes refused to open. Faucets yielded only icy water. 'I think it's cross with us,' Jacks had said. 'Give it a few days. It will warm up.' The walls had rattled then. 'If it doesn't, we'll leave,' Jacks added, tossing a dart up in the air as he spoke. 'We can build a new inn- a better one.' Jacks caught his dart, then threw it, purposefully missing the board and sinking the dart's sharp tip into the wall instead. Doors stopped slamming after that. Windows no longer stuck, and wardrobes were more eager to open. As the days went on, the Hollow became friendlier and friendlier. Fresh flowers started to appear on tables. Evangeline found new logs in the fireplaces every morning at dawn, and whenever she drew a bath, the water was always perfectly warm. The Hollow wanted them to stay. (Indigo Exclusive Edition Alternate Ending).

Excitedly warn him of impending highway danger that you can barely see as a tiny speck on the horizon.

Would You Rather: Become a Dementor? or Become a Horcrux? Have Crookshanks as a pet? or Have Hedwig as a pet? Would

never stopped to ask, “Who is the typical Yale alumnus? Who am I editing for?” One of my principles is that there is no typical anybody; every reader is different. I edit for myself and I write for myself. I assume that if I consider something interesting or funny, a certain number of other people will too. If they don’t, they have two inalienable rights—they can fire the editor and they can stop reading the writer.

kind of dog cheers at football games? A pom-Pomeranian!

Do you also sometimes think that the main function of Windows is updating Windows?

Woman: Doctor, Doctor my son has swallowed my pen, what should I do? Doctor: Use a pencil till I get there!

If you have an imaginary friend, you're crazy. If a group of people have an imaginary friend, it's religion.

Don’t you hate it when someone answers their own questions? I do.

A man is sitting at home on the veranda having drinks with his wife and he says, "I love you". She asks, "Is that you or the beer talking?" He replies, "It’s me... talking to the beer.

-What is the difference between ignorance and apathy? -I do not know and I do not care!

Teacher Smith: Johnny, if you had $5.00 and you asked your father for $3.00 more, how many dollars would you have? Little Johnny: I would have five dollars… Teacher Smith: You don’t know arithmetic, Johnny… Little Johnny: You don’t know my father, Mrs. Smith.

Customer: Waiter, waiter! There is a frog in my soup!!! Waiter: Sorry, sir. The fly is on vacation.

Funny, so many people are waiting for a reward in heaven. I am very doubtful about heaven so like you I get my heaven as I go along." - Elzada Clover

This is not funny, but still many people can not find the ‘Any Key’ key on the keyboard.

-Mom, Mom, I learned to write! -And what did you write? -I do not know, I have not learned to read yet.

Teacher: Tell me a sentence that starts with an “I”. Student: I is the.... Teacher: Stop! Never put ‘is’ after an “I”. Always put ‘am’ after an “I”. Student: OK. I am the ninth letter of the alphabet.

A family of mice were surprised by a big cat. Father Mouse jumped and said, “Bow-wow!” The cat ran away. “What was that, Father?” asked Baby Mouse. “Well, son, that’s why it’s important to learn a second language.

My friend said he knew a man with a wooden leg named Smith. So I asked him “What was the name of his other leg?

If Yo Mama and Yo Daddy got a divorce, they'd still be brother and sister.

Yo Mama's like mustard, she spreads easy.

I swear they are pure evil.” “Definitely evil,” Carmen agreed. “But it was pretty funny when Olivia got pinched by that crab yesterday. It’s bad when the wildlife don’t even like you.” Day, Kristen (2014-09-22). Forsaken (Book #1) (Daughters of the Sea) (pp. 43-44). Kristen Day Books. Kindle Edition.

In God’s Kingdom there are no overnight sensations or flash-in-the-pan successes. Anyone who wants to be used of God will experience hidden years in the backside of the desert. During that time the Lord is polishing, sharpening and preparing us to fit into His bow, so at the right time, like “a polished shaft” He can launch us into fruitful service. The invisible years are years of serving, studying, being faithful in another person’s ministry and doing the behind-the-scenes work. The Bible says, ‘God is not unjust; he will not forget your work’ (Hebrews 6:10 NIV 2011 Edition). Be patient; when the time is right He will bring forth the fruit He placed inside you.

Jamie is a funny mix. He has a sardonic side that can make him seem distant and almost harsh to people who don’t know him well, but he’s also very tender-hearted. (A

Author Dating Rule #3: Edit your online dating profile. Pervs are the million pennies lying in a vat of ten nickels.

If I’d known back then about the Angel’s tax, I would have laughed. They say every year a batch of whiskey goes without being bottled, each year it’s aged, four percent of alcohol evaporates — and that’s the Angel’s share. It really was funny, then, that I’d neglected to bottle Jamie up for myself and so he’d been stolen by a woman named Angel.

Have Peruvian Instant Dark Powder? or Have a Quick Quote Quill?

I think the Coens are great film editors. So great! It’s funny to me because they get hired to doctor scripts all the time, but no one ever hires them to edit.

Would You Rather: Be stuck in a painting for 24 hours? or In a room with Dolores Umbridge for 24 hours?

The first thing you have to remember is that we count the days a bit differently. Having 39.6 more minutes each day, and 669 days—or sols, as we call ’em—in a sidereal period, meant that aresians threw out both Greenwich Mean Time and the Gregorian calendar in a.d. 2032, long before the Pax Astra took control of the near-space colonies, way before Mars declared its independence. The Zubrin calendar has twelve months, ranging from 48 to 66 sols in length, each named after a Zodiac constellation; it retroactively began on January 1, 1961, which became Gemini 1, m.y. 1 by local reckoning. The conversion factors from Gregorian to Zubrin calendars are fairly complex, so don’t ask for an explanation here; best to say that one of the first things newcomers from Earth have to realize is that April Fool pranks are even less funny at Arsia Station than they were back in Indiana.