i walked through death’s door
and i kicked the reaper in the nuts
he was quite surprised
and even dropped his scythe
with a pained sigh
His balls were huge, so she’d cut them off and stuffed them down the front of her blouse to appear bustier. Unfortunately, she now also looked hairy-chested!
On the other hand, he was admiring himself in the mirror. Her boobs—so small and smooth with a cute mole on the left one—looked appealing in place of his crotch. He couldn’t believe she’d given him permission to cut them off!
But she was dissatisfied. When asked to swap everything back, he refused. “We had a deal,” he said. “No backsies!”
And he walked away, throwing out his crotch with pride.
I used to be yakuza but not anymore. I was kicked out because of a tattoo.
I wanted to compose a tribute for the Oyabun, a haiku to celebrate his heroic exploits and boundless charisma. Endowed with this as a tattoo, I would be showing him the gravity of my devotion, my unquestioning firmness to serve him unto death.
Unfortunately, my handwriting sucks so the tattooist misread the haiku. Instead of the kanji for ‘handsome’ he tattooed the kanji for ‘unpleasant’. You can see how the fault is mine.
Or maybe the Oyabun didn’t like me showing him my balls?
I’ve just realised why some avoid stepping on cracks in pavements. The genius of this explanation lies in its simplicity. Wait ’til you hear it. It’ll blow your mind!
Oh, hold on, guys. My pants fell down. I’ll return to cracks in a moment…
Okay, so… cracks. Modern pavements are made from concrete that includes fly ash. You follow? Flies? Zippers? There’s a connection, right?
For the love of… now my zip’s too tight. Gotta handle this before it squeezes cracks in my nadgers…
Regarding pavements… oh, wouldn’t you know it! My one hundred words’re up already. Next time, guys!