What's your sickest joke?

[Bikkie]

I asked my wife if she ever fakes it.

She said, “Fakes what?”

That one hurt.




You can't say 'Psychoanalyse' without Psycho Anal



The gay son received an enormous grant from the Arts Council, that is being used to film a homoerotic WWII epic about trying to find a soldier with an 18 inch cock and pull him out of the line so his spectacular member doesn't get blown off by shrapnel.

Saving Ryan's Privates




My wife has dildos and vibrators she named Woody and Buzz.

It makes sense, because they only come to life when the kids are gone and only my fat motionless wife is at home.





If highly paid foreigners are the secret to improving English footballing standards, then how come Saudi Arabia aren't favourites for the World Cup?.




If Saudi Arabia lose they will beheading home soon...




Someone told me you could try getting with a "bad girl" by sending her a bunch of dick pics.

She just looked confused the next day as to why I sent her a bunch of photos of Queer Starmer.



Banning children from social media will have far reaching consequences for some groups.

Paedos and Paedo Hunters will have to make do with re - enactments.




Trump claims ships carrying oil are moving out of the strait of Hormuz.

I'd be moving out of there too. The place is a fucking warzone.




Trump marks his 80th birthday with ufc cage fighting extravaganza as he announces Iran peace deal, whilst he threatens military action against cuba. Granted its not a joke, but take a second to read what I have just said. This is the world we're living in, its like a bad episode of black mirror.



The UFC has confirmed an event at the White House.

Which means for one glorious night, the most rational people on the property will be the cage fighters.



UFC 250 is being held at the White House.

The winner gets a belt.

The loser gets a cabinet position.




Trump’s Iran policy now comes with a refresh button.




My daughter is eleven months old.

She’s got no job, contributes nothing to the household and screams whenever she’s inconvenienced.

I think she’s ready for social media.




I've just been informed I can't use my reusable tea bags anymore They've got a restraining order.



My daughter's african boyfriend wanted to start one of those YouTube channels where he tells horror stories and shit, but he complained that all the good names like 'Mr. Nightmare' were already taken.

"What about Mr. Midnight ?"




The gay son said this weekend he got banged by a black guy that looked like Samuel L Jackson and had a 17 inch cock with the girth of a can of Pepsi.

"Oooh, now I know why they called that glorious bald bastard Shaft !"

[Bikkie]

I was in the elevator in Harrods and this old lady was next to me. The elevator stopped and 2 glamorous model like ladies, dripping in jewellery and reeking of perfume.
They looked the old lady up and down a few times.
The old lady, trying to be nice said, “ That’s a lovely perfume you ladies are wearing, smells really nice.
The First Lady leaned over and looking down her nose said, Channel 24, £540 an ounce.
Second Lady same said, Dior exclusive, £480 an ounce.
Old lady looked embarrassed.
Anyway lift stopped and myself and old lady got out.
The old lady stopped just before door closed let off a fucking ripper, smiled at the 2 bitches and said,(as doors were closing) “Brussel sprouts from Tesco, £2.25 a pound!!!!”



A man walks into a bar.

The bartender nearly drops a glass.

Half of the man’s head is a giant orange.

Not orange-coloured.

Not orange-shaped.

An actual orange.

A massive one.

Growing directly out of the side of his face.

The bartender stares.

“Jesus Christ.”

The man sighs.

“Yeah. I know. Whiskey.”

The bartender pours one.

The man drinks it.

“Another.”

The bartender pours another.

Finally he can’t contain himself.

“What happened to your head?”

The man stares into his drink.

“It’s a long story.”

The bartender shrugs.

“It’s a slow Tuesday.”

The man nods.

“Fair enough.”

He takes another drink.

“When I was eighteen I left home with twenty pounds in my pocket and no idea what I wanted from life.”

The bartender leans in.

“I travelled everywhere.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere. Europe. Africa. Asia. South America. Places you’ve heard of and places you haven’t.”

The bartender nods.

The man continues.

“I lived with monks in Tibet.”

“Really?”

“Three years.”

“What did you learn?”

“Patience.”

The bartender nods thoughtfully.

The man continues.

“I crossed the Sahara with a caravan.”

“Wow.”

“I nearly died.”

“What happened?”

“I drank my own piss for six days.”

The bartender winces.

The man nods solemnly.

“Character building.”

He takes another drink.

“I joined the French Foreign Legion.”

“You did?”

“Five years.”

“What was that like?”

The man stares into the distance.

“I saw things.”

The bartender waits.

The man continues.

“Friends died.”

The bartender nods respectfully.

The man swallows hard.

“Good men.”

The bartender quietly pours another whiskey.

The man drinks.

“I fought in two wars.”

The bartender says nothing.

“I was shot.”

The man rolls up his sleeve and reveals a scar.

“Twice.”

The bartender whistles.

“I was decorated.”

“Seriously?”

The man reaches into his coat and places several military medals on the bar.

The bartender examines them.

“My God.”

The man nods.

“War teaches you things.”

“Like what?”

“What’s important.”

The bartender sits silently.

The man continues.

“After the wars I became an archaeologist.”

“Of course you did.”

“I excavated temples in Egypt.”

“Naturally.”

“I discovered a lost tomb.”

The bartender raises an eyebrow.

“Did you really?”

The man pulls out a newspaper clipping.

Front page.

ARCHAEOLOGIST DISCOVERS LOST PHARAOH.

The bartender stares.

“Bloody hell.”

The man nods.

“I found love.”

The bartender smiles.

“I married?”

“No.”

The bartender looks confused.

“No?”

“Seven times.”

The bartender blinks.

The man continues.

“I had fourteen children.”

“Fourteen?”

“That I know of.”

The bartender nods slowly.

The man continues.

“I became rich.”

“How rich?”

The man places a bank statement on the bar.

The bartender’s eyes widen.

“Oh.”

The man nods.

“I built hospitals.”

“Very admirable.”

“I funded schools.”

“Wonderful.”

“I sponsored cancer research.”

The bartender smiles.

“That’s incredible.”

The man sighs.

“It wasn’t enough.”

“No?”

“No.”

The bartender waits.

The man continues.

“I wanted answers.”

“Answers to what?”

“The big questions.”

The bartender leans forward.

“Life?”

The man nods.

“Life.”

“Death?”

The man nods.

“Death.”

“The meaning of existence?”

The man nods again.

“That too.”

The bartender is now completely invested.

“So what did you do?”

“I climbed a mountain in Nepal.”

“Of course.”

“There I met a mystic.”

“Naturally.”

“He told me of a cave.”

The bartender nods.

“A magic cave?”

“A magic cave.”

“Right.”

“Inside was a lamp.”

The bartender finally smiles.

“A genie?”

“A genie.”

The bartender points triumphantly.

“Aha!”

The man nods.

“A genie.”

The bartender settles in.

“Finally.”

The man continues.

“The genie granted me three wishes.”

“What was the first?”

“I wished for a wallet that always contained a thousand pounds.”

The bartender laughs.

“Convenient.”

The man produces a wallet.

Inside are twenty crisp fifty-pound notes.

The bartender stares.

“Bloody hell.”

The man continues.

“The second wish was to become irresistible to women.”

The bartender laughs.

“Sure.”

The man points across the room.

A beautiful woman immediately abandons her date, rushes over and kisses him passionately.

The bartender watches in stunned silence.

The woman leaves.

The bartender slowly turns back.

“My God.”

The man nods.

“Third wish?”

The bartender gestures excitedly.

“Yes! The third wish!”

The man sighs.

A long, weary sigh.

The sigh of a man who has crossed deserts, survived wars, discovered ancient tombs, built hospitals, fathered fourteen children and stared into the abyss.

The bartender leans closer.

“What happened?”

The man closes his eyes.

For a moment he seems genuinely ashamed.

Then he whispers:

“For my third wish…”

The bartender holds his breath.

“…I wished that half my head…”

The bartender nods.

“…would be…”

The bartender leans even closer.

“…a giant orange.”

Silence.

The bartender stares.

The man stares back.

Finally the bartender says:

“Why?”

The man shrugs.

“I was twenty-three."




I had to sell my GP practice this week.

I just didn't have the patients.




My daughter told me, "tonight my black boyfriend is driving over for dinner."

"Yep, I heard the rap song coming from a mile away."