We are all aware that math can occasionally feel like a foreign language, particularly to young children attempting to understand equations and numbers.
It’s similar to being thrust into a universe where everything appears to be the same but doesn’t quite fit together. However, it appears that our little hero is not only struggling with multiplication but is also finding the hilarious side of math class.
Here it is:
When a young child gets home from school, he informs his dad,
“Today, I received a F in math.”
“What happened?” his father responds.
“Well, my teacher asked me, ‘What’s 3 times 2?’ and I said 6.” the youngster adds.
“Oh, that’s right,” the father responds.
“I know,” says the boy. “What is two times three?” she then asked me.
“What the fuck is the difference?” the father then responds.
“That’s what I said,” the boy replies.
ADDITIONAL STORY: Do you urinate in bed?
In bed, do you fart?
Tell me if this story doesn’t make you cry from laughter, and I’ll say a prayer for you. This is a tale about a couple who had been blissfully married for years. The main source of conflict in their marriage was the husband’s noisy morning farts, which would wake his wife and cause her to gasp for air and cry.
She would beg him to stop tearing them off every morning because it was making her ill. He assured her that it was entirely natural and that he couldn’t stop it. She was worried that he would blow his mind one day, so she advised him to see a doctor.
He kept tearing them out as the years passed. Then, one Christmas morning, while she was cooking the turkey and hubby was asleep upstairs, she glanced at the liver, gizzard, neck, and innards, among other spare parts, and a malevolent notion occurred to her. She took the dish, went upstairs to her husband’s sleeping quarters, and spilled the bowl of turkey guts into his shorts while carefully drawing back the elastic waistband of his underwear and the bed linens. She heard her husband’s customary trumpeting wake him up, followed by a spine-tingling scream and the sound of his hurried footsteps as he dashed into the bathroom.
The wife rolled on the floor, laughing uncontrollably and with tears in her eyes! She believed that she had gotten him back fairly well after years of torture. Her husband arrived downstairs about twenty minutes later, wearing blood-stained underwear and wearing a horrified expression.
She asked him what was wrong, biting her lip. “Honey, you were right,” he said. You have warned me for years, but I have ignored you. “What do you mean?” his wife inquired. You always said that I would eventually fart my guts out, and today I did, but only with the help of two fingers and a little Vaseline. I believe I have most of them back in.
