Is this a bad joke or what?

http://www.theoriginalsoundtrack.com/mark/frog2.JPG

"my god!", says the man, "you... you can talk!!" "yup", the worm replies, "i sure can". "d-d-do you have a name?", the now visibly sweating man asks. "the name's 'motor'", answers the worm. "anything else you wanna know?". the man carefully removes the worm from his temporary home, gently places him in his coat pocket just above his right breast, and rushes home, his mind racing with the possibilities of his astounding discovery.

as genteelly as possible in his current state of heart pounding excitement, the man places motor inside his new hastily-constructed habitat (a matchbox lined with tissue paper, to be precise). he runs to his bedroom, grabs the yellow pages and, in what appears to be an almost simultaneous action, he dials the number of the local circus. "a talking worm!" he thinks to himself. "now this they've never seen! this is the break i've been waiting for my whole life! i'm gonna be rich!". after convincing the circus manager he's got the suprise act of a lifetime (a feat aided, in part, by a five-figure deposit), the manager grants him the opening spot in the next show, which happens to be next thursday's season-opening gala performance.

after what seems an interminable wait, thursday arrives! after hours of rehearsal with motor (his vocabulary having proven as extensive as that of a university graduate), the man's ready to put the little guy up there, and amaze the world.

the curtain is raised and the man steps into the center ring. the heat of the spotlight does not go unnoticed whilst the man brings the matchbox towards the microphone, slowly removing the cover... revealing... NOTHING! motor isn't there! frantically, the man searches his pockets - nothing! his dressing room - nothing! his car - nothing! motor has disappeared!!

about 18 months later, a figure of public ridicule, his bank account empty, his job lost, his life ruined, the man is eventually reduced to living the life of a bum - his home a cardboard shack (ironically not unlike a human-sized version of the home he offered to the worm that was to make him a millionaire). begging for food, the man is one day casually tossed a bruised apple by a passerby. the man is about to take his second bite of the apple, when he hears a once-familiar sound! yes, a fainter version of that same pitch he first heard what now seems a lifetime ago! is it an hallucination? was he going mad? the man brought the apple to his face, and, right before his peering eyes - by george!- out bored motor!

(for n.)

Q: What does an elephant use for a tampon?
A: A sheep.

Q: How do you catch a bear?
A: Dig a pit in the middle of the woods, fill it with ashes, and line the edges with peas. When a bear comes by to take a pea, kick it in the ash hole.

Q:How many elephants does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A:Elephants can't fit inside light bulbs, dummy!

Did you hear the knife joke?
It's a killer.

Did you hear the joke about the fence?
I couldn't get over it.

Did you hear the sidewalk joke? No? Why not? It's all over town!

Just cuz I'm bored, I googled "paul harvey + dry" and got porn!? Warning, popup hell.

http://how-to-find-porn.com/se/?term=%22paul+harvey%22+%2B+dry

Back in the 1830s, there was a family with one son and four daughters. The son desperately wanted to prove himself to be a great artistic talent. And his doting parents tried to encourage his dreams.
He started out trying to be a musician. And his parents supported his attempts, even though it became clear he had no talent in this area.
Soon, he grew bored with music and moved onto acting.
As he gave up on music, his sisters gave it a go, but they too became bored with it.
His parents supported his attempts at acting, even though it became clear he had no talent in this area.
Soon, he grew bored with acting and moved onto writing stories.
As he gave up on acting, his sisters gave it a go, but they too became bored with it.
His parents supported his attempts at writing stories, even though it became clear he had no talent in this area.
Soon, he grew bored with acting and moved onto paiting.
As he gave up on writing, his sisters gave it a go, and soon discovered that they not only enjoyed it, but had a knack for it.
So the three sisters kept writing stories while their pretentious, talentless brother repeatedly tried and failed at every possible artform.
And the sisters names? Charlotte, Emily and Agatha....Bronté.
And now you know the rest of the story.

Custos's patented hambone punchline: And whenever the Jealous, Talentless brother saw one of his sister novels on sale, he would -- very Morrisseyishly -- put the back of his hand on his forehead and intone pompously "Et Tu, Bronté?"

Shredded Tweet!

Pick him up and suck his dick.

You fuck her.

"A little monastery secret, right?"

"No, a Cardinal mistake."

Famey's on fire, pitches a shutout two-hitter for nine innings; sadly, so does the opposing moundsman (we'll call him Pedro M.). Pedro comes out for the top of the 10th--Grady Little still managing here--and sets the Dodgers down one two three. So out comes Melvin, who at this point is pretty clearly soused, weaving, slurring, etc. His catcher's all like "Are you okay?" and Melvin's like "Screw you, get behind the plate, watch this shit." He strikes out the first two batters on six pitches, still throwing 95 mph, it's beautiful.

Then things get ugly: he hits two batters in a row, walks the third, and, natch, walks the fourth too. Red Sox win the series for the first time in whenever, huge parade, etc. They interview Pedro after the game: "What do you think happened to Melvin in the 10th inning?"

He replies, "It was the beer that made Mel Famey walk us."

A: when do you think you'll be done with that project
B: I don't think I'll ever be able to finish it, at this rate
A: what can we do?
B: I'll see if I can turkish it instead

What's brown and rhymes with everything?
Akon.

I just couldn't believe he'd gotten so good at drawing birds. "You did that owl by yourself?" I asked him.