Joker King - find funny jokes from here.

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.

Now, I have known absent-minded men in my time. I once met a banker so distracted that he absentmindedly signed over his own house to a stray dog—though, having met his wife, I suspect it was not absentmindedness so much as desperate cunning. But if ever there was a man who could get lost in his own shadow, it was Professor Erasmus T. Abernathy. He was a scholar of some renown, famous for his contributions to the field of theoretical physics and infamous for his habit of boiling his own socks instead of eggs, which made him a subject of concern in both academic and culinary circles. He had once been tasked with delivering a keynote address to the Royal Society of Science but managed instead to deliver a laundry receipt to an audience of dignitaries, while his actual speech was later found tucked neatly into the breast pocket of his laundered and pressed overcoat. One day, the professor set out on a simple errand: he was to meet a publisher who had requested he submit an article on the mathematical structure of humor. The meeting was to take place at noon. It was now 11:58. He was feeling quite confident. He put on his best overcoat, buttoned it up entirely the wrong way, and, finding that it felt peculiar, deduced that he must have gained an unexpected amount of weight in one shoulder overnight. He made a mental note to investigate this phenomenon later, then left his house and promptly walked east, despite the meeting being due west. Along the way, he became distracted by a rather fascinating cobblestone, which led him to a most remarkable conclusion about planetary motion, which in turn occupied his mind so thoroughly that he stepped into a carriage—not his own—and rode it halfway across town before realizing that he was neither the driver nor the passenger, but had simply been standing on the back step the entire time, clutching his hat and deep in thought. Now hopelessly lost, he tried to retrace his steps but was unable to recall if he had left the house at all, or if he had merely dreamed of doing so. He checked his pocket for a map and found, instead, a note he had written to himself earlier that morning. It read: “Remember the thing!” This was deeply unhelpful. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, however, he recalled something about humor. The nature of humor. The structure of humor. Yes! He was meant to be studying the construction of jokes. If he could only write one, perhaps it would jog his memory. He stopped at the first establishment he came across—a quiet, dimly lit tavern where a bartender was wiping down the counter with the same look of existential resignation one sees in particularly reflective cattle. “Sir,” Abernathy said, removing his hat and promptly setting it ablaze in the nearest candle. “I require a drink, and also a joke.” The bartender, accustomed to peculiar men setting their possessions on fire in his establishment, poured him a whiskey and asked what kind of joke he had in mind. “A knock-knock joke!” the professor declared. “They are simple, structured, and should allow me to reorient myself.” The bartender, having little else to do, nodded. Abernathy straightened his burnt lapel. “Knock-knock.” “Who’s there?” The professor frowned. “I… do not know.” A long silence stretched between them. The bartender, never one to be thrown off, took a sip of his own drink. “Then I can’t let you in.” The professor blinked. “That’s it.” “What’s it?” “The joke. It is the ultimate joke. We are all knocking, are we not? We knock upon the door of knowledge, of understanding, of meaning itself. And yet—” he spread his hands in despair—“we never truly know who is there.” The bartender stared at him. Then, with the steady patience of a man who had been paid too little for too long, he topped off the professor’s drink and said, “Buddy, I just meant you don’t belong here.” The professor finished his whiskey, set his coat on fire for symmetry, and staggered out the door, presumably still knocking. Some say he’s still out there, wandering the world, trying to finish his joke. Others say he found enlightenment in that moment and promptly forgot it. But if you ever hear a knock on your door and nobody’s there, just remember: it might be Professor Abernathy. Or it might be the bartender, making sure you’re not about to set fire to your own coat.

"Mom I had the worst first day at college, I forgot to bring a binder and I fell to pieces."