#Jokes rated

[teaboot]

My dad's favorite joke is "a skeleton walks into a bar and asks for a beer and a mop" and he was first told it through the open window of his car at a red light by a guy on a motorcycle.

I appreciate this proactive skeleton. They know what they enjoy, and also are aware of potential consequences and are prepared to take responsibility. Still, they know that they require accommodations and are not afraid to ask for them.

This skeleton demonstrates self-awareness, responsibility, confidence, and respect for self and others while still providing the audience a good chuckle at their expense.

Total rating: 7/10

[pansy-picnics]

I GOT THIS DIALOGUE LAST NIGHT AND IM STILL LOSING MY MIND OVER IT?

[superbat-lmao]

Jason blames the mistake on the fact that it was his first time being back in the cave after coming onto the scene as Red Hood. He was needed as part of a larger operation, but being back in the sterile and kleptomaniacal space had made him slip up. Old behavior patterns that fit like too tight gloves.

He’d said it as a joke, of all things.

His relationship with the bats was tepid at best and he’d rebuked every attempt they’d made for him to participate in their little “family” charade. His only concession had been for work related business. But his head wasn’t on right, it seemed, because he slipped back into the old tone he used when he would banter with Batman.

Bruce had asked him to stay for dinner, which he’d declined. Dick had asked him if he wanted to join in on movie night, which he’d ignored. Alfred had told him in no uncertain terms would someone within his household go without at least refreshment, so he’d accepted the tea. Tim and Damian had already turned in for the night, not eager to be a part of the hissed threats followed by sullen silences that functioned as their method of conversation.

Jason had been reading through some of the files for the upcoming operation while Dick was doing his best to keep up a stream of chatter. It didn’t alleviate the frosty tone of the cave, but it did remind Jason of the few times Dick had tried to play “happy family” before he’d scamper back off to Bludhaven. It was a blast from the past, this level of unease between them. If it weren’t for the spectre of glass and bloody fabric in Jason’s periphery he’d think he’d somehow been sent back in time.

At some point in the incessant noise, Dick had said something about an upcoming gala and was trying to strategize with Bruce about how to convince Damian to attend. And by “strategize with Bruce” Jason meant “prattle on aimlessly at a brick wall like a mental patient.”

Bruce told Dick that he would employ the same method he’d used on all his kids, bribery.

Then Bruce had turned to Jason and asked if he would consider attending dinner tomorrow night instead, if he was already busy.

“It’ll cost you.”

Jason’s tone should’ve been cold, aloof. But in actuality, it was a lot closer to his old humor, the sarcasm and wit that belied a Robin.

Dick had stopped talking. Bruce was quickly recovering, schooling his blank expression into something painful to look at.

“How much?”

Jason’s eyes, which had flicked back down to the file, stopped on the word associates. He glanced back up and yep. Bruce’s face was a mixture of hope and determination. His eyes glinted in the harsh fluorescents.

“What?”

“How much will it cost to have you stay for dinner tomorrow?”

Jason scoffed.

“You can’t afford me.”

“Try me.”

Dick was flicking his eyes between them like a tennis match.

Jason paused.

In actuality, crime lording paid well, but the funds weren’t all usable for the same things. For civilian things. Jason could do with some clean, unlaundered cash. Not that he wanted to admit it.

He let the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable. He didn’t take his eyes off Bruce.

“How long?”

“You stay from 6pm to 8:30pm.”

“My going rate is a hundred dollars a minute.”

“Done.”

Bruce wasn’t smiling, and Dick huffed out something that sounded faintly jealous but hey. Jason would be a fool to pass up $15,000.

[bitsybunbun]

Time to check your diaper!

What diaper? Look, I wear grown-up panties 😇

[slythereen]

“i think lando for the car and max for the points” is a crazy thing for this man to say lmaooo he really said ☝️that bum isn’t competing with MY rival, his illegal rocketship is☝️

[remotewatch]

some call it arrogance

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 2.5k wc

summary: Let’s face it: you kind of suck at paddleboarding. Thankfully, your boyfriend is an eager instructor with a trick up his sleeve!

cw: shameless smut, outdoor recreation, questionable teaching, peppy upbeat softdom jack (good lord), fingering, unprotected sex, if you want to keep your plan b go VOTE ‼️‼️, play fighting, jd is catching strays, this is somewhat a comedy

minors dni and stay out!!!!

Time and time again, you realize that you and Jack have very different definitions of what constitutes a short paddle. You could pass out right here on your little break, sun hat plopped over your face and one leg dangling in the pleasantly cool water. He tugs you closer to his board to drum a few fingers on your knee and ask “You asleep?” just as you’re drifting off.

A barely audible “mhm” is all you care to let out. Jack’s hand slides to your inner thigh, a polite veneer of concern slapped onto his more crude interests.

“Do you need something?” When you lift your hat to squint over at him for being so euphemistic, he’s already zapping you with those doe eyes you struggle to resist.

“Diva, the telephotos,” you mumble as you flop back down. There’s almost certainly no one hiding out in the mangroves waiting to catch you two, but the press had noted the extension of your Japan trip to stop at Iriomote. Your growing collection of condemning paparazzi pics is already nudging at the edge of your mind, and you have no desire to add to it today.

“They can’t get a good shot this far out.” His hand stills when you don’t murmur back how much of a whore he’d have to be to know that so definitively.

“Here, let’s get out of the sun for a bit. Get you a honey stick or something.” A grateful thumbs up is the most movement you care to make.

As much as you like getting into Jack’s hobbies with him, it’s undeniably more fun to have him tow you around whistling Elvis tunes like your little chauffeur. It would be so easy to fall asleep to the sound of it paired with the waves crashing in the distance; maybe you do; it’s really none of your business.

The temperature suddenly drops, and you briefly tilt your hat up to see he’s steered you into a particularly thick mangle. It’s a straight, narrow shot from it up to the shore; exactly the type of hidden launch he’d know about.

He turns around from rooting in the supply bag and waggles a fanned out selection of power bars, honey straws, and glucose gels at you.

“What’re we having today, huh?” Still hiding under your hat, you grasp blindly until you find a few straws and tear one open with your teeth, shoving your dentist’s exasperation to the back of your mind. Jack knows better than to pester you until your temperature and blood sugar level out a bit. Eventually, you rise from the dead and get a better look at your spot.

The mangrove roots here are as thick as you’ve ever seen and rise far enough out of the water that you could set up a hammock under them. Schools of diminutive silver fish swirl beneath the surface, bouncing light back up to paint the underside of the overhead foliage. The two of you are technically visible from open water, but a pap would have to drop anchor at the perfect angle to get more than a glimpse. You remind yourself that you’re on the west side of the island anyway; surely there’s more exciting things to report on than America’s most notorious SUP proficiency gap relationship.

“You’re getting better, you know.” You gnaw at a second honey straw and scrunch up your nose.

“Am I?”

“For sure. Remember Lake Superior?”

“God, must I?” you groan, wincing at the mere thought.

“Gotta appreciate where you started!” Jack is laid out on his board doing alternate toe touches, and the fact that it’s more of an unconscious ritual than a way of showing off his balance makes it all the more annoying.

He’s truly so pretty, even after putting your legs through hell on the way out. The little gaps in the mangrove canopy cover him in spots of sunlight, and he still refuses to buy a smaller pair of shorts, just rolling down the hem of those ratty old ones until they’re shorter than any of yours. You’re too busy watching them fall further down his thighs with every leg raise to notice he’s still talking.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said-,” Jack finishes the last of his coconut water and smacks his lips. “Why don’t you stretch a bit before we head back?” You press your hands flat as if to push yourself up, and he notes your hesitation.

“What is it?”

“…Can you spot me?” His smile cracks his whole face open like a fresh daffodil, clearly thrilled to be needed.

“Why, certainly.”

You brace yourself as he slides onto your board as easily as scooting closer on the couch, quads flexing delectably while he helps you stand up.

“Do a forward bend for me,” Jack effortlessly slips back into his instructor cadence, to the point that you could forget he’s your boyfriend aside from his hands feeling far more than professionally comfortable on your hips. He leans up against your backside to peer over you as you place your palms flat on the deck, not bothering to conceal how much it excites him. After the tension of the paddle out and stiffening up during your nap, the stretch in your hamstrings is virtually orgasmic. Jack doesn’t miss the little sigh of relief you let out, nor do you the the smugness that spills into his voice.

“And walk it out, just like that,” you can feel him staring at your ass and can’t even kick his shin without knocking you both over.

“Can you at least pretend to enjoy this a little less?” it doesn’t sound very commanding with his dick pressed right up against you before you shift into downward dog. Even less so when he knows how much you love a good calf stretch, knows exactly how far to push you into it to make you melt in his hands.

“If I’m not happy to be here, how can I expect you to have any fun?” There’s a brief wobble as he reaches to grab your ankles and help you move to a headstand, but one shift of his heel and you might as well be back on dry land.

“That’s why I said pretend.”

“That’s why I’m not an actor. And, push yourself up!” If nothing else, you’re decent at handstands, at least with Jack ready to catch your legs. Decent on a good day, that is, when the humidity isn’t bleeding your energy like a stuck pig. Your right palm slips into the water, and you screw your eyes shut in anticipation of a face full of board and a few tree bark scrapes.

“Fuck!” you hiss, but his grip instantly locks down on your ankles and lifts you out of the line of fire. Jack’s obliques ripple as he rights the board, and he’s very clearly pleased to catch your notice of it.

“That’s alright, you had a few good seconds there.” He lets you swing a few moments longer than necessary before lowering you back down and piping up again. Ever the show-off.

“It’s always…,” he hesitates as if he’s searching for the right words. “-been my understanding that if you can balance on all fours in unfavorable circumstances, you can stay standing just fine.”

“And what kind of unfavorable circumstances would you be talking about?” it’s obvious, though you’d rather hear him say it. He knows you too well to take the bait and cheekily rolls his eyes.

“You know, the favorable ones.”

“Is that what they teach you at surf instructor school?” Your hands are back on the board now, and you kick one foot free to slide it down his chest under his shorts.

“Oh yeah, the first thing,” he chuckles, fishing it out before helping you down into a plank.

Jack somehow wriggles his way under you without causing any major upheaval, claiming it’s the easiest way to check your form. He’s talking like this is your first time on a board just to wind you up and making no attempt to hide how much he enjoys doing so.

“Now, there’s nothing to it, just gotta make sure you’re not leaning too far to the left-“ he tugs at one of your bikini ties.

“Or the right,” he twists the other between his fingers, not quite loose enough to fall off, but certainly plenty of room for him to slide his fingers below your waistband. His smile grows wider when he pulls them back out to observe their newfound shine. You have a halfhearted go at defending your reactivity.

“That has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh yeah? You’re pulling a JD, getting riled up by the dolphins?” If your balance or endurance were half as good as his, you’d shove him off your board and ditch him right there. The best you can do is double down; a bit pitiful, but better than giving him any satisfaction right after that bullshit.

“And these are the unfavorable circumstances? Seriously?” It’s more the stupid fucking grin on his face than the controlled circles he’s tracing on your clit that’s disrupting your concentration. You’re hoping that focusing on the space between Jack’s eyebrows will keep your mind blank, but his fingers feel better and better the more you try to ignore them sliding around like he’s trying to memorize every cell you’ve got down there.

“It would be deeply irresponsible of me to throw you right into the deep end. Safety first, after all.”

“So irresponsible,” the mocking tone you’re going for doesn’t really work when your pitch is stuttering in perfect response to his movements.

Your eyes slip closed out of habit, but he’s right there playfully pinching your nipple to bring you back to reality.

“Hey, now! No daydreaming during your lesson! That’s not very considerate to your instructor,” he’s trying to pout up at you, hit you right in your weak spot, but he looks far too pleased with himself for the illusion to work.

“What if he deserves it for comparing me to a bloated couch fucker?” Again, the conviction isn’t really there when you’re bending your knees into terrible form trying to chase his touch every time they recede.

Jack yanks his fingers away, sucks them clean with a slippery pop, and kisses you on the point of your chin before shuffling out from under you.

“Clearly you’re not being challenged enough if you can complain like that!”

This time, you do try to kick him off the board, but you have no range at all to put some power into it. That’s what you tell yourself, at least.

“Look at you! You wouldn’t have been able to do that at Lake Superior. Told you you’re getting better!” He’s tugged his shorts down and your swimsuit to the side before you can snap at him, and he actually cackles when he sees how much your lats twitch when he first slides in.

“You’re unbelievable.” The way your voice shakes makes it sound more like a compliment than a last ditch effort to compose yourself.

“That’s what I’ve heard! There you go, arch for me.” He’s not causing much motion yet, only waves big enough to scatter the fish, but you’re wound so tight he might as well be putting you straight through the deck. Your arms are already shaking, and of course Jack notices; how could he not?

“Keep your arms steady. No, don’t lock them up, lean into it,” he’s saying like they’re not on fire, like you can’t feel yourself clamping down on him in some sort of weird unified muscular system effort to keep you from falling on your face.

“Can’t believe y-“

“How fast you’re progressing? I know, right! You must have a pretty good teacher!” He’s absolutely insufferable. You’ve been moving nonstop since dawn, he’s got your ass locking up like an NDA, and his voice is still perfectly fucking steady.

Jack’s middle finger just barely trails along your side, feather-light enough to raise goosebumps on your skin.

“You’re holding too much tension here.” Thank god, he mercifully spares you the lecture about proper abdominal engagement.

“Jack, I can’t- I’m gonna fall!” The wavering in your voice is so unbelievably humiliating when he’s barely breaking a sweat. Your arms buckle, threatening collapse, and there he is seamlessly shifting his hands from your hips to swing under your torso and support you when they finally give out, the other splaying flat across the deck.

“Noooo you’re not, you’re fine. You can have a little break, and then we’ll try again, okay?” All while his thrusts remain infuriatingly consistent. The board barely even moves when he catches you. Your nails scrabble at the deck pad, then the limb supporting you, trying to regain your balance, ground yourself, Jesus, something, but he’s got a better angle now and can haul you back onto his dick as hard as he likes without worrying about your arms giving out.

“You’re such an asshole!” you sob as you claw at his forearm.

“Tell me to stop then! Be silly and turn down a free lesson, why dontcha?” Any attempts you make to thrash your way out of Jack’s grasp just stimulate you more, and he’s suppressing a fit of laughter watching you jolt like you’re stuck in a bear trap. When all that’s left for him to knock out of you are little stilted squeals, his resolve softens, and he leans down to kiss your ear.

“I know you can do it. Push yourself up for me.”

The only way out is through. This time, your arms do lock up; blame the unfavorable circumstances. The world narrows to tunnel vision as you watch the board tilt left, then right, with the ringing in your ears making the whole spectacle feel a tinge nightmarish.

Your orgasm hits you hard enough to have Jack choking out an “oh, fuck” that sounds just as strangled as his dick must feel. You can hardly enjoy it over both of your triceps cramping terribly, though you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself for staying dry when you slump to your elbows halfway through.

As unceremoniously as Jack thuds down at your side, he still instinctively spreads out enough to keep the board steady. He looks about ready to fall asleep, so of course you roll over to bother him.

“Is that how you taught people to surf?”

“Nah, they were way more advanced.”

“Fuck you!” He’s back on his board and paddling out of the inlet in a flash, somehow not flipping yours in the process.

“Sounds like someone doesn’t need any breaks on the return trip!” By some miracle, you manage to grab his leash before he flies past you.

“You’ll tow me back.” Jack spares you a full glance over his shoulder, and there’s an unmistakable streak of you remaining on the left side of his mouth.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m your favorite student.”

[celifin]

Silly kavetham stuff I never posted

[demonicseries]

of course he has a Wolverine Christmas sweater

[frownyalfred]

get yourself friends who will joke with you when you keep getting rated in comments/bookmarks (via @audreycritter)

[teaboot]

Different anon, but I wanted to share one of my favorite jokes too. :)

Dogs can’t perform MRIs, but cats can!

ytyfdtgfghfhv Took me a minute!

Short, concise, clever, punchline hits.

Total rating: 8/10

[aroaceleovaldez]

forever mad that HoO introduced Diocletian's scepter as an object but. gave it to Nico and had Jason promote Frank about it.

Like. Okay here is an object that can summon the dead. It can only be used by a child of Hades/Pluto and a Roman officer in unison. HAZEL IS RIGHT THERE!!!!!

Nico can already summon the dead! He doesn't need a special object for it! Literally IN THE SCENE WHERE THEY GET THE SCEPTER, NICO RAISES THE DEAD. HE'S NOT WEAK ENOUGH THAT HE CAN'T! Hazel meanwhile has never raised the dead before (kind of - she did a little bit like once)! Theoretically she's fully capable of it but she's never properly tried it before! Giving her an object to help facilitate practicing with that would be perfect, especially given the scepter expires after a certain number of uses! Also, since Hazel ends up a praetor in TOA anyways, there's no reason why she shouldn't get promoted to be able to use the scepter all on her own! In fact her getting promoted in the House of Hades would be the perfect place to do so because it's a scene where she's taking the lead and saving everyone else! In fact it's a significantly better place to promote her to praetor over the scene where she ACTUALLY gets promoted! And even if you don't have Hazel promoted instead, then you'd still have it be Hazel and Frank working together to command the armies of the undead, which is perfect because they're a couple and it'd be a great way to show how well they work together!!!!!

LITERALLY THERE IS NO REASON TO NOT GIVE IT TO HAZEL. WHAT'S THE DEAL.

[thermalprinter]

Why is Danny Elfman following a roblox avatar rating account on TikTok I'm gonna cry

[robotpussy]

good morning, good afternoon and good night. death to Israel, death to the monarchy and death to every landlord ever

[shipping-all-ships]

Midam AU where Adam makes a joke about the last guy that wanted inside him at least wine-and-dined him first and that's how they had their first date (after Michael asked his horrified siblings what that meant).

[punster-2319]

“Animated Family Films Made After 1968 That SURPRISINGLY Got G-Ratings” Starter Pack

(Before anyone points it out, yes, I am aware that The Land Before Time and All Dogs Go to Heaven were edited before their releases to avoid getting PG ratings).

[infamous-if]

orion would write a script?? brb🫡🫡🫡🫡

lmfaofhdhfhjff full production

Orion: “ur not saying it right u need to put some feeling I need to feel like you’re upset by your F or then it’s just not authentic.”

MC: “Orion pls can u just fuck me”

Orion: “okay okay I will just…u need to say the line first so I can have my entrance or it wouldn’t make sense narratively-“