He/He

but I wasn't having Nunavut.

Unfortunately, the airport and the upcoming holiday are far too exciting for the child, and he just can't stay still. Every few minutes, the father is chasing down his son and trying to keep him in line. Eventually, he tells his son that, if he doesn't reign it in, he'll have no choice but to put the son in a suitcase and put him on the plane as baggage.

It doesn't work. The son is still running around without a care in the world.

So the father steps it up a bit. He takes his son to the baggage check in area and tells them "My son is being naughty, so I'll need you to put him in a suitcase and check him in as baggage." He hopes this will scare his son into behaving.

The check-in worker looks confused, and just shakes their head. "I'm sorry, sir. We can't put your son in a suitcase and check him in as baggage. You'll need to being him on the plane with you."

The dad tries to keep the lie going, in case it works. "You mean, I'll have to carry-on my wayward son?"

The horse was too sad to jump, too sad to sprint, too sad to do much of anything besides eat and neigh forlornly. There wasn't even anything that happened. The horse was just... Sad.

But the owner refused to give up on his horse. He bought fancy horse brushes, salt blocks, comfortable bridles and anything else he could think of. He cleaned the stables thoroughly. He made sure the horse's paddock was open and the horse would run and frollick as much as he wanted. He even bought a large set of drums the horse might be able to play. But nothing worked.

One day, the owner purchased a large barrel of beer from a local brewery, complete with its own bar and grill. He brought the barrel to the horse and, as the horse started to drink, he could see how much the horse loved it. The horse drank until it could barely canter, leaning against the walls of its paddock with a dumb smile on its face. It wasn't ideal, but the horse was happy.

Every week, the owner would purchase a large barrel of beer, bring it to the horse, and watch him drink it all. The horse would forget his worries, and the owner would feel at least a little accomplished.

Then, one week, as the owner was buying a barrel, there was an accident. A dozen barrels fell from the shelf, crushing the owner to death. Law suits were filed, and the brewery has to cease production. The horse mourned the loss of the beer, but more than that, he mourned his owner. This man had done everything to make the horse happy. As much as the grief stung his horsey heart, he couldn't let his efforts be in vain. He swore, no matter what, he would find a new way to be happy.

So he took up those drums from a few paragraphs ago and began to play. He played and played until his shoes were worn down, trying to let out his exasperations with the world. He got better as he went, and the sound caught the attention of a talent scout.

When the talent scout saw that the amazing playing was done by a horse, of all things, he couldn't believe his luck. He immediately signed the horse into a contract, putting him in a band with a guitar playing goat and a chicken who could play the keyboard. The horse might have hesitated a few months ago, but after all his owner did, he refused to turn this down.

These shows were electric. People came to see the novelty of a band made of animals, but their music was raw expression no human could come up with alone. They were beloved. And the goat, chicken and horse all became friends. True friends, bonded by their shared talents and experiences.

All this fell apart when their limosine was struck by a truck on the motorway. The horse was safely in his horse box, far from the crash, but both the goat and the chicken were dead. He couldn't bring himself to even look at his drums, unable to play with his barnyard friends ever again. Once again, the horse had lost everything.

But as the horse strolled back to his old stables, he noticed the bar and grill. The same one that took his owner from him, now under new management. The same place that, so long ago, his owner had found the first thing to alleviate the misery. And, maybe, it could do it again.

To make a long story short, the horse walks into the bar, and the barman asks "why the long face?"

A horse walks into a bar, and the bartender asks, "why the long face?"

At least, that's what my friend said on the 12th of August 2017 at 2:23 PM while we were shopping for tomatoes, garlic and milk.

As he begins talking about the road systems, a loud sneeze can be heard from the audience. Stalin looks from his papers to the crowd, scanning the rows of heads before he yells "who was that? Who sneezed?"

The audience is stunned silent, each recoiling into their chairs and too afraid to say a word. Stalin turns to his guards and gives the order. "Execute everyone in the front row." The guards nod and a hail of gunfire hits the people sitting in the front row, killing them all dead. The people behind panic, but guards yell for them to remain seated.

"Now, I ask again. Who sneezed?"

Silence, perhaps a few quiet whimpers of fear. Stalin looks at the guards, and a second hail of gunfire hits the second row, killing every one of them in turn. The blood splatters across the seats, the aisles, and the faces of the people in the third row.

"Once more. Who sneezed?"

A man in the sixth row stands up, hunched over and quivering with fear, tears pouring from his eyes. "It was me, Comrade Stalin. I sneezed."

"Bless you. Now, about these roads..."

The bartender asks, «Какие темы должно продвигать это „Агентство интернет-исследований“»?

Because Oct 31 = Dec 25. (Octal 31 equals Decimal 25).

The boss scoffs and says "give me one good reason that I should give you a raise!" Guy replies "I'll give you 3, because 3 different companies called me just the other day." "Wow, you really had 3 companies contacting you?" "Yeah, the mortgage company, the electric company, and the cable company... You've gotta give me a raise!"

The barman says "what can I get you, Mr President?"

They Ransomware.

Isaac Newton, Blaise Pascal, André Ampere, and James Joule are playing hide and seek.

Joule starts counting down from 100. The other scientists find hiding places, but Newton can't find anywhere to hide. So he draws a square on the ground (1 meter on each side) and stands in the middle.

Joule finishes the count, opens his eyes, and sees Newton. He yells "Aha, i see you, Newton!" to which Newton replies "No, you found a Newton over one square meter, which means you found Pascal..."

Somebody points at a woman and utters a horrified cry, “Look at her—what a shame, under her clothes, she is totally naked!”

A patrolling soldier from Jaruzelski’s Poland immediately after the military coup. At that time, military patrols had the right to shoot without warning at people walking on the streets after curfew (ten o’clock).

One of the two soldiers on patrol sees somebody in a hurry at ten minutes to ten and immediately shoots him. When his colleague asks him why he shot when it was only ten to ten, he answers: “I knew the fellow—he lived far from here and in any case would not be able to reach his home in ten minutes, so to simplify matters, I shot him now.”

Daddy was born in Manchester, Mummy in Bristol, and I in London; strange that the three of us should have met!

The sadist answers him with a malicious smile: “No, never ….”

Marx, Engels, and Lenin were each asked what they preferred, a wife or a mistress. Marx, whose attitude in intimate matters is well known to have been rather conservative, answered “A wife”; Engels, who knew how to enjoy life, answered, of course, “A mistress”; the surprise comes with Lenin, who answered “Both, wife and mistress!” Is he dedicated to a hidden pursuit of excessive sexual pleasures? No, since he quickly explains: “This way, you can tell your mistress that you’re with your wife, and your wife that you are about to visit your mistress …” “And what do you actually do?” “I go to a solitary place and learn, learn, and learn!”

Tudjman and his large family in a plane above Croatia. Aware of the rumors that a lot of Croats lead miserable, unhappy lives, while he and his cronies amass wealth, Tudjman says: “What if I were to throw a check for a million dollars out of the window, to make at least one Croat, who will catch it, happy?” His flattering wife says: “But Franjo, my dear, why don’t you throw out two checks for half a million each, and thus make two Croats happy?” His daughter adds: “Why not four checks for a quarter of a million each, and make four Croats happy?” and so on, until finally, his grandson —the proverbial innocent youth who unknowingly blurts out the truth—says: “But Grandpa, why don’t you simply throw yourself out of the window, and thus make all the Croats happy?”